Page 18 of Jack of Diamonds

I forgot all about Jack as the monsters gained on me. I don’t remember how long I screamed. I did everything I could to get away from their snarling, snapping jaws.

I pushed my aching body to its limits, regretting the mimosas and that extra waffle. And the potatoes. And the ham. And the eggs.

Uggggh...the eggs.

Everything in my stomach was sloshing around, and suddenly I couldn’t scream anymore. I was too busy puking all over the ice...all over myself, until I slipped and fell and got up and ran and did it all over again.

The hounds charged at me relentlessly, never giving me a break. When I dared to slow down, one of them bit the side of my knee, tearing a hole in the mesh of my leotard. My legs felt like they were on fire, but the terror of being eaten alive kept me going.

A powerful cramp seized my left calf, then another one took hold of my right. I collapsed in a pitiful wet heap on the ice. Glowing red eyes and vicious snarls surrounded me as I wailed and cried and panted, covered in vomit and sweat.

If this was how I was going to die, at least it would be over soon. I curled into a ball and threw back my head to expose my neck. I didn’t want to be disemboweled. I wanted them to go straight for the jugular.

Make it quick.

Please...just make it stop!

I closed my eyes and sucked in what I hoped would be my final breath.

Without warning, the hounds vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. I rolled onto my back, gasping for air, and found Jack standing over me.

“Giving up so soon?”

I lay there catching my breath, waiting for him to offer me a hand and help me up. When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, I stumbled to my feet.

“What do you...what do you mean?” I forced out between deep breaths. My voice was hoarse and raw from screaming at the top of my lungs. “I was running for...for at least...a couple hours!”

Jack shook his head in disappointment.

“You ran for exactly seven minutes. You still have two-hundred and ninety-three remaining. Perhaps you need something more motivating than abyssal hounds. Shall I conjure a bandersnatch to chase you?”

My eyes widened in both horror and rage.

“Are you telling me that you did that onpurpose?” I seethed. My voice was broken and raw. “You psycho shitbag motherfucker! You tried tokillme!”

I raised my hand to slap him.

“Don’t do it,” he warned.

I did it.

Channeling all of my fury and pain, I let my hand fuckingflyacross his beautiful face.

I instantly regretted it.

White hot agony spread through my palm and every finger on my hand. I was sure every bone was broken. I expected my hand to slap the shit out of the soft skin covering Jack’s cheek—not bang it full-force into a fucking block of ice.

Jack flinched in slow motion, as if merely annoyed, before shoving his weight against me and curling his hand around my throat. His fingers were cold and firm, but they didn’t choke the life out of me. He held me close, staring deep into my eyes with the expression of a shark about to attack.

“If I was going to kill you, I’d do it in a way that made you enjoy every second of your demise,” he said coolly. From this close, I could smell the scent of his leather armor, and the hint of balsam fir coming from his hair, like he’d spent the night hiking through a forest of pine trees.

His cool thumb stroked along my warm, sweaty throat, pressing against the throbbing artery in my neck. The sound of my racing heartbeat filled my ears, and something shifted in Jack’s gaze, making me wonder if he heard it, too.

His eyes clouded with longing, and his lips parted, revealing sharp, white incisors. He drew in a shaky breath before letting out a soft, wistful sigh.

“In my eyes, you are nothing but a lazy little lump of spoiled meat rotting in my hand. However, in the eyes of my queen, you are Wonderland’s last hope.”

He abruptly let go of my neck, and I stumbled backward, slipping on the ice before crumpling into a heap while cradling my aching hand. Tears stung my eyes as I realized this guy didn’t give two shits about how famous I was back home, who my parents were, or how much money or influence or connections my family had.

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