Page 81 of Hellebore

My heart hammers violently against my ribs as I spin away and race toward the nearest window. I shove at the frame with desperate strength, but it doesn’t even rattle. Sealed shut. The back door, there was a back door in the kitchen. I try to remember the layout of this maze-like mansion while thunder cracks violently outside, the sound so loud it rattles the glass in the windows. The storm has turned the middle of the afternoon into something closer to twilight. Shadows stretch long and heavy across the dark wood paneling and stone walls.

I’m trapped in here. With him. With a man who just admitted he murdered people because of me.

Another deafening roll of thunder shakes the mansion. I flinch hard, the blood draining from my face as panic claws up my throat.

“Briar—” Drystan’s voice echoes through the halls, low and disturbingly sing-song. “My love, I told you. There is no way out.”

A broken sob escapes me. I keep running, legs burning, lungs struggling for air. Every muscle in my body aches from earlier, but I cannot stop. I will not stop. He killed them. Tom I can almost understand—that monster was going to hurt me—but Luke? Luke had done nothing. He was kind. He was safe. And Drystan had ended his life like it meant nothing.

Tears blur my vision as I finally burst into the kitchen. I sprint for the back door, hope flaring wildly in my chest for one painful second.

It is locked too.

No. Please, God, no.

“Oh, my love.”

His voice comes from the entrance of the kitchen, smooth and terrifyingly calm. I whip around. He stands there, blood slowly soaking through the side of his black shirt where I stabbed him, yet his expression is almost peaceful. A faint, terrifying smirk plays on his lips, as if this is all some dark game he is enjoying.

“You done running?” he asks.

I lunge for the counter, my hand closing around the largest knife. The steel feels cold and heavy in my grip.

“Guess not,” he murmurs, sounding almost amused.

“Let me leave, Drystan. Please.” My voice cracks, raw with terror.

“Never.” The word falls from his mouth like a death sentence. He steps forward, slow and deliberate. “But I will let you try.”

He gestures toward his own chest, right over his heart. “The only way you are leaving Hellebore is if you cut my heart out.”

The image of that bloody painting flashes through my mind—the one made with our blood—and my pulse spikes so violently I can feel it throbbing in my throat. My hand shakes around the knife.

I can’t kill him.

I can’t.

The realization crashes over me like another thunderclap. I turn and run again, bolting out of the kitchen and up the massive staircase. My legs scream in protest as I reach the top and sprint down the opposite hallway, away from the bedrooms, deeper into the shadowed heart of this gothic prison.

Behind me, I hear his unhurried footsteps.

He is coming.

I run frantically down the corridor, throwing open every door I pass, only to find each one locked or leading nowhere. My lungs burn. One door has a glowing keypad—why the hell is there a door with a code in this cursed place? I don’t stop. At the far end, a door stands half-open. I burst through it and slam it shut behind me, but there is no lock. Just an old, heavy latch that feels useless.

This is another bedroom, ancient and forgotten. Dust hangs in the air, and it smells of stale musk. Dark wood furniture looms like silent watchers. I rush to the window and shove it open with shaking hands. Cold wind and rain slap against my face. I step out onto a stone balcony just as thunder cracks overhead, illuminating the gothic carvings and the heavy rain now pouring down.

Below me, sharp bushes and a stone path wait far too many feet down. Jumping would kill me. Or shatter my legs. I would be helpless. Trapped even more.

“There you are.”

Drystan’s voice slides down my spine like ice. I whip around. He stands in the doorway, blood still dripping steadily from the wound I gave him, soaking his shirt and leaving dark trails on the stone floor. He looks completely unfazed, as if the pain means nothing to him. His eyes burn with something terrifying—fury, hunger, and absolute possession.

“No way out, my love,” he says, that awful smirk curving his lips.

I glance at the edge again. Fuck it.

I turn and lift my leg to jump, heart exploding in my chest, but Drystan is faster. His massive arm wraps around my waist like iron and yanks me back hard against his chest.