Page 23 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

BELLE

He’s going to have my hide for this.

As long as I find him, as long as I stop him, that’s all that matters.

I urge Revenant up the rocky path, the terrain becoming steeper, the air thinner. She shakes her head with a snort, gnawing at the bridle, but she obeys.

Other than more growth, the path hasn’t changed—like it’s been frozen in time, suspended as Jack’s manor has. Sometimes, I’ve wondered if the Covenant was a gateway to hell, and it blackened everything around it. It would help rationalize the dark things that always seemed to creep in the air, the random pockets of chilled air, the chronic prickling along the spine.

I rushed to the sanctum of trees any day I could, finding solace in the books I’d hide under an obliging log or bury next to a tree I’d marked.

With each step, the oppressive weight of my past bores into me. Memories worm into my mind like shadowy fingers, and the chill of the night air wraps around me, suffocating my spirit. It’s enough to cripple me. Whatever energy surrounds this place, it’s threatening to drag me into its haunting undertow, devour me forever.

I suck down breaths, trying to focus on Revenant, on the silkiness of her hide, the coarseness of her mane, her breath leaving in ghostly huffs as she climbs. But my lungs are withering.

Memories I’ve buried like those books—but not happy ones—splinter through my mind in broken visions. My heart races, thumping wildly against my rib cage as the images and sensations claw at me, triggering my PTSD.

Find Jack. Go back. Find Jack.

The voices war within me.

Come back, Belle. All my nerve endings riot at the voice deepening in my mind. Nononono!

My stomach swirls with a thousand whirlpools. My head dizzies. No! It’s been years since I had a flashback.

Jack…Jack…

“Now, Belle,”

the menacing voice commands.

Melancholy fills me as I put down my book, leave the sanctum of my chair near the fireplace in our room, and return to my husband, who stands in front of the bed. One of few books I’m allowed to read in the Covenant is the Bible. But some parts are missing. Mimi has shown me those parts.

I love the story of Esther. She was taken as a slave for the King, but she became Queen and saved her people. It always read like a fairy tale to me with the villain of Haman, the wise sage, Mordecai, the foolish King, the shrewd heroine, the high stakes, and the happy ending.

But my king is not foolish. He’s cunning. And I am not strong…not like Esther.

My heart pitches in my chest with every step I take until I arrive before him, my hands folded before me, demure and docile as is my place. The nightgown I wear is sheer and loose, but it feels confining…even if he could rip it from me in an instant, baring me until I’m vulnerable. Weak. Submissive. Ready for him.

Thaddeus towers over me, his shadow drowning me, swallowing me whole. His smile doesn’t give me butterflies anymore.

I remind myself of the countless voices in my mind. My family, my older sisters who are married, the Elders, the Brothers, women in the village—both single and married with children—all reminding me of how lucky I am. Thaddeus is handsome. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled to the elbows, showcasing his superior muscle, veins in his arms pronounced. The circle brand on his wrist. One he will give me soon. Thaddeus is powerful. The most skilled of all the Brothers.

But his gaze is wolfish as he leers down at me. When he captures my chin in one strong hand, commanding my face to his eye, I swallow hard and clench my fingers tightly until they turn white.

You are worthy of love, Belladonna, Mimi reminds me.

I remember passages about how women were first at the cradle and then at the Cross. How Deborah was a Judge and went into battle. How Jael drove a tent peg through the enemy general’s skull. Esther.

“It is our honeymoon, little Belle. I will not have you waste our time by reading.”

My mind races as Thaddeus lowers his head to take my mouth, hard and ruthless. He bites and mauls. And rips the nightgown from my frame, petite next to his, hauling me back into bed.

I would like to believe this is a story I’m telling. I need to believe it. I must believe it. The quote chants in my mind as he stabs a knee between my legs, jerking them apart.

Those who can believe that such stories are only stories have a better chance.

He tells me how beautiful I am, how long he waited for me, how he knew I would be his wife the moment he saw me…when I was ten, serving meals in the communal dining hall.

If it’s a story I’m telling, then I have control over the ending.

He plunges two fingers into me, finding me dry. A growl rumbles in his chest. No, I clench my eyes shut, panicking, willing and begging my sex to get wet. It only does with his spit.

Then there will be an ending, to the story, and real life will come after it.

He spears himself into me, all the way to the back of my cunt. I wish I could say he isn’t so big, but he is. He’s huge and viral with the stamina to match. He bites the side of my neck, so hard, he draws blood like a vampire feeding on me. Marks of ownership I will wear with honor, he says while pumping inside me. Punishing marks because my body isn’t prepared for him, isn’t aroused by my…husband.

The worst part? I still orgasm. Because Thaddeus wants me to. Because it’s another way he proves his power over me.

Will it always be like this?

Tears form in my eyes. Because it’s not just his spit that slickens me down there now.

I can pick up where I left off. Offred, The Handmaid’s Tale.

It’s blood.

A branch slapping me in the face jerks me back to reality. I gasp, pushing all the thoughts down along with the bile in my throat.

The forest confuses me, toying with my sight, my direction. The moonlight flickers through the trees, casting twisted shapes on the ground that seem to dance like the sinister figures in my memories.

I banish him from my mind, not wanting to remember that one night I followed Thaddeus—my husband, my captor—into the depths of the woods.

Each heartbeat feels like a countdown, the sound echoing in my ears, drowning out everything but the frantic rhythm of my pulse. My chest hurts from my thundering heart, each breath coming in sharp gasps as I struggle to shake off the visions that threaten to engulf me. Revenant whinnies as we approach the crest of the tall hill

The path blurs beneath her hooves, the rocks beneath her slipping away down the hill into darkness like an abyss.

“Focus, Belle,”

I whisper to myself, but it sounds distant, drowned out by the chaos in my mind. Thaddeus, lost in the throes of his pleasure, spilling his seed into me, and snapping his teeth—taunting me, getting off on my fear.

It didn’t matter that I orgasmed with him. It felt…wrong. I read about dissociation, but I never floated away. I never went outside my body or so deep in my mind. I simply focused on the grains in the wood ceiling of our honeymoon cabin. And I counted the stones around the fireplace.

The echoes of his cruel laughter reverberate in my skull, pulling me deeper into a spiral of dread.

At the top of the hill, I can see the watchtowers of the Covenant beyond the trees—about a mile away. My heart ricochets in my chest, wrecking itself.

“Help!”

I want to scream, but no sound escapes.

Instead, the world begins to darken, a suffocating blackness creeping in at the edges of my vision. Ohnoohnoohno!—not now! It’s the worst place for me to pass out. They’ll leave the compound at times. They’ll hunt. Or…I choke on a breath at one significant memory—one of horror.

I can’t go back. They’ll find me.

Go back, Belle.

The weight of the past presses down on me, dragging me under as my heart races faster and faster, threatening to burst.

And then, a sudden jolt overcomes Revenant, and I lose my grip as she stumbles over a loose stone. My body careens to the side, the ground rushing up to meet me.

The world tilts as I fall, my breath escaping in a desperate gasp, followed by a shrill cry. As my body hits the ground, the impact sends a shock wave of pain through me, but the fading of my consciousness truly terrifies me.

He’ll find me. He’ll force me back. He won’t let me go. And I…will become a ghost just like Cathy always longing for her Heathcliff. I won’t get to tell my story. No rewrites. I won’t pick up where I left off like I have with Jack. It won’t be a new chapter, a new beginning.

It will be the end of the book.

My vision blurs. The dark woods swirl into a nightmare of faces and memories, all distorted and twisted. Just as I prepare for the darkness to swallow me, I catch a glimpse of a figure breaking through the trees.

Jack.

“Belle!”

His voice pierces the haze, cutting through my panic like a knife. But even as he rushes to my side, lifting me into his arms, fear carves at my insides, refusing to let go. The weight is still there, hovering like a wraith in the corners of my mind, but Jack’s presence grounds me.

“Breathe, Belle. I’ve got you,”

he murmurs, his voice steady and strong, a lifeline in the tumult of my thoughts.

“Are you hurt?”

I struggle to regain feeling beyond the strength of his arms, but there’s no pain. Only safety. My senses take in all of him. The scent of his vetiver, leather, and natural masculine musk. His warm breath drifting across my face. The feeling of his coat against my head.

“I’m not hurt. I’m fine. I’m perfect. Because you’re here.”

Relief fills my chest with a surge of air. Hope lifts my shoulders. And love…strengthens my heart.

“What am I going to do with you?”

he snorts and approaches Revenant, setting me upon her back and climbing up behind me.

I cling to him, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cold and crippling PTSD. He is bringing feeling back to me. Sometimes, Thaddeus would take his belt to me, but he would stripe my back more than my bottom. Marks on my body. A scar at the back of my neck…beneath my hair.

Nothing like Jack.

Jack pours emotion into every lashing, every mark—all his emotions from punishment to love—knowing just how much force to apply without harming me. A reddening, a few welts. No breaking the skin. An imprint of his teeth. True marks of honor and possession.

And he always puts my pleasure first.

The man I love takes the reins, makes a kissing sound, and urges Revenant onward. Tipping my head onto his shoulder, I whimper and suggest, “You could use your riding crop.”

“Naughty girl,”

he growls, but I hear his affection and warm amusement.

“I have a much better punishment in store. But for now…I am here. I am always here for you.”

Revenant breaks into a steady trot, shaking her mane but obeying her master until we arrive at the manor a few moments later.

I don’t care what punishment he does. He’s here. He’s okay. He won’t let me slip away. Jackson Elias Moore is my home, and when I find the way back to him, I find the way back to myself.

What will happen if we can’t find his heart by Samhain?

The question surges fear through me. My heart beats too much. It gives out.

I pass out.