Page 78 of Wicked Chains
He's daring me to run, and part of me—the sensible part, which admittedly has never been the part that calls the shots—knows I should back down. But I'm tired of being afraid, tired of being controlled. And there's something I don't want to examine too closely. A dark curiosity about what would happen if I pushed him past his breaking point.
I meet his gaze, letting him see the defiance in mine.
And then I turn and run.
Thirty-Five
Rose
I run for the trees, my lungs burning and my heart pounding. This is stupid. So stupid. I just challenged the most powerful, dangerous man at Serpentine Academy to a game of tag, and now I'm running through the darkening woods like prey. So much for making better choices from now on.
The forest grows thicker as I push deeper, branches clawing at my face and hair. I duck under a low-hanging limb, catching my jacket on it. The fabric tears as I wrench myself free, but I don't slow down.
"You can't outrun me, Rose," Ash's voice calls from somewhere behind me. He sounds amused, and very much not out of breath like I am, which only pisses me off more. I really need to do more cardio.
I zigzag between tree trunks, changing direction randomly. My boots slip on patches of damp earth under the dead leaves, and I nearly go down but catch myself against the rough bark of anoak. The mark on my arm is hot, a reminder that he can probably sense where I am and track me.
This man owns my life, has humiliated me, and could drain my power on a whim. But instead of fear, what runs through me is something else entirely. I feel alive.
"That's it, little witch," he calls, closer now. "Make me work for it."
I slide down a small embankment, my feet skidding in the dirt. At the bottom, I press my back against a large trunk, trying to quiet my breathing. The woods have gone silent, no birds, no wind. I’m sure he’ll hear me.
The mark on my arm tingles, and suddenly I feel things that aren’t coming from me. Anticipation. Excitement. Arousal.
I freeze. These aren't my feelings. They're Ash's.
The blood mark doesn't just let him track me or feel my emotions, it’s working both ways.
I can feel him too.
I close my eyes, focusing on emotions that aren’t mine. It's faint, like trying to isolate a single whispered conversation in a noisy crowd, but it's there. The connection is a two-way street, and I'm willing to bet Ash doesn't know I've figured that out.
I push off from the tree, moving quietly now instead of crashing through the underbrush. My plan forms quickly—if I can sense him, maybe I can use that to my advantage. Surprise him for once.
A flare of frustration. He's lost my trail. I smile.
I circle back, moving in a semi-circle through the trees. He’s close, and I pick my way carefully over fallen branches, wincing when one cracks under my foot. I freeze in place, staying as still as possible, but there's no reaction from Ash through the mark. Just that same hunting focus.
He thinks he's the predator. Maybe it’s time he learned otherwise.
I spot him through the trees, all six foot five of him, standing completely still, head tilted like he's listening. His back is to me, which is perfect for what I want to do.
I creep closer, trying to use stealth that does not come naturally to me. My mom used to say I was her little bull in a china shop. Grace is not my middle name. But when I'm just a few yards away, I deliberately step on a twig, letting it snap loudly.
Ash spins around, but I'm already moving, darting to the side as he lunges toward the sound. I double back behind him again, quick and quiet.
"Clever," he says to the empty air. "But not clever enough."
I'm crouched behind another tree now, trying not to breathe too loudly. Through the mark, I feel a spike of something that might be impressed annoyance. He's enjoying this way more than he should be.
"You know I can feel you, don't you?" His voice drifts through the trees, conversational now.
I move again, staying low, using the growing darkness to my advantage. The sun has almost completely set now, and it’s hard to see. I can barely make out his silhouette between the trees.
"What happens when I catch you, Rose?" The question sends heat pooling low in my belly, which is absolutely not an appropriate reaction. "What do you think I'm going to do?"
He's baiting me, and the worst part is it's working. That same dark curiosity from earlier is back, curling through my stomach, twisting the fear and thrill together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. And fuck, he can probably feel it. But I'm feeling stubborn and reckless, and a little bit high on the idea that, even for a split second, I've managed to get the drop on the big, bad warlock who controls my life.
