Page 19 of Theirs to Chase

I run into a door, opening it as quietly as I can, and I find a ladder leading into what looks like an attic. It’s probably a stupid idea to hide in a place where I have no chance of escaping, but it’s my only choice.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I close the hatch beneath me, finally alone.

Cobwebs linger in every corner with boxes everywhere, yet neatly aligned. The air is thick with dust, and I contain the cough wanting to come and threatening to expose my cover.

I take a step deeper into the attic, regretting it instantly as the floorboards creak underneath me. I stop, waiting with bated breath for Eros to find me. When I don’t hear anything from downstairs, I venture deeper into the attic with lighter steps, almost tiptoeing, toward a window with the view stretching endlessly over a beautifully dark lake in the middle of the woods. It’s breathtaking, and I take a step closer to admire the view when I suddenly stumble into something.

“Ouch,” I whisper, glancing down to see whatever it was I hit.

A row of porcelain-looking dolls are arranged along the walls, one having fallen down and laying stretched out before the window. My eyes adjust to the gloom, but something feels off—that same uncomfortable feeling I had at the amusement park.

I move closer to the window, trying to ignore the creepy dolls, but it’s as if their eyes are following my every move—eyes frozen in a forever eternity.

I’m so fucking paranoid. All I really should do is go home and never venture into the outside world again. The cops will surely want to interrogate all of us who were there to find the murderer.

I gulp, moving the doll out of my way. The hair on the back ofmy neck stands on end with a primal warning—the doll’s skin doesn’t feel glassy like porcelain. Instead, it’s too soft, tooreal. It’s colder than the Arctic, and I stare into its glossy yet hollow eyes, too reminiscent of a human’s. Scrambling backward, fear paralyzes me along with a wave of nausea as my legs lock in place. The face before me is eerily familiar.

Elias.

A scream claws its way up my throat, bursting forth in a shrill wail that completely blows my cover. From downstairs, a menacing laugh echoes—like the one at the upside-down roller coaster—accompanied by two distinct voices.

“Fuck, she shouldn’t have gone up there.”

“She would have found out sooner or later. She’s already a part of the collection.”

I hear the creaking of the ladder, drawing closer with every second. Much to my horror, I don’t have the time to rush to the hatch and block it—it’s too far away now.

A whimper builds, but I force it back, my breathing halting as I spot Eros standing there. His mask is gone, revealing dangerously striking features all too evident in the flickering moonlight that spills through the window.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he says, his voice a soothing balm against the wild beat of my heart.

I instinctively step backward as he steps forward, and before I know it, my back meets the cold glass of the window. The cat-and-mouse chase is over, and I brace my hands against it.

“Who’s downstairs?” I ask, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

“What are you talking about? No one’s there.”

His response comes as he takes another step, wearing clean black slack pants and a suit jacket rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattooed forearms thick with veins. I glance over my shoulder—there’s nowhere to go unless I want to shatter thewindow and plummet to my death.

“I-I heard two voices,” I mumble, staring at him with wide eyes.

His brow furrows in confusion, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“It’s just you and me in the house,” he says with another step, until he’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from him.

My breath hitches at his closeness, hating myself for how my body responds to the very danger I should be fleeing from. He is intoxicating, a poison I took that day at the pumpkin field, and there’s no antidote. I tilt my head away when he lifts his hand, lingering on my skin as he strokes my cheek, prompting me to close my eyes.

Don’t look at him, and you won’t fall into the death trap that he is.

The fear only heightens the magnetic pull I feel toward him. It’s so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop craving him.

“Shh, look at me,” he whispers, breath hot against my tingling lips, craving to feel his against mine.

I need to stop this. I can’t let myself fall for his antics.

But his touch is so soft, trailing over my skin, coaxing me to open my eyes and meet his. I know I shouldn’t, but his eyes lure me in, even as every muscle in my body screams to flee.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “I know this night has been hell, but it’s all over now. Everything is okay.”

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