The night air is crisp and cold, chilling my lungs with every inhale and coming out in a puff of vapor with every exhale.
My entire body is electrified with the thrill of the chase, anticipating the grip of his hand on my arm at any second, but I can’t even hear his footsteps over the sound of my own feet pounding the ground and my pulse thundering in my ears.
I’m closing in on the house, knowing that a chase through the woods would bring me right back to my dream but knowing it wouldn’t go so smoothly in reality. It’s pitch-black outside, not to mention freezing, and frankly, I don’t trust myself not to trip and break my ankle.
Besides, I’d much rather Ambrose catch me inside thehouse, where he can toss me onto a warm bed and fuck me senseless.
When I reach the house, I throw open the back door and slip inside, unable to resist the urge to glance behind me. There, silhouetted against the dim halo of yellow light emanating from the garage windows, is Ambrose. Not running, but striding with unhurried purpose. Stalking me, knowing I won’t be able to escape him no matter where I go.
I let out a tiny yelp of fear and slam the door shut before running further into the house.
Where do I go now?
My feet slam against the hardwood floors as I tear through the hallway with my heart hammering in my chest. My mind is aware that I’m not in any real danger, but my body doesn’t know the difference. Every sense is dialed high, impelling me to scream, fight, or run from the predator who’s chasing me.
I take a sharp right and skid into Ambrose’s study, slamming my shoulder against the doorframe in my momentum. “Shit,” I hiss, pressing a palm to the tender spot, but there’s no time to dwell. I scan the room in a frenzy, searching for potential hiding places.
Bookshelves, desk, curtains. No closet. I’m running out of time.
My pulse thrums louder now, not just from running, but from the awareness that he’s getting closer with every second that passes.
I need to hide.
The couch is my best bet, I decide. It’s angled against the far wall, pushed out just enough that Imightfit behind it. I dart across the room and drop to my knees, awkwardly attempting to wedge myself into the narrow gap between thecouch and the wall. The carpet muffles the sounds of my shuffling, thankfully.
I press a hand to my mouth, torn between keeping my eyes wide open and squeezing them shut.
The thud of his footsteps echoes down the hallway with slow, deliberate thuds. He’s doing it on purpose, knowing I’m somewhere in the house listening to every minor movement with bated breath.
He’s not rushing to find me.
No, he’s hunting me.
“Brielle…” His voice floats down the hall in a sing-song tone, with that unmistakable purr of danger that makes my thighs clench involuntarily. “You really think you can hide from me?”
Yes.
No.
Please don’t find me.
Please do.
He opens a door to another room, and it creaks on its hinges. His footsteps pause. I picture him scanning the shadows with that unnatural stillness of his, just before he moves in for the kill.
“Not in here,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
My heart skips at the sound of something crashing to the floor—probably something he knocked over on purpose, because he knows what that noise does to me with how on-edge I am. It startles a gasp out of me, but I bite it back.
He’s toying with me.
I listen as his footsteps recede into the kitchen, then grow louder as he gets closer.
My body is thrumming, alive with tension and anticipation that makes it hard to stay still. It’s the thrill of the hunt, and I’m his helpless prey.
The floor creaks with the sound of his footsteps, louder now than before.
Closer.
