Page 102 of Cruel Cravings

But I couldn’t slow down. I had to find Jael. I stepped over Mr. Vanderson’s sprawled out body, eyeing the deep gash carved into his round stomach. He died with his eyes open, unlike his wife.

She was collapsed on the stairs in a heap of ballgown fabric. Someone had stabbed her in the chest, presumably as she tried to get away.

I didn’t give a damn who was behind the murders—or any of the dead bodies I came across at Hurst Manor—but I did know I had to find Jael.

I ripped apart the property searching for her, tearing through rooms, flinging open doors with enough force to splinter wood. The hidden passages—the ones most people wouldn’t even know existed—lead to nowhere.

The underground tunnels and chambers where the players and employees were kept for the duration of the games were empty.

No one around to be found.

I kicked open more doors and wrenched back curtains. I checked inside closets and under beds, half expecting to find Jael in hiding.

But she wasn’t there.

I moved outside, past the hedge maze where bodies rotted in the damp night air. I checked the beach at the back of the property, which leads to a rocky shoreline where the tides from the sea rush in. She was nowhere to be found, nowhere on the estate.

I grew feral with desperation, heaving ragged air into my lungs, as I turned back and charged toward the main house. Bursts of pain shot through me, but I pushed on, gritting my teeth from under my minotaur mask.

"You’re wasting your energy, Brontë," my father said once I’d made it indoors again. His voice sounded before he appeared from a hall that led to the kitchens. He stepped toward me with his arms folded behind his back and a pitying expression on his face. “I know what you’re doing and it’s causing you nothing but pain.”

I whirled to face him, fists clenched. My pulse roared in my ears, my muscles coiled with an aggression that was barely contained. He stood in the dim light of the foyer, as unruffled as ever. If he noticed the blood smeared across the floors, the shattered remnants of the games or the dead bodies, he didn’t react.

It was all background noise for him.

“Where is she?” I snarled.

He sighed as if I were a foolish child. “She left the island.”

“Liar!”

His expression never wavered. "What reason would I ever have to lie? If you don’t believe me, take a look for yourself.”

He reached into his pants pocket and produced his cell phone, holding it up to show me the photo on his screen.

It was of Jael seated in a small boat, her cloud of curls floating in the wind. He swiped to the left to a second image, the boat from an even further distance, as the dark water lapped at the sides.

A chill trickled over me. The photos were real. They werenew.

…from tonight.

My father pocketed the phone. “She found what she was looking for. Or rather, realized the next place she needed to look. That was why you were here, was it not? Her quest to find her sister?”

“Where?” I grunt.

The edge of his mouth quirked. “She’s gone to the Caplan Hills. It’s where the famed Raskova estate is—or, rather, was—located. If there was anywhere for Kaden Raskova to escape to, it would be his father’s magnificent property, would it not?”

“And her sister…”

He nodded. “She’s with him. Which is why Jael left.”

“No.”

“She left before you could follow. Why else do you think she was on that boat?”

I heaved another ragged breath, refusing to believe what I was being told. “She didn’t leave.”

“You saw the photo. If you want to find her, you can. I’ll help you.” He stepped closer, staring up at me like I was morea creature that fascinated him than his son. “We can use the tracking device. That should help you find her.”

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