Page 136 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

The voice was dark, taunting, and unmistakably Vincent’s. It slithered through the halls like a serpent, each word dripping with venom and anticipation.

“I know you’re here, waiting for your Alphas to save you, but they’re a little preoccupied right now.”

My heart stuttered, then raced ahead, pounding against my ribs with such force I thought it might burst. I clutched the gun tighter, willing my hands to stop their pathetic shaking. I had to steady my breathing; had to think.

Vincent was getting closer, his footsteps a slow, deliberate prowl. He called out my name, stretching the syllables with a sick kind of pleasure. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, holding my breath, praying he wouldn’t find me.

Suddenly, his steps stopped. I could almost see him cocking his head, listening, sniffing the air. My eyes squeezed shut, silently pleading to the heavens for help.

He was in the gym now, crossing the padded flooring. The workout equipment clinked as he fucked with it, taking his time, drawing this out while he followed my scent trail like a bloodhound. My mind raced, wondering if the stronger scents in the room would be enough to keep me hidden, or if he’d sniff me out, regardless.

I didn’t have much hope.

The closet door was all that separated us, a flimsy barrier that might as well have been tissue paper instead of the wood it was made of.

I pictured Vincent’s face, a twisted mask of sadistic glee when he ripped it open and found me, and my whole body went cold. The image of him wasn’t even the worst part. It was the memories that came with it. The nights I’d spent in his ‘care.’ The constant, unrelenting fear. The pain.

I prepared myself to fight, to shoot if I had to, though I wasn’t sure I could pull the trigger. I’d never shot someone before, but the thought of going back to him—tothat—gave me a burst of courage. Or maybe it was just sheer, blinding panic.

There was a brief silence, then the closet door was yanked open with brutal force. Vincent’s towering form filled the frame, his face exactly as I’d imagined: a predatory grin that stretched his features into something inhuman. He loomed over me, his shadow long and jagged, like a monster ready to devour me whole.

I couldn’t help it. I screamed. The sound was pure, unfiltered survival, tearing its way out of my throat as he lunged at me, hands reaching.

In that split second, my will to live spurred me into action. If there was one benefit to being small, this was it. I slid beneath his grasp, my back scraping against the doorframe painfully as I wriggled past. Vincent crashed into the closet, miscalculating my escape. I didn’t wait to see if he was incapacitated or what he’d do next. Adrenaline surged through me as I bolted from the gym, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble of the floor. With no clear destination in mind, all I knew was that I had to put as much distance as possible between us.

The hallway stretched out like a nightmare, endlessly expansive. There were so many rooms, so many closets and doors. Suddenly, his voice cut through the air with a smooth, venomous confidence as he gave chase. “You can run, Kitania, but you can’t hide. I’ll just follow the delicious scent of your fear.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break my ribs. The gun was still clutched in my hand, my fingers white and bloodless from their death grip on it. I rounded a corner, darting into a room, then passed through a connecting door that led into another, my thoughts a jumble of frantic calculations. Where could I go where he wouldn’t think to look? Where could I hide that would buy me more time?

If nothing else, I could weave a tangled web of my scent, hoping to confuse him. Checking the hallway, I crossed quicklyand slipped into the library. The smell of old books and the faintest whiff of cigars enveloped me. I hesitated for a heartbeat, looking for a hiding spot, but all I saw were walls of shelving, a desk, a fireplace, a couch, and two wingback chairs. For a brief moment, I debated trying to hide beneath the desk, but there was a small gap between the wood and the floor where the chair sat.

He’ll see me.

I doubled back to the door, peeking into the hallway once more. I heard him tearing through a room I’d already been through, cursing as he searched for me. Taking my chances, I darted out on silent feet, past the nest-like spot that looked out over the city where Tommy and I often cuddled. More tears spilled down my cheeks as I made my way down the hall toward the living room, marking doors with my scent by rubbing my cheek or forearm against them—anything to weave a trail that might throw Vincent off, to buy myself precious minutes.

My body moved on pure instinct, just trying to survive.

I thought of Tommas again, of his strong arms and steady presence. Of how he’d promised to keep me safe. A sob threatened to choke me, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford to lose it now. I had to keep it together. Had to be strong, if only for the hope that he was still alive. ThatIcould helphimwhen I made it through this.

My gaze zigzagged down the hall, taking in the decor and the accent tables until it fell on a modern leather storage bench that sat beneath an ornate mirror. Whoever had decorated this place had pristine taste, but it was their mix of beauty with function that had me praising them internally. Chest heaving with silent sobs, I raced for it, throwing it open and thanking the universe that there was only a single blanket and an empty picture frame inside. I folded myself into the cramped space, knees drawn up,gun pressed against my heart, then gently lowered the top until there was only the tiniest sliver between the seam.

I held my breath, only taking shallow drags of air when my lungs screamed for oxygen.

And I waited.

Maybe, if I could evade Vincent for long enough, this would all be over. Maybe help would come. Maybe Dimitri, Gio, and Marco were on their way home right now and would save us.

I froze at the sound of movement in the hallway.

“Kitania,” Vincent sing-songed, closer than I’d thought. “Come out and play.”

The footsteps grew fainter, and I dared to exhale. He must have headed in the wrong direction, perhaps backtracking to the gym.

The bench was stifling, the air thick and used up, but I didn’t dare move. My sweat mingled with the scents of leather and the musty smell of the stored blanket. The sourness of my scent tainted all of it, and I knew it would flood the hallway the moment the top was lifted.

I bit down on my knuckles, eyes wide, every muscle in my body wound so tight I thought I might snap.

The tension broke with a jolt as Vincent’s footsteps returned, heavier now, less measured. He was angry.

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