Page 49

Staring at me, he starts to move around the table. I circle with him, wanting to keep the large piece of furniture between us. It isn’t until he stops I realize he’s maneuvered himself between me and the door.

Damnation.

“I’ve come to claim what’s rightfully mine.” His voice is low as he all but hisses the words..

“What are you talking about?” I ask, completely confused. What could possibly be at my grandmother’s house that belongs to him?

“You!” he snarls out. “You belong to me! You would have been mine years ago, but your mother refused to entertain the proposal Heston brought her until you were at least one and twenty. I would have kept you in a nice house with fine things and enough servants that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger, but she threatened to cart you off and hide you if I tried to make you my kept woman. So, I got rid of my wife and waited for you to come of age. By then, you were refusing any man who even looked in your direction. Johanna said I should court you, convince you, but I knew you wouldn’t give me a second look. You weren’t giving anyone a second look. I was content to bide my time. Waiting until your stepfather owed me much, much more than he could pay. Then, your mother couldn’t say no. Not unless she wanted to be without a home or a farthing to her name.”

He tries to circle the table again, but I keep moving, my thoughts tangling as I try to strategize an escape. A way to stop him from whatever horrible thing he has planned. Still, he smirks as he remains between me and the door.

“Then, it finally happened. Heston gambled at my table until he had no coin. The only thing he had left to wager was you. I had the leverage I needed, in writing, to force your mother to go along with the plan or lose everything. But you just won’t fall in line! Not only did you refuse, but you’re fornicating with Lycan trash and the stupid woodsman. Living in his cottage… giving them what should be mine!” As he roars the final words, he lunges forward and slams a fist on the table before shoving it to the side.

Then, he charges me.

I almost forget about the knife in my hand, but see it glint when I lift it to ward him off. Frightened and angry, I swipe at him with it, catching the tips of his fingers with the sharp blade.

He roars again, this time in pain. Lunging forward, he backhands me. His knuckles connect with my cheekbone, sending a flare of red and black through my vision as my head jerks to one side. Off balance, I fall backward. My head spins, and my vision is fuzzy as I roll over, landing on the hand holding the knife. By some miracle, I don’t stab myself, but the blade is trapped between my body and the floor.

Before I can roll off my weapon, Victor’s weight hits my back, pinning me to the floor. His hand fists in my hair once again as he gives my head a vicious shove into the floor. My cheek already aches from where he hit me and now from the pressure of the wood planks beneath me.

“You should have been grateful I wanted you. A poor girl with no prospects or education. You should have fallen to your knees and begged to marry me,” he snarls out, pressing more of his weight into me.

I laugh, but the sound is tinged with hysteria. Victor freezes on top of me at the unexpected sound. “Why would I beg to marry a man who has already had two wives, both dead, and five children? Especially when you admitted you murdered your second wife. I have no doubt you would do the same to me as soon as some other young woman caught your fancy. You, Victor Woodward, always want what you do not, or cannot, have.”

His body is completely still on top of mine, and his grip on my hair loosens. I twist enough to see his face over my shoulder, and an icy chill pierces me when I see his expression. He’s gone blank. There’s nothing in his eyes or face. No emotion. Not even anger. Nothing but darkness.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re ruined yourself now. You’re not worth having,” he states, his cold, dead eyes shifting to meet mine.

“Then why are you here?”

I shouldn’t taunt him, but a part of me refuses to back down, to stop fighting him with every weapon I have. Even if those weapons are only words.

“If I’m not worth having, why bother to hunt me down?”

His face shifts into a rictus smile, but there’s nothing charming about the way he bares his teeth at me. “I should say you’re not worth keeping. But I will have you before I put you out of your misery.”

Ice-cold terror threatens to overwhelm me, but I shove it back. I cannot afford to panic. Victor keeps his tight grip on my hair as his other hand slides around my throat. Quick as a snake, he flips me over, slamming me down on my back. The back of my head aches and my vision blurs again after my skull crashes into the hard wood floor.

Seeing his face looming over me, the frigid knot of fear in my belly grows and heats, becoming stronger. Fiercer.

I kick my feet and scratch at his arms with my free hand as he hooks his fingers in the neckline of my gown. My other arm is twisted beneath me, still trapped by our combined bodyweight. He grunts as my nails tear his skin and tries to rip my dress open. But he’s not strong enough.

With a frustrated grunt, he releases my throat and uses both hands to jerk on the laces. The movement takes his weight off my body, and suddenly my arm is free along with the knife still in my hand.

Without hesitating, I swing it in a short arc, burying it to the hilt into his thigh.

Victor lurches backward with a scream, his hands reaching for the knife still clutched in my fist. I try to tug it free, but it’s stuck. I twist it, hoping to break the seal created around the blade by his body, and he screams again, louder this time. Then, he rolls away, the movement jerking the knife from my grip.

With his weight gone, I forget about the knife. This is my chance to escape.

I roll to my feet, swaying drunkenly as my head swims from the motion. But I don’t have time to get my bearings. I must escape.

My eyes don’t want to focus properly, but I can see the outline of the door. I run toward it, tripping and listing to the left with each step, but I crash against the heavy wood faster than I expect. My hands are shaky, but fear gives me strength as I heave the bar out of the door and let it fall to the side.

Victor shuffles behind me, groaning and cursing as he closes in.

Without looking back, I throw open the door and sprint into the garden. The sunlight hits my eyes like needles, making me wince, but as I squint against the glare, I see Hunter’s smaller hatchet buried in the stump by the wood pile. It’s small and light enough for me to swing easily.