Shit.
I knew this drop by heart. The ravine. It was shallow but dangerous. I’d marked the surrounding trees. Avoided it hundreds of times.
But tonight, I letherget under my skin.
The last thing I saw was the jagged edge of a stone slicing up through the fog as my head slammed into it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ariana
I couldn’t sleep.
The blankets were too warm. The silence too loud. The bed too big.
I rolled onto my side, then my back, then my side again, the mattress groaning with every restless shift. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on something other than the man downstairs. But I couldn’t.
Tonight was the first time I’d seen him since the library incident, as I’d been referring to it in my head, like it was some chapter from a gothic novel.
I knew he’d been avoiding me. I’d heard him move throughout the house when he thought I was already asleep. Quiet footsteps in the kitchen after I’d crawled into bed. The faint click of cabinet doors opening and closing. The familiar sound of ice against glass as he poured himself a drink.
This unnerving avoidance was why I decided to leave him some leftovers tonight. I didn’t know if he even liked pesto, but it wasn’t about the food. It was a peace offering.
Of course, it didn’t go as I’d planned. It never did with Henry.
Why did I care so much? Why was I so desperate to ease the tension that pulsed through the walls of the cabin?
Maybe if I knew why I was here, what he wanted, I could figure out how to move through the days without the constant needling ache of uncertainty.
Wouldn’t be so curious about who Henry Fontaine truly was.
But he was still a giant mystery I’d yet to solve. Just when I thought I was getting somewhere with him, those walls slammed down again.
Like tonight.
Maybe if he treated me like the prisoner he claimed I was, it would make things simpler. But he didn’t. Not really. He treated me like a guest. A deeply unwanted one most of the time, but a guest all the same.
Why? Why abduct me, then feed me, clothe me, take care of me? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about him did.
A scratching sound yanked me out of my thoughts. I stiffened and held my breath, my eyes darting around the room. It was probably just a tree branch scraping against a window pane.
I pulled the duvet tighter and closed my eyes, trying to quiet my mind long enough for sleep to find me.
Then I heard the sound again. Louder this time. More purposeful.
I threw the covers back and padded across the room, opening the door. The house was dark, shadows curling at the corners like ghosts. I crept down the stairs, every board groaning under my weight, and scanned the living room. The sound came again, sharper now, followed by a soft, familiar whine.
Cato.
I rushed to the front door and pulled it open.
Cato stood on the porch, his dark fur slick with freezing rain. His tail didn’t wag. His ears were pinned flat. He looked distressed.
“What are you doing out there?” I whispered. “Come inside.”
But he didn’t move.
Instead, he gave a short, urgent bark before trotting down the steps, pausing at the edge of the woods to look back.
