Page 28 of In Shadows We Dance

“Ifshe makes it to the woods.”

“She will.” My tone leaves no room for argument.

“And if she doesn’t?” Monty says.

“Then the chase gets a little longer. But I always get what I want.” From my window, I can see the woods. The places where shadows gather thickest, where the undergrowth offers perfect cover for watching, waiting, stalking. “And tonight, I wanther.”

She’ll run. They always do. But unlike any prey I’ve hunted before, she will move through the woods with a dancer’s grace. It’ll be beautiful to watch that grace turn into fear. It makes my dick hard just thinking about it.

The trees stand tall along the drive, creating dark spaces perfect for hiding. Perfect forhunting.The thought of her stumbling through them, listening for our footsteps, wondering which direction we’ll come from … it sends a surge of exhilaration through me.

But first, I’ll make her dance. I’ll watch her fight to keep control, watch fear eat away at her composure. And when she thinks it’s over, when she thinks she can leave—that’swhen my real game will begin.

Anticipation fills the air as night approaches. By the time eight rolls around, my pretty ballerina will learn that she can’t hide anymore. Not from me. Not ever again.

Everything about her belongs tomealone. Unlike the others, she won’t be giving in to the thrill of the chase.

She’ll be giving in tome.

CHAPTER 13

When Fear Calls

ILEANA

By seven-thirty,my nerves are frayed. Every sound, every shadow, makes me jump. My eyes keep flicking to the clock, watching the minutes disappear. Wren's voice echoes in my head on endless repeat.

Meet me tonight. Eight o’clock. Don’t make me come looking for you.

I can't stop thinking about the black rose he left in my locker. The thorn's sting still throbs, a reminder that this isn't some bad dream I can just wake up from.

“Ileana?” Dad’s voice pulls my attention to where he stands in the doorway, watching me with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been very quiet this evening. What’s going on?”

I force my hands to steady as I place the last plate on the drainer. “Nothing, Dad. Just tired, and I’ve got a lot of homework. Senior year is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is? You’re not getting involved in anything at school that you shouldn’t be?”

The question would have been easy to answer earlier in the week. Now, though? I can’t be honest. And I need to make him believe that nothing has changed.

“No, I’m not involved in anything.”

His eyes bore into me, and I hold his gaze, and force myself not to break.

“Good,” he says finally. “That’s how it needs to be. Focus on your studies.”

I walk past him and go to my room, keeping my pace normal, when all I want to do is run. Once the door closes behind me, I sag against it and let out a shaky breath. Seven forty-five glares atme from my bedside clock.

The next fifteen minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. I try to focus on my homework, but the words keep swimming in front of my eyes. All I can think about is Wren’s smirk, and the darkness in his eyes when he cornered me in the dance studio. The way he traced up and down my spine with his pen in class.

Seven fifty-five.

My heart races, the anticipation growing unbearable. I keep glancing at the window, half-expecting to see Wren there already. The fear coils tighter, wrapping around my chest like a vice.

Seven fifty-eight.

I can barely breathe. My skin feels too tight, my pulse thrumming in my ears. What if he comes? What if he doesn't? The not knowing is worse than anything else. My imagination runs wild with possibilities—each one darker than the last.

Eight o’clock arrives.

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