Page 55

His eyes lift to mine. Dark and furious. Drowning in a winter forest greenery that holds me captivated.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I tell him quietly. Honestly. His breath stutters again. The panic is still clawing through him, but now there’s something else underneath it.

“It’s a shame,” I continue, lowering my face closer to his, our noses nearly brushing, “that I won’t get to see you like this for long.”

The words slide between us like a blade, and I search his eyes for fear, perhaps for pleading. For collapse.

There’s nothing. There is no surrender. Just calculation struggling against a body that won’t cooperate.

“How am I supposed to play with you,” I murmur, voice dropping lower, “if you can barely stand?”

His jaw tightens in my grip at that as defiance floods his irises. The chase won’t be satisfying if he falls apart before it starts. That would be wasteful.

I frown faintly before loosening my hold on his jaw, just enough to shift the dynamic. My thumb drags once along the edge of his cheek before I let my hand drop slightly to his throat, just resting it there.

“Breathe,” I tell him. It’s a clear instruction. “In through your nose. Slow.”

His chest jerks again, disobedient.

I lean closer.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Adrian,” I state coyly, and it works.

He inhales sharply through his nose this time. Too fast, but it’s controlled. His pulse is still racing under my fingers, but the tremor in his wrists lessens slightly.

“You’re doing well,” I murmur, watching the rhythm of his chest even out by degrees. “Just a few more.”

His eyes never leave mine as he, surprisingly, lets me guide him. Most people look away when they’re regaining control. They need space to reassemble themselves. Adrian, on the other hand, rebuilds while staring straight at the threat. Fascinating.

“In,” I say quietly. “Slow.”

He obeys, and after a few more breaths, I feel the tremor in his wrists fade. Then the shake in his shoulders. The pulse at his throat is still elevated, but it’s no longer erratic. It’s stabilizing.

I release his wrists and his arms drop to his sides, and I watch the exact moment the panic dissolves into anger.

“Good boy,” I say softly, and his jaw tightens.

I don’t step back. Instead, I let the space between us remain intimate and charged, almost suffocating. Then I shift, just enough to bring my mouth near his ear.

“You have ten seconds,” I whisper. “Now run.”

I pull my face away and watch the life flood back into his face.

“Ten.”

He moves before I hit nine. Both palms slam flat against my chest. He drives through his hips and shoves hard enough that I take a full step back. There’s no panic in his eyes now. Just an undeniable focus. Then he bolts.

The door flies open and crashes against the wall. Sound bleeds in from the hallway as the noise of the haunted house fills back into the charged space.

“Eight,” I call after him. I roll my shoulders once, straighten my posture, and watch the door sway on its hinges.

“Seven.”

I stoop and pick up the ram skull mask from the floor where I'd dropped it earlier and slide it back over my face.

“Six,” I mouth, stepping into the doorway as I place both hands on the top frame, watching the corridor beyond.

“Five.”