Page 26 of Cursed
I continue through the maze, moving more confidently now but still vigilant. Every few steps, I pause to listen, expecting to hear his voice or footsteps. The silence feels wrong, almost more threatening than his pursuit.
The silence is a weapon. It takes me several long minutes to comprehend this new strategy—Landon hasn’t abandoned the Hunt. He’s elevating it.
I press my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. This disappearing act isn’t mercy; it’s a mindfuck. Damn it. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. He’s toying with me, letting uncertainty and my imagination do his bidding with zero active effort. Every shadow becomes him. Every sound might be his footsteps. The anticipation of being caught becomes almost more bone-chilling than the capture itself.
“Psychological warfare,” I whisper.
He gets off on this—the mental torture, the anticipation, the way fear floods my system and clouds my judgment. It’s not merely about catching me; it’s about breaking me down. Making me jump at shadows. Making me doubt my senses. Cultivating an overwhelming level of terror every second possible before he has even laid a single hand on me. Chills prick my skin at the callous way he manipulates my mind.
My fingers curl into fists against the wall, nails digging into my palms as if I could conjure from my mind something—anythingto hold on to that could offer relief from the fear I feel like I am drowning in.. The Hunt makes perfect sense for someone like Landon. It’s not just a sexual game; it’s psychological domination. The perfect playground for a man who hacks into women’s computers and watches them through their security cameras.
Is he watching me right now? Is he tracking me through cameras, enjoying my growing panic from a comfortable vantage point?
Or is he closer than I think, deliberately making no sound, waiting for the perfect moment when my guard drops?
My anxiety spikes so suddenly that I feel dizzy. The walls seem to pulse around me. My breath comes faster—too fast. I’m hyperventilating, the edges of my vision growing dark.
“Stop it,” I hiss at myself. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
The realization of what kind of man is hunting me—what kind of game he’s playing—has already done its damage. My fear isn’t just about being caught anymore.
It’s about being psychologically unraveled before he ever lays a hand on me.
“Saaa-dieee.”
My entire body turns to ice at the sound of Landon’s voice, sing-song and playful, echoing through the corridor.It makes bile rise in my throat at the mere thought of himfinding me, never mind what he intends to do to me once he has me.
“Where are you, Saaa-dieee?”
It’s close. Too close. The mocking lilt in his tone sends a wave of revulsion crawling up my spine. My heart, which had begun to slow, now pounds so violently I can feel it in my throat, my fingertips, my temples.
I press myself flatter against the wall, as if I could somehow melt into it. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to flee, but my legs won’t move. I’m paralyzed by the proximity of his voice.
“I know you’re here somewhere.” His voice bounces off the walls, making it impossible to pinpoint his location.
My breath catches painfully in my chest. A rush of adrenaline floods my system, my fight-or-flight response screaming at me to run, but where? Which direction? He could be anywhere.
“The thing about mazes,” his voice continues, that eerie playfulness still present, “is that there’s only so many places to hide.”
I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from making a sound. The metallic taste of blood blooms across my tongue. Myhands are shaking so badly that I have to press them against the wall to steady them.
“Tick-tock, Sadie,” he calls, voice reverberating off the walls. “Hiding only makes this more fun for me.”
A whimper escapes before I can stop it. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The sound, small as it was, seems to echo in the silence that follows.
“There you are,” he whispers, voice suddenly much closer, all playfulness gone.
The change in his tone—from taunting to satiated at finding me—sends a fresh surge of terror through me. My knees nearly buckle. Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, down my back.
I have to move. Now.
12
LANDON
That tiny whimper—fuck, it hits me like a shot of pure adrenaline straight to my cock. My entire body tightens with anticipation as I move toward the sound, silent as death.
“There you are,” I whisper, close enough now that I know she hears me.
