Page 18 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

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The moment I tore myself away from Atley’s grasp, the cemetery seemed to hold its breath. My pulse hammered in my ears, and a wicked grin spread across my lips as I pushed him away and bolted into the darkness, my laughter echoing off the gravestones. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, the thrill of the chase sending adrenaline surging through my veins.

Atley’s voice, low and amused, called after me. “You think you can outrun me, little saint? Outrun us?”

But I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The thrill of being hunted was all I cared about now. My heart pounded in time with my footsteps as I darted between the ancient tombstones, the ground uneven beneath my bare feet. I could feel Atley’s presence behind me, always just out of reach, his laughter dark and promising.

I may never have been here physically, but I knew these grounds well. I had explored every inch of the topographical maps of West Windsor and its surrounding estate over the years, had mapped it out in my mind as a sanctuary from the outside world. Tonight, I had a particular destination in mind.

The entrance to the catacombs was hidden, obscured by overgrown ivy and shadowed by a crumbling mausoleum. Having never been here in person, I nearly missed it.

Slipping through the narrow gap between the stones, I entered the catacombs. The air was immediately cooler and thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. The darkness was almost complete, save for the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi and moss that clung to the walls, casting an eerie, greenish light. The narrow passageways twisted and turned, a labyrinth beneath the cemetery where the dead had long been forgotten.

I moved quickly, the walls close enough to brush my bare shoulders as I descended deeper underground. The sounds of the world above faded until there was only the echo of my footsteps, the rhythmic pounding of my heart, and the faint whisper of the wind as it snaked through the tunnels.

But I wasn’t alone.

I paused, my breath catching in my throat as I sensed another presence in the darkness. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a shiver ran down my spine.

I knew who it was before I saw him, the shadows parting just enough to reveal Camber Ashford standing silently in the darkness, his expression unreadable beneath the cage of his Hannibal Lecter mask.

He was tall, his presence commanding even in the oppressive gloom of the catacombs. His eyes, cold and assessing, seemed to pierce through the darkness, locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

“Running from one wolf only to stumble into the den of another?” Camber’s voice was low, almost a growl, the sound reverberating off the stone walls around us. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. “You must enjoy dancing with danger, little doll.”

My heart racing, a thrill of fear and excitement pulsed in my chest. Camber was different from Atley. Where Atley was playful, Camber was cold and calculating. He didn’t suffer fools lightly, and he certainly didn’t indulge in games unless they were on his terms. And yet, I couldn’t help but want to push him the same way I pushed Atley, just to see how far I could go before he snapped.

“I wanted to see if you’d find me,” I replied, voice steady despite the wild beating of my heart. I took a step back, leaning casually against the rough stone wall like it wasn’t freezing against my nude body, eyes never leaving his. “I wanted to see if you’d play.”

Camber’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, though it never reached his eyes. “Play? Is that what you think this is?” He was close now, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the faint scent of smoke and leather that clung to him.

I tilted my chin up defiantly, refusing to let him see the nerves that fluttered in my stomach. “What else would you call it?”

In an instant, Camber’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat with a precision that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He didn’t squeeze, but the threat was there, hanging in the air, palpable and dangerous.

“This isn’t a game, Priestly,” he murmured, his voice low and deadly serious. “Not with me.”

My breath caught in my throat, pulse pounding against his grip. I could feel the strength in his hand, the way he held me so effortlessly, and it sent a thrill coursing through my veins. But there was something else there too—a dark, dangerous arousal that made me want to push him further.

I leaned into his grip, letting his palm push against my throat, eyes locked on his, challenging him. “Then what is it, Camber? What am I to you?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on mine, his grip firm but controlled. Then, slowly, he released me, his hand trailing down my neck, fingers brushing against my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

“You’re a fool,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp, “to tempt me like this.”

My breath came in shallow gasps, my heart hammering in my chest as gooseflesh pimpled my skin, but I didn’t look away, didn’t back down. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

Camber’s eyes darkened, the faint smile vanishing from his lips. He stepped closer, his body pressing against mine, trapping me against the cold stone wall. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Priestly.”

“Then show me,” I whispered, voice barely audible and pulse racing. I could feel his breath on my skin, could see the way his jaw tensed as he held himself back. “Show me what happens when I push you too far.”

For a moment, the air between us was thick with tension, so heavy that it was nearly suffocating. The catacombs seemed to close in around us as we stood there, locked in a battle of wills.

Then, without warning, Camber was lifting his mask, and his lips were on mine, hard and demanding, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he pulled me into the kiss. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tender—this was possession, pure and simple, a claim that left no room for doubt. I moaned for him immediately.

My hands came up, gripping his shirt as I kissed him back with equal fervor, my body arching into his. The rough stone wall dug into my back, but I didn’t care—all I could focus on was the feel of him, the way he consumed me completely, leaving no room for anything else.

His hands were everywhere, roaming my body with a possessiveness that made my pulse quicken. His touch was firm, controlled, and yet, there was a wildness to it, a barely restrained hunger that set my skin on fire.

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