Page 24 of Dance of Deception

Then, suddenly, I can hear him.

His footsteps aren’t rushed. Measured. Steady. A predator in no hurry, hunting his prey with a confidence that sends ice sliding down my spine.

He’s toying with me.

Letting me exhaust myself.

There will be consequences…

I push harder, my muscles burning. There has to be a way out, there has to be?—

Dead end.

I skid to a stop so fast I nearly crash into the solid stone wall blocking my escape.

No. No, no,no. There's nowhere to go.

My hands fly to the cold, unyielding surface, palms splayed against it as if I could somehow force it to open. I spin around just as a shadow moves at the other end of the corridor.

And then he’s upon me, caging me in.

The Hound.

His mask gleams faintly in the candlelight, his massive frame blocking the only exit. His suit jacket is gone, leaving him in just his pants and vest, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up over his muscled, veined forearms. That damn black and gold ring on his finger glints, winking at me.

Dark, breathless terror coils in my gut.

“You’re faster than I expected,” he muses, his voice filled with mock admiration. “But you don’t know this game like I do. Do you.”

I press myself to the wall.

“Stay the fuck away,” I warn, my voice betraying me and trembling despite my best efforts. “I didn’t sign up for this! I didn’t agree to this!”

He takes another slow step forward.

“What youagreed to,” he growls, his tone dripping with amusement, “was to follow the rules. You chose to break the rules, fully aware there would be consequences.”

“I didn’t break any?—!”

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, little dancer,” he murmurs quietly. "Newton's Third Law of Motion."

Fucking hell, it’s the even, almost emotionless tone in his voice that scares me the most. He’s not angry, or sneering, or lording it over me.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

It’s like talking to a robot. A statue.

Somethinginhuman.

I make a desperate move—feinting to the right, trying to slip past him. But he moves too fast, catching my wrist easily, twisting me around fluidly until my back collides with the cold stone wall.

A gasp bursts from my lips, but not one of pain. He’s not hurting me.

Just holding me. Containing me.

One of his hands pins both of mine to the wall above my head, his body close, heat rolling off him despite the chill of the underground maze. His other hand rests on my hip, testing.

A fresh tremor rolls through me, but it’s not entirely fear.

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