Page 103 of Tempest

Ardyn

I’m notadept at eluding capture. I don’t know these woods at all, and even if I did, what would I do once I broke through the trees and landed back on campus?

Go to security? Alert the chancellor of the senseless, violent murders occurring under his nose?

I’m also not entirely stupid. The chancellor might be well aware of the viciousness going on, and all I’ll do is alert him of my unwelcome knowledge.

All I can think to do now is escape Tempest’s clutches. Dry, brittle branches whack me in the face, and upturned roots trip me up more than once, the twisted path in front of me curtained by internal visions of Tempest ordering Rio to shoot that woman. Of the man lying at their feet, gored and vacant, his soul departing his body through Tempest’s hands.

Tempest did this.

The boy I crushed on, my best friend’s older brother, who was so dismissive of our antics it was almost cool to watch, his air of mystery and aloofness, even among his three closest friends. The four of them, Chase, James, Rio, and himself, heads always close together, brows constantly pinched in thought, the grim lines of their lips too mature for my eyes and their age…

How long has he been doing this?

Since high school? Before it?

As another branch scrapes along my cheek, claiming pieces of my skin, I realize his length of experience doesn’t matter. He’s coming for me either way.

At first, I heard him plow through the forest like a construction roller, seemingly three steps behind me and close to pouncing. Then … it stopped.

The only noise coming from this forest are from me, slipping on wet leaves and ricocheting off tree trunks, causing birds to shoot from their chosen places of slumber, their wings flapping angrily into the air.

Veering to the left, I fall into a crawl, weaving my way blindly through ancient oaks and skyscraper evergreens, aiming for a place to hide. If I’m to make it until morning, I have to be as silent as him.

The thought of Tempest killing me, of him using that same gun on me that Rio did to that poor lady, oh my God. Oh my God.

My heart lurches into my throat, bile surging behind its flight. My ears burn with acid, my tongue becoming raw with it. I’m so scared that my insides are liquid.

I haven’t been this frightened since I was taken, and even then, I didn’t have the sense of betrayal that I do now.

Tempest was inside me. He made me trust the pain and taught me how to embrace and mold it into pleasure, to take control back. He’s the only one who chased away my nightmares after years of torment.

How could he? How has he been able to hide the killer inside him so well?

Cowering against a large, overgrown root, I attempt to make myself as small as possible, covering my mouth to stifle the sound of my panicked breaths.

Tempest is somewhere close by. He won’t give up so easily. I’ll wait him out if I have to.

And I have to.

More time goes by. The forest quiets with the slowing beats of my heart, the birds coming back to rest and nocturnal predators pausing in their hunt for prey.

I scrunch my eyes shut, urging the woods to tell me where Tempest crouches, so I can run first.

Is this how Sarah Anderton felt when she tried to escape her fate? Did she drag her daughter along with her or hold her close while the pick-axes fell upon her head? The daughter’s age was never written down. In my head, she’s ten years old, cowering against her mother’s chest, crying for help.

She was a killer, too. Sarah molded her daughter in her murderous image. Why my mind conjures these women while I’m hiding from Tempest is a puzzle for another time because now I need to figure out a way to survive, make it to the dorms, and warn Clover.

Unless Clover is well aware.

Conspiracies shoot through my head like a swarm of wasps. Reality and paranoia are interchangeable at this point. But I know what I saw. It was real. Tempest snapping a garrote between his hands, the strangling of that man, the shooting of that woman, man and wife dying together and under the direct torture of Tempest, Rio, and Professor Morgan.

Except, the ghost I thought I saw behind Clover takes Tempest’s place. Transparent claws, shimmering through shadow with the rainbow colors of the darkest onyx, reach for the man’s throat and swipe at him until his skin splits open.

“Boo.”

The whisper caresses my ear like a soft summer wind. I spear out of my huddle, choking on a shriek.

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