Page 111 of Haunted Spurs

"Hey..."

Ron's whisper caresses my ear. He leans toward me, ignoring the commotion of the others who are starting to head toward the cellar stairs, muttering complaints.

I turn slightly, looking up. His blue eyes are narrowed into two shining slits, that lopsided smirk dancing on his lips, dangerous and promising.

"Make sure you don't take advantage of me in the dark, Queen of Darkness," he murmurs, his hot breath brushing the skin of my neck. "We're in a confined space. If you start grinding against me... I don't think I can vouch for my self-control."

My knees threaten to buckle. I shoot him a glare loaded with challenge, even though my heart is beating a frantic rhythm.

"Just focus on finding the padlocks, Willers," I hiss, turning my back to him to head for the door. "Or that coffin is going to become your permanent residence."

I hear his low chuckle trailing me like a shadow as we head down into the basement.

33

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Ron

Fuck.

The dull, metallic clack of the padlock snapping shut, sealing us in from the outside, echoes in my skull and it is the only thing I can think about.

Up until ten seconds ago, the idea of being locked inside a solid wooden coffin, with Selene Dusk's body crushed against mine, sounded like the pinnacle of heaven. The prelude to a delicious torture.

But now that the light is completely gone... something breaks.

It starts in my chest.

A pang. Thin, cold. As if someone just wrapped a steel band around my ribs and is starting to squeeze.

I try to take a breath, to fill my lungs and maybe crack a joke to lighten the mood, but the air is gone. The air in this box is suddenly stale, thick, solid. It smells like old pine, dust, and damp earth. It smells trapped.

I swallow. My throat is dry as sandpaper.

It's just a game, Ron, I tell myself mentally, trying to summon my optimism. A stupid wooden box in a cellar.

But my body isn't listening. My brain is screaming.

What the fuck is happening?

I feel the rough wood against my shoulders, the back of my head, my calves. The walls of the crate seem to be moving. They are shrinking. They are collapsing in on me, a millimeter at a time. I have no room to move my arms, which are pinned to my sides.

My heart starts hammering against my sternum. It's a frantic, crazy rhythm. A drum beating out of control.

A cold, stinging sweat breaks out on my forehead and the back of my neck. The muscles in my legs twitch involuntarily.

I don't understand what the fuck is happening to me. I'm not afraid of anything. I've faced down bucking broncos, lived on the streets, broken bones, been completely alone in the world. I am big, I am tall, I am strong. But now... now I feel like I'm about to die. Like I'm being buried alive.

I open my mouth in the dark, desperately gasping for oxygen, but all that comes out is a harsh wheeze, a strangled sound that doesn't even seem to come from me. My hands shoot upward, driven by a blind instinct for survival, slamming against the wooden side panels. I want to push. I want to smash it all to pieces. I need to get out. I have to get out.

"Ron?"

Selene's voice is a breath away from my face. Up until this moment, I hadn't even realized our chests were pressed flush against each other.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

I feel her hands, hesitant at first, flatten against my chest. Through my t-shirt, she has to feel my heart trying to bust through my ribcage.