"She'll do," Peter says after a moment.
"She's worthy," Paul agrees. "If she can be controlled."
Lionel just nods.
"Then leave us."
They file out, and we're alone.
Cassius approaches, tilting my chin up with one finger.
"You passed. They approve."
"So I can stay?"
"We'll see how tonight goes." He pulls me to my feet, and I sway slightly, still recovering. "I have something special planned. A fantasy of yours I'm going to fulfill."
He leads me through Purgatory, but not to Hell. Instead, we go further into Hell, into a part I've never seen.
It's dark and abandoned-looking, with multiple rooms and corridors.
Construction equipment is pushed against walls; plastic sheeting is tossed about; the smell of dust and disuse lingers.
"This area is being renovated," he explains. "But not until next month. Tonight, it's our hunting ground."
Hunting ground.
My pulse quickens.
"I'm going to hunt you," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes me clench. "You get five minutes to run, to hide. When I catch you—and I will catch you—I'm going to take you. Hard. Wherever I find you. You can fight, you can run, you can hide. But you can't escape."
This is it.
The fantasy I've had since that night.
Being hunted by the masked figure from my nightmares, caught, claimed.
Of course, I know fantasy and reality are two different things.
"If you make it thirty minutes without being caught, you win."
"What do I win?"
"A fourth night."
My heart races. "And if I lose?"
"Then tonight ends when I say it does." He checks his watch. "Your five minutes start now. Run."
I run.
Barefoot, naked except for the collar, I sprint down the dark corridor.
My heart pounds as I try doors—most are locked.
I find an open one, slip inside.
It's an old office, desk still there, chairs overturned.
