The word makes my throat tighten. I was never meant to be ordinary.
I am special. I was raised to be chosen.
And every lesson, every event, every introduction to powerful people in my parents’ inner circle carefully positioned me toward that future. It was possible that Damien Snow was the next step in the plan. That New York was just the beginning of all my dreams and everything my mother had worked so hard for.
But I’m not in New York.
I’m here, inside a cabin in the wilderness after being kidnapped by a vampire who repossesses cars for a living.
God help me.
I let out a sharp breath and march back into the bedroom, opening the dresser in search of something to wear. Of course, all I find are men’s clothes—flannels, T-shirts, jeans,sweatpants.
What the hell is happening right now?!
I slam the drawer shut and start pacing.
“How in the hell did I end up here?” I whisper to myself, anger vibrating from my voice. “I shouldn’t be here. I should be in New York with Damien or, at the very least, at home.”
For all I know, they’ve already given the forty-eight-hour notice, and all the other girls are heading to New York for the Choosing Ceremony too.
Tears prick my eyes, and I swallow hard against the knot in my throat. I will not cry. I will not freaking cry. Windsor women donotcry.
“This is temporary,” I reassure myself. “It will be fixed. Daddy will find a way to fix this. He’ll find me. They’ll find me.”
I move to the door and press my ear against it, but I don’t hear any footsteps or voices or signs ofhim. My chest tightens, and my mouth turns down at the corners, and I instantly become irritated with myself.
Why do I care where he is?
Rationalizing, I keep my composure becauseWindsors keep their poise. I just need to know where the threat is. That’s all.
My gaze drifts to the wall beside the bed, and a memory creeps back in uninvited.
His mouth on mine last night.
The way my anger dissolved.
The way my fear shifted into something warmer and safer.
I press my lips together hard.That was just shock and adrenaline and trauma, Blair.
It was not—
I close my eyes briefly, and I can still feel it. The heat of his body. The steadiness of his muscles. The way my body leaned into him like it recognized something before my mind did.
“I do not want him. Ihatehim,” I whisper, but the words feel lean. And the realization unsettles me far more than the cold floors or the missing marble or the three-in-one body wash.
I shouldn’t want to see him. He kidnapped me. He killed people. He is holding me here in this cabin against my will.
And yet, this room feels emptier without him in it.
Which is the most disturbing thought of all.
Obviously, I’m delirious and tired and probably in shock still.
Soon, someone will come rescue me.
And if they don’t?
