He eyes me suspiciously, then crosses the room to a basket tucked into the far corner of the space. He pulls out a few more pillars, lights them using the existing flames, and places them on the table beside the others.
I have no choice but to step up beside him and look at the art. Immediately, it begins to shift. I try hard to steady myself. To force my mind to anger, or calm, or anything but fear.
My heart is pounding so hard, I feel faint. He can probably see my heartbeat pulsing in my neck. It’s probably making him hungry.
Bleeding woods!I need to calm down and get him to go away. I need a head start. In any other circumstances, I might try to play along for the night and sneak out next time he steps away for some official business. But I’m too jumpy and agitated, and he will know that something is off if I can’t get rid of him.
For years, I’ve trained myself to appear okay in impossible circumstances, but every bit of that training fails me now. I cannot master myself standing next to a man who wants to drink me dry.
“Harlow.”
He knows. I can tell from the overly calm way that he says my name. I don’t know how he’s figured it out until I glance up at the painting again. The frame in front of us has shifted into something that looks like a set of vicious teeth.
I finally meet his eyes.
“You know.”
He lunges for me, but I duck and swipe the blade from my boot. All I have is speed and the element of surprise.
When he comes at me again, it’s the reflex of a lifetime of training with Gaven that helps me deflect his attempt to grab my arm. I plunge my blade between his ribs.
There’s a reason I don’t kill this way. The sickening feeling of my metal sliding through his flesh, of my hand pulling it free as blood pours from the wound—that feeling makes my stomach lurch, but I do it again for good measure.
Then, I turn and run. The last sound I hear before I slip out of the gallery is the sound of Henry’s body hitting the floor.
49
HARLOW
Iclose the last few feet of open space before the woods behind Havenwood House at a full sprint. I wait to hear footsteps pursuing me or alarm bells—anything that might alert people to my escape—but there’s nothing but the scratch of branches overhead.
Moonlight casts creeping shadows on the ground, but I’m running so fast I barely have time to register them.
Low branches tear at my hair as I sprint through the forest, feet pounding, dirt flying up behind me in clumps.
The thing about surviving the inevitable horrors is knowing you’ll be there at the end with all the worst monsters who have done whatever it takes to endure.
I can’t believe it was just a few nights ago that Henry lay beside me on the bathroom floor and stroked my back while I cried and writhed in pain. I can’t believe I knew he was a grifter when I met him but I let my guard down anyway. I can’t believe I’m still dumb enough to trust a man.
I used to think I was justice, but now I’m afraid I’m just the soft touch born of many brutal beatings. Henry was so gentle. Some stupid, indestructible part of me wanted to believe that was the real him.
He made me remember what it is to want. He summoned this forgotten longing to press my chest against someone else’s and whisper, “Love me”—as if one command from my lips could summon enough devotion to fill my hollow ribs.
This mistake is an echo of every failed attempt at intimacy—of being so knife-edged that no lover could touch my heart without coming away bloody. I remember how badly I wanted a love I could feel. And then I learned not to want that because pain is a feeling, too.
Thank Divine Harvain I’m getting out now. If ever there was a time for good fortune, this is it.
My body is alive and energized from the run, but a squeal in the trees to my left draws me up short.
Bleeding woods!It’s hunt night.
In my rush to flee, I forgot. I’m in the hunt territory and wearing this stupid white dress, which means I’m fair game for anyone looking for prey.
Henry’s warning about Stefan echoes through my mind. Is Stefan also out here, hunting for blood?
I bite back a hysterical laugh as I spin, trying to get my bearings. There’s no simple way back to Lunameade. I have to go for speed, and if all else fails, I have my dagger still clenched in my fist.
My body springs into action, legs churning to propel me toward the mountain wall. I wish I weren’t wearing this flimsy dress that keeps tangling in my legs and snagging on thorns and branches.
