Page 118 of Haunted Spurs

Panic grips me instantly. A cold wave that clashes with the heat of his touch.

We are growing closer with every passing day, it's undeniable. But that... that doesn't mean it's a sure thing. And my survival instinct tells me to throw up my shield right now, before he can hurt me, before he feels trapped with me.

"Y-yeah... well..." I stammer, clearing my throat and straightening my back to pull away by a millimeter. "Obviously, outside of here, the rules of our agreement apply. We... we don't have to keep doing what we're doing just because I'm staying in town. If you get tired of this when the reality show ends, or... if you want to end this thing between us... you can. No drama."

Ron freezes. His gaze grows more intense.

"And what if I wanted to keep going?" he counters, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I already told you I’d give you my all to making sure you don't break this pact. What if I wanted to do it even after we leave here, Selene? What if I wanted to keep bringing you coffee every morning? What if I wanted to come running with you? Find out what your favorite dish at Duke's is?"

My heart skips a beat.

"Are you just assuming I like Duke's?"

Now he's the one rolling his eyes with an exasperated grimace. "Everyone likes Duke's."

I can't stop it. A soft, surrendered smile paints itself across my lips. I look down at my folded hands.

"I think... I might want to keep going, too," I admit, in a whisper so faint I'm afraid he didn't hear it.

He heard it, alright.

His hand doesn't just squeeze my thigh. It slides. It makes its way to my inner thigh, gripping my flesh with a sudden, territorial, shamelessly possessive hold that steals my breath and sets my core ablaze.

"I'm glad to hear it, Queen of Darkness," he murmurs against my ear.

The moment of absolute perfection is obliterated in the blink of an eye.

John Carpenter's original Halloween soundtrack blasts from the living room speakers. The eerie, hammering synthetic piano riff makes everyone jump on the couches.

The double doors of the living room swing open with a theatrical slam.

Aunt Tina makes her triumphant entrance. She's wearing a shredded black tunic that sweeps the floor, her face hidden by a dark hood, and in her hands, she's gripping a massive, fake silver plastic scythe. She's dressed as the Grim Reaper.

"What the fuck?" I hear Lucien's deep, incredulous voice comment from across the room, perfectly summarizing the collective thought.

Behind Aunt Tina's grotesque figure, two shadows emerge from the hallway.

The eerie music fades into a background hum, but the air in the living room instantly grows heavy. Carolina walks in first. She isn't smiling. She doesn't have her usual runway strut or her mischievous gaze. She is holding Indya firmly by the hand, gently pulling her under the cold glare of the spotlights.

Indya is devastated. Her face is pale, drawn, marked by two shiny tracks of freshly dried tears.

I feel Ron's hand instinctively tighten around my thigh. I lean a little closer against his shoulder.

Aunt Tina raises the fake scythe, lowering her black hood. Her face loses its sadistic, theatrical expression, replaced by an almost professional gravity.

"Citizens of Haunted Spurs," she announces, her voice echoing metallically. "The shadows have claimed another tribute. Indya is forced to leave the ranch and the game. Immediately."

A murmur of shock rises from the group. Emma claps her hands over her mouth.

Indya takes a step forward, letting go of Carolina's hand. She sniffs, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, and looks at us, one by one.

"Sorry, guys," she murmurs. Her voice cracks. "I just got a call from home. My horse, Midnight... is really sick. He has a severe case of colic. The vets don't know if... well, they don't know if he'll make it through the night."

The silence that follows is thick, respectful. Her horse is her partner, her family, her entire life.

Emma lunges forward without thinking and wraps her in a hug. Melusine, with her long brown hair flowing free, steps up and places a warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in silent female solidarity.

I pull away from Ron's heat, take two steps to close the distance, and place my hand over Indya's. Our eyes meet. I give her a small, tight, but absolutely sincere smile. I don't say anything, because I know that words are sometimes just useless noise, but she understands. she squeezes my fingers, grateful.