Page 3 of Deadly Obsession

TWO

SERA

My eyes snapped open, rescuing me from the nightmare that had become a recurring one, more and more since Mike had started leaving terrifying things near my and my parents’ home.

The constables couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything, saying that technically we had no proof it was him.

I was living in a nightmare that never ended, far worse than Freddy Krueger because my boogeyman pursued me in and out of my dreams. It had gotten to the point my mind had started conjuring up some very permanent solutions to my misery—solutions of the darkest kind.

Shaking my head and rubbing my eyes, I found myself still lying on the couch. “Damn...” I cursed under my breath as I rubbed at my stiff neck.

The lights were all off but the flames from the mammoth hearth did a good job of illuminating the majority of the room. Looking around, I spotted my glass of wine on the end table behind me, right where I left it.

But where was my book?

I searched the couch and the floor and I still couldn’t see it anywhere.

Standing up to ensure I was not sitting on it, I happened to glance over to the fireplace and froze as I struggled to process the changes in the room.

Not only were there fresh logs in the fire, but propped up on the mantle just below the television was my book.

“How the fuck...” I whispered softly to myself as I stepped closer.

Picking up the book, I noticed my bookmark sticking out from between the pages.

I opened it up and instantly recognized the scene that had been marked.

I’d already read the chapter—the one where Blakeley had a dream about the masked man chasing her.

It was my favorite, something only a handful of people knew.

One of the logs on the fire shifted in front of me, the noise and the flicker of light causing me to jump and slam the book closed. “Shit!” I cried out, taking a step back.

Before I had a moment to catch my breath, I caught sight of something else in my periphery.

I turned on my heel, my eyes locking on an imposing figure, the dark silhouette lost in the night’s void.

All except his mask. Black. One side smooth and faceless, a red slash cutting across the hollow eye socket, and the other shaped like a human skull.

But it was the white of the figure’s eyes glaring at me that had time freezing as I watched him slowly slide the door open and step into the room.

He was dressed in all-black tactical clothing with a bundle of black rope attached to his hip.

He appeared to be well over six-feet tall and athletically built, a wall of horrifying darkness.

Not a sliver of skin was exposed; the only part of him I could see was the light-green color of his irises, and they were honed in on me.

Taking a few more steps in my direction, he stopped at the halfway mark. Then, with unblinking eyes, he slowly growled out, “Run.”

As if that one word had pried my feet from where they were cemented to the floor, I took off like a shot. The problem was, I had no idea where I was or where to go. All I knew was that I had to get away .

Bolting out the front double doors, I turned left and ran down the hill that led to the lower half of the split-level house.

As I passed the entrance, I heard the thudding stomps of boots on the wooden deck above me.

Then, as though he were in some supervillain movie, the masked man landed heavily in a crouch position on the ground before me with a grunt.

My heels skidded to a halt, my body instinctively leaning away and causing me to fall backwards onto my ass. Screaming, I turned and pushed off the dirt with as much energy as I could force out with the adrenaline flooding into my numb limbs.

“Help!” I cried out as I sprinted down the gravel driveway, which must have taken twenty minutes to navigate in the Uber and I didn’t recall seeing any homes or even lights for miles before that.

Behind me, I could hear the crunching of the man’s boots as he kept pace with me.

There was no way I was going to get much farther in nothing but my pajamas and house slippers—along with the thousands of tiny rocks, I could also feel the occasional stick stabbing at the bottom of my feet.

Hoping for softer ground, I cut sharply off the driveway to enter the woods.

Maybe I could lose him among the dense trees and make it back to the cabin to call for help…

Fuck, I wish I had my phone. Did the cabin even have a landline?

My thoughts raced as I continued my frantic run through the woods in no particular direction.

I pushed past twisting branches and pointed twigs from the various trees and underbrush, even as they cut through my silk pajamas.

I was fairly certain I was bleeding from more than one superficial wound.

The chilled fall air felt like shards of glass, growing sharper in my chest.

Daring to glance over a shoulder, I allowed a faint wave of relief to wash over me. He was gone. I’d lost him!

I came to an abrupt stop, resting one hand on my heart and the other on my knee as I doubled over, attempting to calm my ragged breathing.

Then I hauled myself upright and turned.

Stepping without looking before I crashed right into that mountain of a nightmare. All muscle and slitted, menacing eyes.

“Tag, you’re mine,” he said with a low growl that quickly turned into a dark, rumbling laugh.

With my heart lodged in my throat, I spun on my heel as quickly as I could to put distance between us.

But within a few short strides, I heard a faint whistle from behind me.

A split second later, I caught the glint of something flying over my head before sinking itself into the tree directly in front of me with a loud crack.

A fucking axe! Great, not only was I being chased by a horrifying masked man, he was a bloody axe murderer too!

My moment’s hesitation cost me any ground I had gained, the muffled breathing of the masked man growing closer and closer as I turned to accept my fate.

I looked up into his eyes, tears running down my face, but I couldn’t make a sound.

His gloved hand reached up and closed around my throat, his heavy steps forcing me backwards till I was pressed against the tree.

My gut was telling me to fight back, to claw at his face, but that was impossible with his mask on.

Daring a moment to look him up and down, I confirmed what I already knew.

There wasn’t an inch of exposed skin, and while I considered myself a capable woman, I was not overpowering this man—this monster.

With one hand still clenching my throat, he pulled something from his belt. “Wrists out in front,” he growled, leaving no room for hesitation.

I obeyed, slowly holding out my trembling hands towards him.

Afraid if I reached out too far, I might be figuratively burned by the hellfire staring back at me.

Before I knew it, rope was being wrapped around my wrists, my entire body flinching at the feel of it pressing into my skin.

A small gasp escaped my lips, his right hand never leaving my throat as he gripped the makeshift cuffs by the center and raised my hands up over my head.

My shoulders strained as he continued to extend my arms just past my reach, so that I had to lift myself onto my toes to accommodate how high he demanded my body go.

Daring to look up where he gripped the rope, I watched as he hooked the center of it onto the top of the axe head protruding from the tree at the perfect angle.

There was no hope of me getting free.

“That’s my good girl,” he said, patting my cheek with his now-free hand, then took a step back, his eyes scanning over me like I was a meal.

At those words of praise, my body betrayed my good senses. I should have been terrified, screaming, fighting, but this was like my darkest fantasy. Right out of my book.

Fuck, this monster knew it… And was I hallucinating or did his voice sound familiar?

Somehow he’d put my bookmark on the exact page where Blakley had dreamed about something very similar.

I looked up into the eyes of my masked predator and saw emerald irises burning into mine. Suddenly, despite his hand not being around my throat anymore, I could breathe even less. The only sound I could register was his deep, heavy, long pants. Like a lustful monster restraining itself.

“Looks like I’ve caught myself a harpy,” he said in a low, gravelly but honey-sweet voice.

“James...” The name escaped from my lips as recognition dawned on me.

My chest grew tight as I awaited confirmation of my suspicion. None came but only one person had ever called me that. My core heated as memories of past conversations flooded my mind. Late night exchanges of words and photos as we teased and pleased each other.

Stepping back into me, my masked captor drew another small axe from a holster hanging from his belt and turned it slowly, its edge catching the moonlight so that it seemed to sparkle.

His free hand reached out and gripped the bottom of my blouse as he tugged it towards him, my eyes fixating on the tip of the blade dipping closer to my throat.

My shoulders were burning, my body instinctively leaning away from the axe, despite the bark of the tree already stabbing through my blouse.

I watched in silent horror—and excitement—as he gently placed the tip of the blade to the collar seam of my blouse and slowly glided it down the center, parting my pajama top like butter.

The cold air intensified over my bare chest, causing my nipples to harden to stone.