Page 22 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

The idea of people profiting off his trauma made my stomach churn. But the fact that Knox seemed completely unbothered by it? That somehow made it worse.

And the fact that I was turned on right now, thanks to that fucking Nox Obscura video? That made it fucking humiliating.

My pulse hammered. My breath hitched. My thighs clenched involuntarily.

Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I didn’t even know this Nox Obscura guy, but the way he moved — the way he fucking hunted — had triggered something primal and dangerous beneath my skin.

It was the same dark pulse that had simmered low and sharp in my veins ever since I typed those fateful words into that anonymous forum the other night.

I think I want to be chased.

My cheeks burned.

On another note, why the fuck had I just implied to those high-and-mighty Nox Obscura groupies that Knox and I were more than we actually were? Why did I say I knew him intimately when I saw these two heifers practically salivating over the thought of Knox?

What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

The line started moving. My pulse thudded painfully beneath my skin. My fingers tightened around the ticket as my gaze lifted toward the darkened archway.

Knox approved of this. Knox wanted this. But why?

“If she knows what Philip Knox smells like,” the blonde said, her tone pitched just loud enough to carry, “I wonder what else she knows about the guy that other people don’t.”

But my mouth tugged into a slow, dangerous smirk as I glanced over my shoulder and arched a brow at her and her friends.

“Wouldn’t you just love to know, sweetheart?”

The blonde’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and then snapped shut. Her friend’s expression sharpened. My smirk widened.

Let them wonder.

I turned toward the archway and took a step forward. My pulse hammered painfully beneath my skin, and somewhere in the dark, I imagined Knox’s sharp blue eyes watching me.

The heavy doors creaked open. A dark, yawning gap stretched before us.

The girls surged forward as a haunted house worker waved us inside. Flickering lantern light pooled across the stone floor. The air smelled sharp and metallic, with an undercurrent of something damp and decayed.

“Come on,” the blonde said, tugging her friend’s sleeve. “We’ll lose our spot.”

The girl with the black curls shot me one last look, her eyes glittering with envy.

I followed them through the dark and the heavy doors swung shut behind us with a sharp clang.

The air tightened.

Dim purple lights buzzed faintly beneath the high archways. Cold stone pressed beneath my shoes as we crossed into the entrance hall.

A deep, distorted sound echoed through the shadows. Low. Mechanical. Almost like breathing.

My skin prickled.

The blonde surged toward the sound, practically salivating like a Pavlovian dog.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

A flash of movement caught my eye in the dark at the end of the hall. The lights cut out, plunging us into pure blackness.

A sharp noise — metallic and high-pitched — cut through the dark.

I stumbled back from the group huddled in the middle of the hall, breath catching as I groped for a wall or something solid to press myself against.

A narrow beam of purple light flickered along the edges of the room, carving thin shadows along the towering walls.

Something moved behind me and I twisted toward it only to find nothing there .

A soft sound caught my attention, like fabric brushing against stone.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.

A flash of light lanced through the entrance hall, too bright and sharp. I was momentarily blinded, disorientation settling around me like a funeral shroud.

The sound of breathing flooded the hall, louder this time. Faster, too.

The blonde screamed, but I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or terror clawing its way out of her throat.

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black with a silvery reflective mask glinting under the thin, purple light.

The mask tilted toward us. My stomach dropped.

“Run,” the distorted voice purred.

A deafening sound exploded through the room, like a hammer striking metal.

The group of girls in the middle of the hall screamed. Someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled forward into a dark, narrow passage that cut through the stone wall.

My hands hit rough stone as I righted myself and squinted into the darkness. I was in a short hall that led to a set of stairs going down to what had to be either a wine cellar or a basement that was half carved into the massive hill Stonewood Manor was perched on.

I glanced back, but the figure was gone. My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breathing and edged toward the stairs.

A metallic sound — a deep clank — echoed behind me. I spun toward the sound and saw the heavy oak door behind me creaking shut.

“No,” I breathed.

I surged toward it. My palms hit the wood. I tugged desperately at the handle.

It didn’t budge. The lock slid into place with a cold, metallic click.

I was fucking trapped, and I was alone.

My pulse roared in my ears.

I twisted toward the narrow corridor and the stairs leading downward. Purple light buzzed softly against the far wall.

The stairs stretched downward, dark and empty. The sound of distorted breathing — slow and controlled — drifted toward me through the dark.

I swallowed hard. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Realization dawned on me. I wasn’t alone, after all.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Oh, fuck .