The Key
Daisy’s eyes snapped open to firelight and shadow and a hand hovering inches from her breast. She screamed, but the noise that clawed from her throat barely registered. Raw and shredded, her voice had abandoned her somewhere in that labyrinth of hedges and horror.
The man jerked back, as if she’d startled him.
Daisy scrambled back on damp silk, her arms fumbling over satin pillows until she crawled to the edge of the bed and jumped off. She didn’t think. Rolling off the bed, she hit the floor on battered feet.
Pain lanced up her calves, sharp and immediate, as torn skin met hardwood. Her legs buckled beneath her weight. Her knees cracked against the floor and she scrambled backward like a wounded animal, dragging herself toward the far corner of the room.
The man rushed forward, but stilled several feet away, as if purposely trying not to corner her.
“Don’t be afraid.” He raised his hands, palms out.
Firelight caught the hard angles of his jaw and the storm-grey of his eyes as his soaked clothes dripped onto the dark wood floor. His emerald vest and pants appeared black as the wet fabric clung to his frame.
She knew him. The hunter from the balcony. The one who had danced with her. The one who had pressed a gun to Hadrian’s skull.
Her back hit the wall as she pressed herself into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest. Cold air bit at her exposed skin and she shivered uncontrollably.
He watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and walked away.
Daisy’s heart hammered against her ribs as she tracked his movement. The door. If she could get to the door before him, she could run. But he was already there. Her feet throbbed with every racing heartbeat as his fingers found the gilded lock.
Metal scraped against metal as he twisted a heavy brass key. He held it up so she could see, carrying it toward the center of the room. He held it out to her like an offering. Like a trap.
“For your safety,” he said, his voice low and measured.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
He wanted her to come to him. Looked prepared to wait her out.
After a long moment, when it was clear she wasn’t falling for his trick, he set the key down with a soft click on a low table positioned between the fireplace and the seating area.
Stepping back from the table, he put distance between himself and the key. Between himself and her. His hands remained visible, open, unthreatening.
“It will stay there unless you move it.” He glanced to the open doors where dark curtains waved and rain had left tiny puddles on the floor then to the one he’d just locked. “No one can hurt you here.”
Except him.
“Who are you?” The words scraped past her ruined throat like broken glass.
“I’m Jack.”
Jack? Her gaze dropped to his right hand, to the heavy signet ring that caught the firelight. She had seen those initials before, during their dance. R.A.
“That’s not your name.” She pressed harder against the wall, as if she could phase through the plaster and disappear. “Your ring says R.A.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he let the lie stand between them.
She tensed when a bell tolled above, loud and close, making the implication that much harder to ignore. Beyond the rain-streaked glass, darkness still blanketed the grounds. The sky was black, still hours from dawn.
“Where am I?”
“My suite.”
Still at the Feast, then. Still trapped on this godforsaken island. Was this where the hunters stayed, in this house of horrors and its twisted games?
Her eyes darted to the windows. Distant shouts and laughter blended with music that belonged to another world. Another time.
