Page 54 of Hellebore

Red floods my vision.

I slam into him with every ounce of pent-up violence. The impact is sickening, I feel his ribs crack under my shoulder like dry branches. He flies backward and crashes into the ground. I’m on him instantly, fists raining down in a brutal storm. Blood sprays hot across my gloves and face with every punch. He grunts something wet and broken, but all I see is red. All I feel is rage.

“Mine!” I snarl between blows, voice barely human. “You touched what belongs to me!”

I only stop when I hear a soft, broken whimper behind me.

I turn.

Briar is frozen against the wall, eyes wide and empty, tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks. She’s looking at me but she’s not really seeing me. She’s somewhere far away, trapped in whatever nightmare this triggered.

“Go home. Now, Briar!” I growl, stepping closer.

She doesn’t move. More tears fall, but her body stays locked in place.

I close the distance and grab her shoulders, shaking her firmly. “I need you to move!” I snarl, giving her a harder shake. “Run. Don’t stop!”

She finally blinks. A raw, painful cry tears from her throat. She shoves me off with surprising strength and runs, boots slapping against the wet pavement until the fog swallows her whole.

I watch her disappear to make sure no one follows, then turn back to the bloody pulp on the ground. His face is a ruined mess but he’s still breathing, barely.

I rifle through his pockets and find his phone. A text is open on the screen:

“Do you have her?”

I memorize the number, then haul his limp body over my shoulder and carry him to the car. I shove him into the trunk with a heavy thud.

“I hope you die in there,” I mutter, slamming it shut.

If he survives the drive to Hellebore, I will enjoy making his death last for days.

I toss the bloody gloves into a bag, clean my hands, and drive the short distance to her apartment. Her lights are off.

I walk upstairs, unlock her door with my key, and step inside.

She’s standing in the middle of the living room, knife pressed to her own stomach, eyes wild with terror.

The sight nearly undoes me.

I try to stay calm, but the second she lies to my face, telling me she has no idea who’s after her, the last thread of my restraint snaps.

I move fast. The cloth soaked in the sweet floral sedative presses over her mouth and nose before she can scream. She struggles for only a few seconds before going limp in my arms.

I catch her gently, cradling her unconscious body against my chest. She looks so beautiful—serene, unharmed, completely mine.

I quickly pack a bag with her clothes, carry it downstairs to the car, then return for her. I lift her carefully and hold her close as I lock the door behind us.

“Let’s go home,” I murmur against her hair, carrying her into the night.

Hellebore is waiting.

I place her carefully in the passenger seat, buckle the seatbelt across her chest, and gently tilt her head to rest against the side. She looks peaceful.

I start the car and drive slowly out of town, the engine a low, predatory purr beneath us. The night swallows the road ahead, fog curling like smoke through the trees.

Excitement coils dark and hot in my chest. She’s mine now. Truly mine. The only way she will ever leave me is if I’m dead and buried six feet under the hellebore garden.

Now to deal with another problem.