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Suddenly, she stiffens in my arms. I open my eyes, confused, to find her staring over my shoulder, her expression transforming from desire to terror in an instant.

“Vivian? Hey, cariad... What’s going on? Did I make you uncomfortable or—” I ask, but she’s already moving, shoving me down with unexpected force.

There’s a whooshing sound, and something heavy connects with the tree trunk exactly where my head had been a second before. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs and roll over to see the masked figure standing above us, baseball bat raised for another swing.

Remind me again why I brought a fucking mask to these woods?

Pure, protective instinct takes over. I scramble to my feet, positioning myself in front of Vivian. “Go!” I shout at her. “Run to safety and call someone!”

She fumbles for her smartphone, wet but not enough to be broken, checking the screen. “No signal!” she calls back, as panic coats her voice.

“Vivian, please, go!” I insist, not taking my eyes off the masked attacker. “My car is a couple of meters from the cabin, try to go there, it should have signal. At least it had when I parked.” To my immense relief, she turns and runs, heading in the direction our pursuer came from.

As the bat swings down toward me again, I dive forward, tackling the masked figure to the forest floor. We hit the ground together, a tangle of limbs and murderous intent, and all I can think is: keep Vivian safe, give her time to escape... even if it costs me everything.

Chapter 9

Vivian

I killed a man and I...liked it?

Irun like my life depends on it, because it fucking does. Branches whip at my face, mud splatters up my legs, and my lungs burn with each desperate breath, but I don’t slow down. Behind me, the sounds of fighting—Andrew and that masked psycho—grow fainter with every step. Every instinct is screaming to go back, to help him, but his desperate “GO!” still echoes in my ears. I need to find help. I need to find a signal on my phone. I need to find a way to save him. Us.

My legs are on fire, muscles screaming in protest after what feels like hours of running—though it’s probably only minutes—but I push through it. The forest around me is a maze of darkness and moonlight, shadows playing tricks on my eyes, making me see threats in every tree. Every snap of a branch, every rustle of leaves sends a fresh jolt of adrenaline through my system.

What the fuck is my life right now?

Six hours ago, I was just a normal woman at a Halloween concert—the big, bad frontman of Dark Distortion on stage making thousands of women wet—myself included—with his voice alone. Then suddenly, I got into a fight with him, I’m knocked out with chloroform, waking up in a forest with said frontman who clumsily tried to act bad but doesn’t have a bad boy bone in him, sort of confessing to having a dark romance bucket list. Next thing I know, he’s chasing me around and we’re getting hot and heavy by a river, with him fucking my mouth and me about to come all over his tongue before we’re interrupted by something, probably the psycho in a mask. Then—and this is my favorite part—Andrew confesses he’s actually the scrawny guy from high school that I crushed on for years but then lost all contact with—not that I had much to begin with, after all; it looked like he wanted me to stay ten feet away from him every time I came close to him back then. The same Andy Owain who everyone bullied, who I helped up that one time when the jocks knocked him down, who I secretly wished would notice me.

And now we’re separated, with God knows what is happening to him as he faces off against that masked freak to protect me.

I never imagined Halloween would end like this—kidnapped, aroused, terrified, and running for my life through a Welsh forest in the middle of the night.

Is this Halloween cursed or something?

My foot catches on a root, sending me sprawling face-first into the dirt. I bite back a scream as my palms hit the forest floor again, pain shooting up my arms. For a moment, I just lie there, breathing hard, wanting nothing more than to close my eyes and wake up in my own bed with this whole nightmare over.

But I can’t. Andrew’s out there, risking his life for me. The thought of him hurt—or worse—makes my stomach twist with a fear I’ve never felt before.

“Get up,” I mutter to myself, pushing back to my feet with a groan. “Get up and find help.”

I brush dirt from my clothes and continue forward at a slower pace, trying to orient myself. The moonlight barely penetrates the thick canopy above, leaving the forest floor in near-total darkness. Every shadow looks like a person, every sound like footsteps. If I spend more time here, I’ll become paranoid.

The snap of a branch beneath my foot echoes too loudly in the silence, and I flinch, half expecting to feel a knife between my shoulder blades. Nothing comes. Just more darkness, more trees, more distance between me and Andrew.

I change direction, heading back toward where I think the cabin is. From there, I should be able to orient myself to the main road. My cross-country training kicks in, helping me regulate my breathing despite the panic clawing at my chest. In, two, three. Out, two, three, four.

My shirt—that bright orange target I wore to the concert—clings to my skin, soaked with river water, sweat, and God knows what else. It’s freaking cold, and honestly, if I weren’t running, I’d be shaking like a leaf. My jeans chafe with every step, still damp from our river crossing.

Andrew’s car has to be close by. I remember glimpses of it before everything went black—a black SUV, parked on the side of the street close to the concert venue’s lot. He’d have driven us to the cabin from there, which means if I can find the road…

My heart leaps as the trees begin to thin ahead. I break into a run again, through the punishing gravel past the cabin, bursting into a small clearing where a familiar black shape sits waiting. Andrew’s car.

“Thank fuck,” I gasp, stumbling toward it, already fumbling in my pocket for my phone. My fingers are trembling so badly I almost drop it twice before I can pull it out. The screen illuminates my face, showing... no signal.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, holding the phone up, turning in a slow circle as I search for a signal. “Just one bar...”

Nothing. The cracked display remains stubbornly empty, no matter which way I face.