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I open my eyes, prepared to be back in the bed, but I’m still in the hallway, the masked Beast at the other end. For one terrible second, neither of us moves.

Then the Beast–Amber–tilts her head.

I scramble backward, pulling the sheath off the knife and dropping it to the ground.

She takes one step toward me, and without thinking, I push myself upright and sprint down the hallway, my bare feet slapping against the floor as panic takes over every thought in my head.

Behind me, I hear her follow, pace steady, but unrelenting. I race past the portraits lining the walls, past dark wooden cabinets filled with strange artifacts and old books, past ceremonial masks and carved figures that seem to twist in my peripheral vision as I fly down the hall. The gothic architecture that usually makes the house feel beautiful now seems designed to trap me, every archway and shadow offering another place for something terrible to hide.

The House of Night turns into a maze of long corridors and sharp turns.

I tear around a corner and nearly slam into a table. My hands catch the edge long enough to keep me upright, and I keep moving. The footsteps behind me never stop.

I burst through the dining room, the long table stretching between me and the opposite doors. Candles sit untouched in their holders, their flames throwing frantic shadows across the walls. A chair catches my thigh, sending pain through my leg, but I barely notice.

I know this house, I remind myself. I know every hallway, and every door, but the reality is that Amber knows the property as well as I do, maybe even more, with her coming in and out through secret passageways and tunnels. She lived here, just like I have, a Baroness serving her men.

I shove through another set of doors and find myself facing the sanctuary.

The doors swing open beneath my hands. I stumble inside and flip the latch, locking myself inside. The sanctuary is dark except for the faint glow of the light near the altar. The pews stretch ahead of me in orderly rows, their polished wood gleaming beneath the dim light. I glance over my shoulder, back to the shadowy corners, but I’m alone.

My lungs burn as I move between the pews, crouching low and slipping into the shadows behind the last row. I press myself against the wooden bench, pulling my knees toward my chest, holding the knife between both hands.

For a moment, there is only silence, then, somewhere beyond the chapel doors, I hear a slow footstep echo, then another. The doors rattle, the lock holding them in place. There’s another attempt, then the quiet returns. I hold my breath and count, letting the seconds pass by as Amber retreats.

I exhale feeling a sense of relief. I know she’s not gone, but I have a moment to steady myself–to get out of here and find help.

I move to my knees, rising up just enough to look around the sanctuary. There are doors flanking the altar. I remember them from the wedding. If I can get to one that leads outside, I can run to the dormitory.

Over the hard stone, I crawl, scraping my palms and knees, making my way to the front of the sanctuary. I see the smooth black altar where I laid down during the wedding. The spot where Timothy drew runes on my body in oil and then kneeled between my thighs. He’d pierced my body to bind us to one another. The memory hits me so hard that for a second I can almost feel his hands on me, hear his voice, and remember the certainty I felt when I believed I was finally safe.

I look to the left, hoping that will lead to the door outside, and I quietly crawl across the stone, until a voice echoes off the ceiling.

“You can run, Wicked One, but haven’t you figured it out yet?” Amber’s voice is chilling as she steps closer. “I’ll always find you.”

I stumble, knife clattering a few feet away. I scramble backward, but there’s nowhere to go. The altar presses cold against my spine, and my hands slide uselessly against the polished stone as I search for something—anything—I can use to fight her.

Amber moves closer.

I try to scream, but the sound catches somewhere in my throat.

“You should have remembered sooner,” she says, her hand reaching out from under the long arm of her robe. Her fingers graze my cheek, then run down my neck. Her movements are gentle, until she grips my hair and yanks my head to the side. A sharp pain explodes in my neck and then she releases me.

“What did you do?” I ask, touching the spot. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but the room tilts violently around me. The candles stretch into long streaks of black and gold. The mask blurs, the bronze catching the faint light as those terrible horns seem to curl toward the ceiling.

My fingers lose their grip on the altar, and I slide sideways onto the cold floor. I hear Amber say something, but the words are already drifting away from me, swallowed by the ringing filling my ears.

I try to move, but the sanctuary disappears into darkness, and the last thing I feel is the hard stone beneath my cheek before everything goes completely black.

I wake to a sound off in the distance–repetitive and sharp. My knees ache and I shiver trying to work through the groggy feeling in my head. Forcing my eyes open, I see that I’m still in the sanctuary, but I’m kneeling on the hard floor, hands bound at the wrist.

Amber stands above me, mask set aside. She’s remarkably human for someone with a monster living under her skin. Her soft blonde hair grazes her shoulders and her green eyes are clear, but intense. Just like Remy’s. And I understand instantly, that even though she may be deranged, she knows what she’s doing.

Squinting, I study her jawline and delicate nose. She looks so much like the pictures I’ve seen, but also…

“I know you,” my voice is slurred. “You picked me up that night when I was going to my uncle's house. You gave me a ride.”

“Yes, Arianette, I’ve been close. So many times.” Her words echo off the high ceilings.