Page 33 of Cursed
Asmirk tugs at my lips as I pass the corridor where Mira had attempted her pathetic distraction. Did she really think I’d waste my time with Xavier’s claimed prey? In another context, I might have appreciated her loyalty to Sadie, but tonight, I have only one focus.
My little butterfly thinks she can escape me.
I track her movements through the labyrinth by the subtle disturbances in the air, the faint vanilla scent she leaves behind. Her panic makes her predictable—always turning right when faced with a choice. These psychological patterns make her so easy to predict, despite her intelligence.
The security watch on my wrist shows her heat signature moving toward the eastern wing. Perfect. She has no idea what awaits her there.
“Run all you want, butterfly,” I whisper to myself, quickening my pace. “You’re heading exactly where I want you.”
The eastern wing houses another one of my personal contributions to this year’s Hunt—another room I designed specifically with Sadie in mind, after studying her searches and reading habits.
The Sensory Chamber.
The room appears boring and uneventful at first glance, with a raised platform in the center housing what looks like a modified medical examination chair. But appearances are deceiving. The walls can project any environment, from starlit skies to raging infernos. The floor contains pressure-sensitive panels that release aromatics tailored to heighten arousal.
But the true genius lies in the neural-response restraints—cuffs that analyze skin temperature, pulse, and breathing rate to understand what sensations elicit the strongest responses, then adapt accordingly. The system learns what brings the most intense pleasure or fear, then exploits it.
I quicken my pace, excitement building as I imagine Sadie stumbling into this trap. Will she understand that I built it specifically for her analytical mind?
Her footsteps echo ahead of me, growing fainter as she puts distance between us. Let her run. Let her think she’s escaping.
This is what I live for—the calculated chase, the inevitable capture.
The monitor shows Sadie’s heat signature pausing at an intersection. She’s hesitating, analyzing her options. That brilliant mind of hers is working overtime, trying to outthink me. Little does she know I’ve studied her every move, dictated her every choice.
I take a shortcut through a maintenance corridor, running my fingers along the wall as I move. The eastern wing is only moments away now. If I circle around, I can intercept her before she even realizes I’ve changed course.
A notification pulses on my wristband—someone’s breached the outer perimeter of my territory. The Dexter twins, no doubt, are ignoring my earlier warning despite capturing Keira. Irritation flashes through me, but I push it aside. They’ll learn their lesson soon enough.
I reach the junction leading to the eastern wing as Sadie’s heat signature rounds the corner ahead. I press myself against the wall, steadying my breathing. She’s so close now I can almost taste her fear in the air—that delicious cocktail of adrenaline and arousal that she tries so desperately to deny.
I count her steps. Three. Two. One.
I hang back in the shadows, watching with quiet satisfaction as Sadie stumbles into the Sensory Chamber. Her shoulders hunch forward, tension visible in every line of her body as she scans the room.
She steps cautiously toward the center of the room, her eyes widening at the examination chair with its deceptively soft-looking restraints. Her fingers brush against the leather, curiosity momentarily overriding her fear.
Perfect.
I move silently into the room behind her and slam the door shut with deliberate force. The sound echoes like a gunshot in the space.
Sadie spins to face me, her eyes wide with terror, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Her mask has slipped during her flight, hanging askew across her face.
“Welcome to my playground, little butterfly,” I say. “Do you like what I built for you?” I ask, gesturing to the room around us. “I designed it after studying your browsing history. Those erotic novels you read... particularly the ones involving sensory deprivation.” I take a step closer. “It was quite educational, learning what makes you wet.”
Her disgust and horror are palpable, delicious. This moment—this perfect crystallization of power—is more potent than any drug.
I stalk toward Sadie, savoring the way her eyes dart frantically around the room, seeking escape. There is none. TheSensory Chamber has one entrance, one exit—and I’m blocking it.
“You can’t run from me anymore,” I say, my voice deceptively gentle. “This room was designed for you. Don’t you want to try it?”
Her chest heaves with rapid breaths. “Fuck you,” she spits, backing away until she bumps against the examination chair.
I love it when she shows her claws.
Sadie makes a desperate lunge to my left, trying to dart past me to the door. I anticipate her movement—she telegraphs her intentions with her eyes—and sidestep smoothly to block her path. My arm shoots out, catching her around the waist.
“Let me go!” she screams, thrashing against me. Her elbow connects with my ribs, inciting a sharp burst of pain that only heightens my arousal.
