Page 11 of Haunted Nights & Savage Sins
When we got to the mansion, I only had the one duffel bag that my father must have given to Cormac after the ceremony at some point. Cormac walked me down a long hall, the only light coming from the many different candelabras that decorated the place. He opened the door to a room and made a note to let me know that this space was my responsibility. If I wanted it clean, I’d have to clean it. If I destroyed it, that’s how it would stay. He’s speaking to me as if I’m a toddler and not a grown woman.
I keep my back to him as he makes his way to the door that leads out of my room. He stops just at the doorway and speaks over his shoulder.
“You are not permitted to leave this house. If you do, you will be hunted down. There is nowhere for you to run and no one here who will help you. Don’t make this any harder for yourself than it has to be.”
I spin on my heels just as he walks out and closes the door behind himself.
As if I could make this any harder than it already is. I’m already a prisoner in this marriage; now he wants to make me a prisoner in this house.
All the emotions of the day come to a head, and I scream at the top of my lungs at no one in particular. There is a strong draft that washes over me, and I can feel the chill all the way in my bones.
I drop myself onto the large bed, and suddenly all my anger turns into unbearable despair. Sobbing uncontrollably, I bury my face in the pillows and let the tears fall. By the time I’m finished, the pillowcase is soaked, and I’m more tired than I’ve ever been.
I turn to my back and look up at the ceiling. The draft slams into me once again, but when I look to the windows, I realize none of them are open. This control freak probably had them bolted down.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk over to the nearest window and test it.
I nearly fall back in shock when, instead of being tough, the window slides open without the least bit of effort.
Fresh air smacks me in the face, and I squint my eyes to see in the darkness. The back of the mansion is lined with mostly dead flower hedges.
I’m grateful it’s not made into some sort of maze.
This is my shot. Before I even have a chance to think too much about it, I’m sliding my feet through the opening and letting my legs dangle against the outside of the house.
For a brief second, I think about all the security guards that I saw patrolling outside the gates of the mansion. It surprised me that there were none in the actual house when we arrived. It’s definitely different than what I’m used to with my father.
My father had a security guard at his side at all times. This betters my chances, though.
It’s true that I don’t know anyone in this country, but I’m sure if I am able to make it off the property, I can get one of them to help me. Someone has to help me.
I let go of the lip of the windowsill and drop the few feet down to the ground. I’m almost too grateful that I packed my combat boots in the one bag I was allowed to bring.
That is until I take a step away and realize these same boots leave a clear imprint in the dirt. He’ll be able to track me much easier like this.
I don’t have time to think about that right now. All I can focus on is getting away from here.
The more the cool night air kisses my skin, the more hope begins to blossom in my chest. So far, I don’t hear any alarms or see any guards coming in my direction. Could it really be this easy?
I run a few steps toward the poorly taken care of hedges and sneak a glance back up at the mansion I just escaped from.
My eyes settle on the very top window. There’s someone standing there. I think. I can’t tell. It’s almost as if whoever is there is see-through. My overly tired mind starts to think maybe it’s a ghost, but I know better than that. There are no such things as ghosts, but Cormac is real. He’s the monster that I have to get away from.
I take off once again, this time just trying to make it to the line of trees that are on the far edge of the property when I hear what can only be considered to be one of my worst nightmares.
Deep, feral barking.
Dogs are running behind me, their strides much faster than my own.
Panic surges through my muscles, infusing the fibers with adrenaline. I pick up speed, but so do the dogs. When I turn back again, they’ve nearly cut the space between me and them in half. It’s hard to see them in the darkness, but the closer they get to me, the easier it is for me to make out their features.
All of them are dark, either brown or black.
I turn and push harder to get into the trees. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there, but for right now, it seems like the only step in my plan.
I make it just to the edge of the tree line and turn once again to see how close the dogs are. I can make them out clearly—the spit dripping from their mouths as they bark and growl at me, the muscles in their powerful bodies contracting and releasing as they continue to chase me down. These aren’t little dogs either. There are two Rottweilers and one Doberman. Massive dogs that seem like they are only here for one thing, to please their master.
Right now, I’m the one who went against their master’s word. He told me not to leave the house or I’d be hunted down. I didn’t think he meant it so literally.
