Page 79 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
“And I’m trying to save yours,” she cries and reaches for my shirt, knotting her fingers into the fabric. “Don’t you dare push me away. Don’t break my heart, Jack. It’s yours. If you leave, you will take it with you. I could escape Thaddeus…because ofyou.”
“I cannot give you the life you need, Belle. If we walk this road, you will have nothing but heartbreak and hardship.”
Her hands slide around my neck, and she urges me lower, standing on her tiptoes to press her brow to mine. “I would rather share a life of heartbreak and hardship with you than have a hundred lives of safety and happiness. You are my world. I love you, jackass.”
I lift my head, making out the dimmest view of her watery blue eyes. “What did you say?”
She tightens her grip on me. “You think I’ll be like one of those stupid, scared girls when the stakes are highest and he’s about to leave, and she doesn’t say it? Well, I’m saying it. I. Love. You. I love you, I love you, I love you, Jackson Elias Moore. I will never stop loving you, even when you’re acting like a jackass. So, don’t stop loving me. Don’t stop hunting me.”
Unconditional love, the likes of which I’ve never felt or possessed, engulfs me. It grows tethers, unbreakable ones. They bind me to Belladonna Moore. In this world or the next, I will never stop hunting her.
“Very well, Mrs. Moore. I am here.”
She softens against me and presses her head to my chest. “Always here.”
I’m ready to carry her away to the manor and make love to her for half the night while we spend the other half searching for my heart when she stiffens, her head shooting up, her nostrils flaring. I smell it asecond later.
She turns her head, but I see it. The faint glow from down the hill. We are upwind, and the scent of smoke is undeniable, sending terror and rage to rip through me.
“Ohmygod, Jack! No!” she cries and bolts with me outpacing her. “Nohnohno!” She screams her horror, hands flying to her mouth.
Because Belladonna’s Bookshop is burning.
The frontof the shop is burning.
I catch Belle by the waist just as she lunges for the back door. “No!” I command, shifting her away.
“Jack!—oh, God, Mortimer! OhGodohGod, the book!” Her horror-stricken eyes widen all the more.
The sound of fire engines and police sirens pierces the air. Crowds are gathering, rushing toward the burning bookshop.
“Get in the crowd,” I order her. “Stay hidden there. I will come for you.”
Trusting her to obey for the first time, I crash open the back door. The first thing I notice is Mortimer hiding in one of the cupboards, curled up, his fur pricking up with fear. It takes me seconds to grab the cat and send him scuttling outside.
The book.
I throw open the kitchen doors and charge inside, holding my breath from all the smoke drifting through the air. By now, the fire engines have arrived. I only hope they may save it. From what I can tell through the gaps in the smoke, it’s localized to the front windows.
Using my coat as a barrier, I head for the shelf behind the counter, break the glass case, and rescue Belle’s first edition ofWuthering Heightsbefore beating a hasty retreat.
The moment I charge for the back door and escape into the night, throbbing pain explodes in my skull.
The blow sends me crumbling to the ground as blacknessinvades my consciousness. I try to fight it. Nothing but Belle’s face fills my thoughts until the familiar silhouetted figure stands over me.
He grins down at me, tilting his head like a predator. I struggle to stay awake, but the blow was too great, and I surrender to the painful, cold grip of unconsciousness.
When I wake,my head is still throbbing. Soft padding surrounds me, the sense of claustrophobia pressing in on me.
The paralysis is worse. Full body, incapacitating paralysis. My limbs betray me, as still and solid as stone. Apart from my head, I can’t move a muscle, but I know exactly where I am…what holds me.
Panic storms through my chest, blood hammering in my eardrums. I am lying inside a goddamncoffin.
A soft, mocking chuckle echoes in the confined darkness.
“Don’t waste your energy, Jackson Moore,” Thaddeus’s voice slithers through the air.
A growl rumbles in my chest at the sight of the blackguard standing at the edge of the open grave above me. Shovel in hand. Sleeves rolled up to their elbows to show his staunch muscles, flexing with his anticipation to entomb me here forever.
