Page 38 of Raise Hell

Which is why Olivia needs me, even if she never knows it.

No one else is interested in justice, in burning out the evil infesting this place.

I owe her that much.

My footsteps echo off the stones as I walk. A cool breeze picks up, sending a shiver along my skin. Fallen leaves swirl along the cobblestones. I hear the rustling of the trees, but little else.

It’s too quiet.

Is that footsteps that I hear behind me, or is it only my imagination?

Turning to look is pointless — the darkness is too penetrating. Unless someone stood close enough to be under the same light, I wouldn’t see them. I speed up, varying the lengths of my steps so the cadence is uneven. That way I’ll hear it if someone is trying to match my steps. My ears strain for any noise aside from the whisper of wind through the trees and the clack of my heels on the stones. Even though I don’t hear anything strange, every hair on my body is standing on end.

Someone is definitely following me.

You don’t spend as much time surviving on your own as I have and not develop a keen sense of impending danger. Women naturally have keener fight-or-flight instincts than men, if just out of necessity, but too many of us train ourselves to pretend it’s all in our heads. When your body is primed to fight or flee, your heart is racing and you feel scared without an obvious reason, don’t wait for your mind to catch up to what the rest of you has already figured out.

Just run.

I break into a light jog, wishing I’d worn something more sensible than heeled boots. Despite my desire to maintain a devil-care-may care attitude, I’ll just have to deal with it if someone sees me running from nothing.

That’s better than being caught by whatever is hiding out here in the dark.

The dorm building is just a few hundred yards away. I can make it there in under two minutes if I don’t stop to work out the painful cramp in my side.

I round the corner as the path curves around the chapel and come to a skidding stop, almost falling when the soles of my boots slide across smooth cobblestones.

A robed figure stands directly under the next street lamp, right in the center of a circle of light, as if they want me to see them.

He — and let’s be honest, it has to be a he — wears a heavy mask that looks like it could be made of porcelain, only sturdier. An etched skull grins maniacally at me with twisted horns protruding from the top that look sharp enough to pierce my heart.

I tell myself it’s just a boy in a mask, even as my eyes insist a demon is after me.

For a split second, he doesn’t move, and neither do I. Even though it’s too dark to see the eyes shining from behind the mask, I know he’s watching me.

Waiting.

So I do the only smart thing a girl can do in a situation like this.

Run like hell.

I turn so fast on the toe of my boots that I almost fall, but it only takes a few stumbling steps before I’m moving forward. It doesn’t matter that I’m going in the opposite direction of safety, because I’m not going through a masked madman to get to into the dorm building.

Options run through my head, just if the psycho decides to follow me. That mask is scary, but it will obscure his peripheral vision. I might be able to catch his kneecap with my heel if I approach from the side.

There are decorative rocks scattered along the path. A few of them are large enough to make a useful weapon.

Regardless of what happens, I’m not going down without a fight.

I risk a glance behind me, even though I won’t see him following me with this crappy lighting, still running full out. By the time I turn back, it’s too late to stop my forward momentum as someone appears in the path ahead of me.

My face slams hard against a solid chest, sending me reeling backward and almost knocking me off my feet. Hands come up to my arms. But instead of catching me, they push me away so I completely lose my balance and land hard on my ass.

Gravel digs painfully into the palms of my hands, and I’m momentarily too dazed to push myself to my feet. A slim pair of legs fills my vision, making me wince when they take a step closer. My gaze slides up the expensive pair of jeans and the broad chest that is protected from the crisp fall air only by a tight t-shirt.

But it isn’t the skull mask that I see when my gaze finally reaches his face, though I truly wish it were.

Drake Van Koch stares down at me with an expression so ugly it might as well be a mask. Only half of his face is lit by the lamp overhead. The play of shadows across his skin gives him an eerie vibe that immediately makes me recoil.

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