Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Run.”
Her wide eyed stare turned to Ash, but there was no sign of teasing in his eyes. Only raw hunger.
She backed into the door, her hand fumbling behind her back for the brass knob.
“Tick-tock, Lisichka. That’s the sound of time running out.” Hunter’s smile was all teeth, all threat, all promise. “Because when I catch you—and I will catch you—I’m going to fuck that pretty little ass until you scream my name loud enough that even the servants will hear.”
Heat flooded her face, her chest, between her legs—everywhere at once. Her mouth went dry while other parts of her grew wet with twisted curiosity. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He tilted his head, studying her like a wolf studies a rabbit, calculating which way she’ll bolt, how fast she’ll run, exactly how she’ll taste when he tears into her soft flesh. “Clock’s started.”
Frozen between arousal and disbelief, between the urge to run and the equally strong urge to surrender right here, she couldn’t move.
“Twenty-nine.”
“Hunter, this is insane—”
“Twenty-eight.”
Ash stood, moving to block the other exit with his considerable frame. “You’ll want to get moving, printsessa. Unless you’re trying to make this easy for him.”
“Twenty-four.”
Marigold’s survival instincts finally detonated. She bolted, her bare feet slapping against cold marble, the sound echoing through the corridors as loud as her panicked heartbeats.
Blood roared in her ears, drowning out everything except Hunter’s distant voice—steady, relentless, counting down her freedom like an executioner marking time until the blade falls.
“Nineteen.”
She’d barely started running and already her breath came in ragged gasps, harsh pants that tasted of fear-sweat and adrenaline, burning her lungs. Her hand caught the banister as she made a sharp turn down the east corridor. She could no longer hear Hunter’s voice, which should have comforted her, but it only made her situation more terrifying.
She’d been living at the lodge for over a month, but she still didn’t know all the hidden passageways. He could be anywhere. And, he had steady access to every motion sensor camera on the premises.
Her gaze darted to the small bear head on the wall as she panted. Stepping back, hand on her racing heart, she turned and continued to run.
This was crazy. This was dangerous. This was, God help her, exhilarating.
She’d been hunted before. By orderlies at Whitmore, their meaty hands grabbing at her hospital gown. By her family’s security, cold professionals with dead eyes. By the cold itself on her journey here, death’s icy fingers reaching for her throat. But this was different. This wasn’t escape. It was play. Dark, twisted, primal play that made every nerve ending in her body sing with anticipation, every cell vibrate with the certainty that being caught might be better than getting away.
A slow whistle carried from the west corridor and she stilled. That taunting melody triggered fear in her as much as a speeding bullet might, and she doubled her speed.
“Little fox…” His voice carried through the corridors like smoke, curling around corners, finding her even as she fled. She realized with a thrill of terror that he wasn’t even chasing her yet. He was giving her time, letting the anticipation build. Like a lion with a playful mouse under its shadow, he let her believe she was free, but he already had her in his sights and she was as good as done. Any second now, he’d have her under his paw.
She rushed down a darkened hall as he strolled after her. The madness he triggered with his slow pace only emphasized his confident hunger. Like the men coming in the spring, he was set on a feast and she was to be the meal.
She flew through the great hall, her feet barely touching ground. Past the enormous fireplace where she’d nearly died that first night. The memory felt like a lifetime ago, belonged to a different girl entirely. That girl who’d stumbled in from the cold had been determined to escape. Hunted and scared at the time, she never would have believed she’d one day be running through these halls because she wanted to be caught. Voluntarily choosing to get hunted again.
Though, she hadn’t volunteered for this.
Another slow, taunting whistle echoed through the cavernous halls. “Marigold…I can smell your perfume in the halls.”
She dove into the shadows of an alcove, heart pounding as she caught her breath.
“I can smell your sweat.” The lanterns turned on, exposing her hiding spot. “Your fear.”
She bolted from the shadows, rushing away from his approaching voice and into the next dark hall.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a rabbit’s—rapid, frantic, impossibly fast. She could feel it in her throat, her wrists, behind her eyes. Every pulse point in her body throbbed with awareness, with fear that tasted like copper and felt like lightning.
The east wing opened before her, offering a maze of possibilities that suddenly felt like too many choices, like being lost in a forest with a grizzly on her trail. The wine cellar? No, too obvious and no escape routes. She’d be cornered, trapped, easy prey. The billiard room? Too open, nowhere to hide, she’d be spotted immediately.