“Hello?” I called out before immediately regretting it.
Really, Blair?
You’ve seen every scary movie.
The person who says hello in the darkness is always the first to die.
My body trembled as I gave up and turned on my heel, ready to sprint back to the safety of my dorm. I had no idea how I was going to sneak back inside without Arisono catching me, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
I wasn’t staying in these woods for a second longer.
I barely made it two steps before someone snatched my arm and spun me around. A shriek ripped from my throat as my back slammed into a hard chest.
My heart rattled as I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The sound barely escaped me, and a hand clamped over my mouth. Large fingers crushed into my cheeks so tight that I felt them against my teeth. I struggled to break free, choking back air, as my feet scraped against the ground.
But it was no use.
His arm locked around my throat, holding me firm against him, and my breaths hit his palm.
I knew I’d made a mistake when cold lips brushed my ear and said, “Gotcha.”
Six
Blair
“Gotcha.”
That one word lacerated me with a thousand cuts.
Cold terror ripped through my body as the hairs along the back of my neck rose. His leather glove sealed over my mouth, trapping my air like a hostage.
My lungs burned as I struggled to breathe against his palm, my vision blurring at the edges. The trees began to smear together, melting into shapes I couldn’t make out.
This is it.
Today was the day I’d die. I was sure of it.
All because some rich assholes had decided to torture playthings like me for their twisted entertainment. I’d fallen into a disturbing, privileged world I wanted no part of.
Whatever happened to reading a book? Playing a sport? Fucking studying?
Regret poisoned me for not staying in my dorm and minding my business. I’d wandered into the dark woods alone like an idiot, knowing I’d caught the attention of the devil.
My stepfather’s voice echoed in my mind.“Your problem, Blair, is that you fly too close to danger,”he’d told me after I was expelled from my last university. He’d called me Icarus, saying he’dgiven me wings, but I refused to listen when people warned me how to use them.
He blamed it on overconfidence. I blamed it on my upbringing.
As I gasped against the hand crushing my mouth, I thought about the guy in the library again.
His warning about Enzo and his cult buddies.
About how that same murderous psychopath had turned his attention on me.
But why me?
Because I have choppable hair?
