Page 25 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)
XAVIER
I follow at a measured pace, my boots echoing against the stone in a steady rhythm that I know she can hear. There’s no need to rush.
Each turn she takes leads her deeper into my domain, further from any possible exit.
The red silk flows behind her like a beacon, making it impossible for her to hide even if she tried.
But she’s not trying to hide anymore. She’s running on pure instinct now, terror driving her forward without thought or strategy.
Perfect.
I maintain enough distance to keep her moving without catching her. This isn’t about the chase—it’s about the destination. Every corridor she chooses brings her closer to the heart of my creation, the rooms I’ve spent years perfecting for moments exactly like this.
The surveillance feed streams directly to my phone, showing me her exact location as she stumbles through the maze. Her breathing is ragged, her movements becoming more erratic as panic takes hold. She has no idea where she’s going, only that she needs to get away from me.
What she doesn’t understand is that there is no way. Not in here. Not anymore.
The path ahead splits into two corridors, and I watch through the cameras as she hesitates for just a moment before taking the left passage.
Her footsteps grow more frantic as she runs deeper into the maze, and I allow myself a small smile. She’s heading directly toward the Hall of Thorns, one of my more... creative ideas. The impact of that room never fails to prepare prey for what comes after.
And what comes after is my masterpiece.
The erotic pool waits beyond the Hall of Thorns—my favorite playground, the space I’ve designed with the most careful attention to every detail. The interplay of water and restraint, where panic transforms into a reaction far more interesting when combined with the right stimulus.
Mira has no idea what awaits her. The Hall of Thorns will strip away the last of her defenses and leave her vulnerable and raw before she reaches the pool. By then, her mind will be exactly where I need it—caught between terror and the dark hunger I’ve awakened in her.
I check my watch and quicken my pace. The timing needs to be perfect. She should reach the Hall of Thorns in approximately three minutes, giving her enough time to experience its depravity before I arrive.
The sound reaches me before I see her reaction—a sharp intake of breath that echoes off the stone walls. Mira has reached the Hall of Thorns.
Through the surveillance feed on my phone, I watch her freeze at the entrance. The massive metal spires rise around her like a forest of blades, their polished surfaces reflecting the blood-red lighting in fractured patterns across her skin.
She takes a tentative step backward, then another, her head turning frantically as she searches for another way out. But there isn’t one. Not from where she stands now.
I round the final corner of the corridor behind her. The sound of my footsteps forces her to spin around, and I see the exact moment her eyes find me in the shadows.
Those hazel eyes widen with a mixture of terror and desire. She’s trapped between the thorns ahead and me behind, with nowhere left to run.
“Quite the choice ahead of you,” I call out, my voice carrying easily down the long corridor between us. “You can walk through those thorns and face whatever waits on the other side, or...”
I take a slow step forward, watching her turn tense.
“You can come to me willingly. Save us both some time.”
The red lighting casts dancing shadows across her face as she glances back at the Hall of Thorns, then at me. I can practically see her mind racing, weighing her options.
“What’s it going to be, Mira?” I take another measured step closer. “The unknown dangers ahead, or the devil, you know?”
Her jaw sets in a defiant line. Even now, even trapped and terrified, she refuses to surrender. It’s what makes her so perfect for what I have planned.
“Neither,” she says, her voice shakier than she’d probably like.
But her feet betray her words. She turns back toward the Hall of Thorns, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle. Exactly what I wanted her to choose.
The thorns will strip away the last of her psychological defenses, leaving her raw and vulnerable for what comes after. She thinks she’s choosing defiance, but she’s actually choosing the path that leads directly into my hands.
I smile as she takes her first hesitant step into the maze of metal spires.
I follow Mira into the Hall of Thorns, watching as the first set of spikes slides into place behind her with a mechanical hiss that echoes off the walls.
The trap activates exactly as designed—the contestants become prisoners.
At the same time, I remain free to move through hidden passages built specifically for hunters.
The blood-red lighting flickers across the metal spires, casting everything in crimson shadows as Mira realizes her mistake. She spins around to find the exit sealed, spikes now blocking her retreat. Her breathing quickens as she takes in the maze of sharp metal surrounding her.
“Clever design, don’t you think?” I move easily through the hunter’s corridor that runs parallel to her position, my voice carrying through the chamber. “The prey gets trapped while we maintain complete freedom of movement.”
A loud moan echoes from deeper within the Hall of Thorns, followed by a woman’s breathless plea. “More... please, Vane, more.”
Mira’s head snaps toward the sound, her eyes widening as she realizes she’s not alone in here.
Through the maze of spikes, we can both see Lia pressed against one of the raised platforms, her back arched as Vane draws a gleaming blade across her collarbone.
A thin line of crimson wells up on her olive skin.
Lia’s response is immediate and enthusiastic. Her head falls back in ecstasy as she begs, “Deeper. Don’t stop.”
There’s no fear in her voice, no reluctance—only raw, desperate hunger for what Vane is giving her. She’s completely lost in the game, trembling with arousal rather than terror as he traces the knife lower, leaving delicate cuts across her chest.
“You see that?” I move closer to where Mira stands, frozen between the spikes. “That’s what complete surrender looks like. No fighting, no trying to escape. Pure submission to what she needs.”
Vane’s green mask glints in the red light as he leans down to lick the blood from Lia’s wounds, making her cry out in pleasure. Her hands reach for him desperately, but the restraints keep her exactly where he wants her.
“Please,” Lia gasps, “I need?—”
“I know what you need.” Vane’s voice is low and dangerous as he positions the blade against her inner thigh.
Mira’s face pales as she watches, pressed back against the spikes behind her, close enough that the metal points brush her skin but don’t pierce.
“Still think running was the better choice?” I ask, circling closer to where she’s trapped.
I move through the hidden hunter’s passage, circling around Mira’s position. The spikes form a perfect cage around her, each step backward bringing her closer to the restraints I’ve placed strategically throughout this section.
“You’re running out of room,” I observe, noting how the spikes force her into an increasingly narrow space. Each backward step she takes brings her exactly where I want her to be.
Her shoulders hit the restraint post behind her—a tall metal spike designed specifically for this purpose. Before she can react, I’m through the hunter’s entrance and inside her section of the maze, moving fast enough that panic doesn’t give her time to think.
“No—” she starts, but I already have her left wrist, pulling it back around the post.
The leather cuff clicks into place. She yanks against it, trying to free herself, but I’m already securing her right wrist to the same spike. The position arches her back slightly.
“Perfect,” I murmur, stepping back to admire the sight she makes—red silk barely covering her body, arms bound behind her, chest thrust forward by the position I’ve forced her into.
Her breathing is rapid with fear, but I can see the pulse racing at her throat. The same pulse that jumped when I touched her earlier, betraying the darkness she tries so hard to deny.
“You’re not ready for blades yet,” I tell her, running my fingers along her collarbone where Vane marked Lia moments ago. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be gentle.”
I lean in close and pull my mask off again, my mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Instead of kissing, I bite down—not hard enough to break the skin, but firm enough to make her gasp and arch against the restraints.
Her taste floods my mouth as I work my way lower, teeth grazing across the exposed skin above the silk. Every small sound she makes only encourages me to be rougher, to take more of what I want.
“You brought this on yourself,” I growl against her throat before biting down again, harder this time. “Your investigation, your choices—all of it led you right here.”
My teeth find her shoulder next, leaving marks that will remind her exactly who owns her now. She tries to pull away, but the restraints keep her perfectly positioned for whatever I want to take.
“Stop,” Mira’s voice comes out breathless, strained against the position I’ve forced her into. “Xavier, stop this.”
I pull back enough to meet her eyes, letting a slow smile spread across my face. The kind of smile that makes hardened criminals nervous in my presence. On her, trapped and vulnerable as she is, the effect is even more pronounced.
“Stop?” I repeat the word like it’s foreign to me. “That’s interesting.”
I reach into my jacket pocket and withdraw the folded papers she signed. The legally binding document that sealed her fate the moment her pen touched the paper.
“Let me refresh your memory about something important.” I hold the NDA up where she can see it clearly, even in the crimson lighting. “Section seven, subsection three. Do you remember what that says?”
Her eyes dart between the document and my face, confusion mixing with mounting dread.
“It states that by signing this agreement, the participant grants full and irrevocable consent to all activities conducted during the Hunt.” I fold the papers carefully and return them to my pocket. “All activities, Mira. Without exception.”
The color drains from her face as understanding dawns.
“You also waived your right to withdraw that consent once the Hunt began. It’s all there in black and white, with your signature at the bottom.” My fingers trace along her jawline as I speak. “You read every word before you signed it. We both know how thorough you are with documents.”
She tries to turn her head away, but I catch her chin and force her to look at me.
“So when you tell me to stop...” I lean closer until my mouth is inches from hers. “I have to wonder if you’ve forgotten what you agreed to or if you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want this.”
Her breath catches as I press closer.
“Your body certainly seems to remember the agreement, even if your mind is trying to pretend otherwise.” My free hand skims down her side, feeling the way she trembles at my touch. “The way you responded to me earlier tells a very different story than your words do now.”
I can see the internal war playing out across her features—the journalist fighting against the woman who signed away her right to refuse me.
“The beautiful thing about legally binding contracts,” I murmur against her ear, “is that they don’t care about second thoughts.”
I reach into my jacket and withdraw a blade—not one of Vane’s serrated hunting knives, a sleeker knife. The polished steel catches the crimson light as I hold it up, where Mira can see every gleaming inch.
“This isn’t for cutting,” I tell her, watching her eyes track the weapon. “Not yet. ”
The flat of the blade touches her throat first, cool metal against heated skin. I drag it slowly downward, following the line of her pulse as it races beneath the surface. Her breathing hitches, but she doesn’t pull away—she can’t, restrained as she is.
“Feel that?” I press the blade’s edge—carefully, safely—against the hollow of her throat. “Your pulse is hammering.”
The knife trails lower, following the neckline of the red silk. I use enough pressure that she can feel the threat without any actual danger.
When the blade reaches the space between her breasts, I pause. “Tell me to stop again,” I challenge, my voice low and commanding. “Say it like you mean it this time.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. The internal battle plays across her features as plainly as if she’d spoken it aloud.
That’s when I slide my free hand between her thighs, finding evidence of her arousal.
“Fucking liar,” I growl, my fingers stroking through the wetness. “You’re dripping for me.”
She gasps as I find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure while keeping the blade positioned against her sternum. The contrast between sharp metal and skilled fingers makes her arch against the restraints, seeking more of both sensations.
“This is what honesty looks like,” I tell her. “Your cunt doesn’t lie the way your mouth does.”
The knife moves lower as my fingers slide deeper, steel trailing down her ribs while I stretch her open. She’s so wet now that the sounds of my fingers moving inside her echo around the chamber.
My cock strains against my leathers, demanding release, demanding to replace my fingers and replace them with my cock, to finally brand her as mine. But not yet. First, I need her begging for it.