Page 123 of Gilded Locks
Marigold’s survival instincts finally detonated. She bolted, her bare feet slapping against cold marble, the sound echoing through the corridors as loud as her panicked heartbeats.
Blood roared in her ears, drowning out everything except Hunter’s distant voice—steady, relentless, counting down her freedom like an executioner marking time until the blade falls.
“Nineteen.”
She’d barely started running and already her breath came in ragged gasps, harsh pants that tasted of fear-sweat and adrenaline, burning her lungs. Her hand caught the banister as she made a sharp turn down the east corridor. She could no longer hear Hunter’s voice, which should have comforted her, but it only made her situation more terrifying.
She’d been living at the lodge for over a month, but she still didn’t know all the hidden passageways. He could be anywhere. And, he had steady access to every motion sensor camera on the premises.
Her gaze darted to the small bear head on the wall as she panted. Stepping back, hand on her racing heart, she turned and continued to run.
This was crazy. This was dangerous. This was, God help her, exhilarating.
She’d been hunted before. By orderlies at Whitmore, their meaty hands grabbing at her hospital gown. By her family’s security, cold professionals with dead eyes. By the cold itself on her journey here, death’s icy fingers reaching for her throat. But this was different. This wasn’t escape. It was play. Dark, twisted, primal play that made every nerve ending in her body sing with anticipation, every cell vibrate with the certainty that being caught might be better than getting away.
A slow whistle carried from the west corridor and she stilled. That taunting melody triggered fear in her as much as a speeding bullet might, and she doubled her speed.
“Little fox…” His voice carried through the corridors like smoke, curling around corners, finding her even as she fled. She realized with a thrill of terror that he wasn’t even chasing her yet. He was giving her time, letting the anticipation build. Like a lion with a playful mouse under its shadow, he let her believe she was free, but he already had her in his sights and she was as good as done. Any second now, he’d have her under his paw.
She rushed down a darkened hall as he strolled after her. The madness he triggered with his slow pace only emphasized his confident hunger. Like the men coming in the spring, he was set on a feast and she was to be the meal.
She flew through the great hall, her feet barely touching ground. Past the enormous fireplace where she’d nearly died that first night. The memory felt like a lifetime ago, belonged to a different girl entirely. That girl who’d stumbled in from the cold had been determined to escape. Hunted and scared at the time, she never would have believed she’d one day be running through these halls because she wanted to be caught. Voluntarily choosing to get hunted again.
Though, she hadn’t volunteered for this.
Another slow, taunting whistle echoed through the cavernous halls. “Marigold…I can smell your perfume in the halls.”
She dove into the shadows of an alcove, heart pounding as she caught her breath.
“I can smell your sweat.” The lanterns turned on, exposing her hiding spot. “Your fear.”
She bolted from the shadows, rushing away from his approaching voice and into the next dark hall.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a rabbit’s—rapid, frantic, impossibly fast. She could feel it in her throat, her wrists, behind her eyes. Every pulse point in her body throbbed with awareness, with fear that tasted like copper and felt like lightning.
The east wing opened before her, offering a maze of possibilities that suddenly felt like too many choices, like being lost in a forest with a grizzly on her trail. The wine cellar? No, too obvious and no escape routes. She’d be cornered, trapped, easy prey. The billiard room? Too open, nowhere to hide, she’d be spotted immediately.
The solarium! The thought struck like lightning, illuminating everything. Katya’s sanctuary, that humid jungle hidden behind glass walls. It was far from the library, full of places to hide among the tropical overgrowth, and most importantly, Hunter might not think to look there, since Katya’s wing was typically preserved for his sister’s privacy. He’d expect her to run to the upper floors, to lose herself in the maze of bedrooms.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
She changed direction, her feet finding purchase on the cold floors as she sprinted toward the glass-walled paradise. Her thighs burned. Her calves screamed. But fear—exquisite, arousing fear—drove her forward.
His echoing steps stopped, and she grinned, sensing that she’d confused him.
When she entered the solarium, the shift in temperature with her sweat dampened skin caused her to instantly overheat. Pausing to catch her breath, her sense of hearing was deafened by her heavy breathing. But she could sense him. Even here, through the closed door and down the long corridor, she could feel him, the phantom sensation of being tracked crawling up her spine like fingers, like breath on the back of her neck.
Sprinklers kicked on and she flinched. They hissed quietly under the growth of leaves, adding to the already humid air. The trickle from the fountains in the coy pond added to the white noise, making it harder to hear.
The solarium air was thick with vapor, moistening her lips as she rapidly breathed. Opening and closing her fists, she struggled to control her trembling hands. Swallowed by tropical heat that wrapped around her like a living thing, the temperature shift felt almost violent. Her skin coated with moisture, and her clothes clung to her dewy flesh. Breathing felt like drowning in warm honey.
Leaves ruffled, startling her. But she saw nothing. Sometimes birds got trapped in the solarium and she wouldn’t be surprised to find other small critters scurrying around in the dirt. Or maybe it was him, already here, biding his time before he pounced on his prey.
She moved deeper into the solarium, past the orchids that preened in jewel tones of purple, sapphire, and crimson. Past the palms with their massive fronds that whispered secrets as she brushed by. Past the wicker furniture where she’d sat with Katya, discussing monsters and survival.
Almost certain she was alone, she moved to the far corner where massive ferns created a natural alcove, their branches cascading like a living curtain, and she wedged herself behind them, trying desperately to control her ragged breathing.
The sprinklers cut off.
