Page 12 of Hollow
Across the room, I catch sight of Briar again. She’s looking our way, her expression curious. Concerned, maybe. At the same time, I notice Liam Bastian watching her from the hallway that leads to the library. Something in his stance makes my skin crawl, predatory, calculating. Like he’s already picturing her in white, running through the maze, waiting for his whistle in the dark.
Jesus, this is all too much. I fucking hate parties. Hate people. Hate all of this.
“I need to check the grounds,” I say, turning away from Flint.
“Running away again? Typical.” His laughfollows me. “Tell you what, I’ll keep an eye on your girl while you’re gone. Make sure Liam doesn’t get any ideas about starting Hunt season early.”
I pause, looking back at him.
He gestures toward the door. “Go brood in your garden or whatever you need to do.”
The party feels claustrophobic, too many bodies, too much noise. I slip through the crowd, ignoring the few people who try to stop me for conversation. Outside, the fog has grown even thicker, muffling the sounds from the house. The terrace lights create hazy halos in the mist.
I breathe deeply, letting the damp air clear my head. This thing with Flint, it’s like a disease. Has been for years. We crash into each other, tear each other apart, then walk away until we inevitably collide again.
Never healing. Never changing.
The maze calls to me, a perfect symbol of my life. Complicated. Designed to confuse. Only navigable if you know the secret paths, the real ways through. The Waters maze has been a favorite hunting ground for generations. I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve seen fleeing through its hedges during The Hunt, their white nightgowns glowing in the darkness, their pursuers’ whistles echoing off stone.
I follow the gravel path, the noise from the party fading with each step. The high hedges part before me, welcoming me into their shadowed embrace. Even in near-darkness, I know every turn, everyjunction. This place feels more like home than the greenhouse ever has.
At the first intersection, I pause. The mist swirls around my ankles, clinging to the fabric of my jeans. Somewhere nearby, an owl calls, once, twice, then silence. Waiting for an answer that never comes. The sound reminds me too much of The Hunt’s whistle pattern. Maybe that’s why it puts me on edge.
I should check the center, make sure everything is secure for tomorrow’s work. This section needs trimming before the fog causes too much moisture damage. These are the excuses I give myself, but the truth is simpler: I needed to get away from Flint before I did something stupid.
Again.
“You always did love this fucking maze.”
His voice comes from behind me, startling in the stillness. I don’t turn around.
“Go back to the party, Flint.”
“And leave you out here sulking? What kind of friend would that make me?”
“We’re not friends.” The words come out automatically, a script we’ve been following for years.
He moves closer. I can feel his presence, the heat of him in the cold mist. “No, we’re not.”
Chapter 5
Damiano
I turn to face him. The fog has dampened his hair, making the white streak more pronounced against the black. His eyes reflect the distant lights from the house, giving them this eerie glow that pisses me off even more.
“What do you want?” I ask, like I don’t already fucking know.
“Same thing I always want.” He steps closer, dropping his gaze to my mouth before raising it again. “Same thing you always want.”
“I told you last night?—”
“That it was the last time. Yeah.” He laughs, harsh and empty. “You’ve been saying that for what, three years now? Three fucking years of ‘never again’ bullshit. And yet here we are.”
“I’m serious this time.”
“Sure you are.” Another step forward eliminates the space between us. “Especially now you’ve gotyour shiny new project. Poor little rich girl who needs your magic garden fixes.”
I snap, grab the front of his shirt, and slam him back a step. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
