I blow out a slow breath, but the weight of my decision is heavy on my chest. “Fine.”
“Well, then.” He clasps his hands together. “It seems I have a new pet for now. Are you coming in or not?” He flashes me another one of those unsettling smiles, and satisfaction glints in his dark eyes. It’s the expression of pure evil disguised under a layer of aloof charm.
I’m not your fucking pet, I think, but I’m still shocked into stunned silence.
I pick up my suitcase and carry it up the stairs as I follow him in, though I keep a few steps of distance between us. A few hours ago, all I wanted was to be close to him. Now, I can’t get far enough away.
But I follow him anyway, because I have no other choice.
He closes the door behind me and twists the lock, though I’m not sure why he’d worry about anyone coming into his house with him being what he is. Or maybe it’s just another signal that I’m his captive, locked in his cabin and not allowed to leave.
After learning of his true nature, I’m surprised at how pleasant the interior of the cabin is. I’d half expected to walk into some dark, dusty lair, but the atmosphere feels more cozy than anything. At least, it would if I weren’t still distraught.
From the doorway, I’m only able to see part of the living room to my left and the kitchen to my right. Directly before me is a staircase.
“You can have the bedroom upstairs,” he says. “There’s a bathroom up there, and the kitchen is to your right. Help yourself.”
I follow him up a narrow, creaking staircase to a small bedroom with a window overlooking the darkened forest. All the fiery emotions that had been coursing through my veins only minutes ago have burned out, leaving me with a cold, sinking feeling in my gut and barely enough energy to walk across the room.
I drop my suitcase on the wood floor and stand there as the despair settles in.
“I’ll leave you to get settled,” he says, moving toward the door. "Oh, and Brielle?"
I look up at him with a blank expression.
“Don't try to leave. These woods aren't safe at night. Ifyou try to run away, you’ll be wishing I had killed you instead.”
He closes the door behind him with a sharp finality, and I sink onto the edge of the bed with my face in my hands.
What have I done?
Sleep is impossible, even despite the heavy quilt and the exhaustion aching in my bones. I lie awake for hours listening to the occasional creak of floorboards below, wondering if he's moving about or if it's just the old house settling. Waiting for him to appear over me with an evil grin and a compulsion to kill.
The moon rises high enough to cast light through the window, casting long shadows and illuminating strange shapes in an unfamiliar room.
Sleep used to be my escape. I would close my eyes and wait for him to find me in my dreams where I could forget the pain of real life.
Now, I don’t even have that. Because it was all a lie.
I can’t stay here, but I can’t leave either. I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to be awake. It’s a lose-lose situation no matter what I do, and I can’t help but wish again that I hadn’t woken up in that hospital.
I should be gone, but reality seems insistent on dragging me back.
CHAPTER 9
Ilie on the bed, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house. The days have blurred together, marked only by the cycle of light filtering through my window. Hunger gnaws at my empty stomach, but I can’t seem to care. The only reason I’ve gotten up is to use the restroom and sip water from the bathroom faucet.
Sleep comes in nebulous fragments. Sometimes I jolt awake certain I've heard footsteps outside my door. Other times I drift in that space between consciousness and dreams, half-expecting to see Joel standing over me, ready to drag me home.
Which would be worse? The devil I know or the one I don't?
I've thought of escaping, of course. The window overlooks a short drop to a sloped section of roof, then a manageable jump to the ground. But beyond that lies the forest that, according to my captor, is filled with things more dangerous than him. It could be a lie, but knowing the supernatural apparently does exist is enough to keep me from taking my chances.
I've traded one prison for another.
At some point yesterday—or was it this morning?—I thought I heard the bedroom door open. Gentle footsteps approached the bed. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing steady. What was the point in facing him? If he'd decided it was time to kill me, there was nothing I could do to stop it.
But the footsteps had retreated, and the door closed again.
