Page 83 of Claimed By the Psychos

He's as paranoid as I am. The thought makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

His scent is strongest here—wine and danger and that unique brand of insanity that shouldn't be attractive but absolutely is. I need something of his, something that smells like him, something?—

The closet door is slightly ajar, promising treasures within.

I pull it open and step inside, immediately surrounded by expensive fabrics and his scent concentrated enough to makemy head spin. Everything's organized with obsessive care, shirts arranged by style and color, shoes that probably cost more than?—

The door slams shut.

The lock engages with a mechanical click that sounds like bones breaking.

Darkness swallows me whole.

"No no no no—" The words tumble out as I slam my palms against the door. It doesn't budge. Of course it doesn't. It's reinforced, probably bulletproof, definitely Juniper-proof.

He really is a paranoid bastard.

And okay, sure, I'm breaking and entering and that probably gives him reason, but still. He couldn't have seen me coming when he had this put in.

The shadows explode into chaos, their whispers becoming screams.

Trapped! Trapped! The walls are closing in!

My chest constricts, lungs forgetting how to work. The darkness presses in from all sides, and suddenly I'm not in Carlisle's closet anymore. I'm back in the hole at the Serpents' Den, where they threw me when I bit Evan's hand, where the walls were wet with things I didn't want to identify and the only sound was my own screaming.

"HELP!" The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I pound on the door hard enough to split my knuckles. "Someone—fuck—HELP ME!"

The shadows are laughing now, cruel and vicious.

No one's coming. You'll die here. Alone in the dark like you deserve.

My nails claw at the door, at the walls, at anything that might give way. The heat from my impending heat makes everything worse, turning the small space into an oven. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't?—

Light floods the space as the door flies open.

Carlisle stands there, blue eyes wide with confusion that quickly shifts to understanding. "Juniper?"

I launch myself at him before my brain can stop me, wrapping around him like he's the only solid thing in a world made of shadows. He catches me easily, those deadly hands suddenly gentle as they hold me against his chest.

"Can't breathe," I gasp against his neck. "Can't—the dark—I can't?—"

"Shh, little hellcat. You're safe. You're out." His voice is different, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. "Just breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Footsteps thunder in the hallway, and then Archer's there too, sunshine scent mixing with wine as he drops to his knees beside us.

"What happened?" His hands hover near me, not quite touching, like he's afraid I'll shatter.

"She triggered the closet trap," Carlisle says, still holding me as I shake apart in his arms. "Must have picked the lock to get in."

"I need Felix," I whimper, hating how small I sound. "Please, I need?—"

"I'll get him." Archer's already moving, and I hear him calling down the hall.

Carlisle stands with me still wrapped around him like a particularly clingy koala, carrying me to his bed with surprising care. "You're burning up," he murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. "Heat?"

I nod against his shoulder, too exhausted to lie.

"Felix!" Archer's voice carries from the doorway, and then Felix is there, silver eyes wild with concern as he takes in the scene.