Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Maggie arrived moments later, taking her place along the wall. She wished they were next to each other. Wished she could take her hand.
When the final tribute descended, Aunt Vanessa reclaimed the center of the landing, radiant and commanding. “Hunters!” She drew their attention like a sorceress casting a spell. “As is tradition and your privileged right, you may now select your partner for the opening dance.”
Are we dancing?
The hunters moved, pouring toward the tributes like a tide, some striding with purpose toward specific targets, others prowling the selection with predatory consideration. The first contact came like a crash of power over stillness, unmooring any sense of safety and order as tributes were hurled out of line in a swirl of dark suits and desperate gowns.
Daisy instinctively stepped back, pressing herself against the wall, hoping to make herself small. But he never lost sight of her. Closer and closer, spreading like a dark bruise, the man in the plum suit materialized like smoke.
“Hello.”
She couldn’t talk. Up close, he was tall and polished, every inch of him curated for intimidation. Late thirties, maybe early forties. Gym-trained but not rugged. Manicured hands. Perfect posture. His mask was silver and elaborate, but it couldn’t hide the cold calculation in his eyes. The scent of danger clung to him like cologne.
“I said hello, 1922.” His voice was smooth, his words methodical, his cadence educated. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He chose words like currency.
He didn’t ask. He simply took. Clasping her hand and pulling her toward the black dance floor.
The orchestra hummed, then dropped into a darker, more urgent beat. A tango.
Daisy dragged her feet. “I don’t—”
“You must follow along.” His arm enveloped her waist, cinching her close enough that the heat of his chest seeped through her gown. His other hand captured hers, positioning her like a doll arranged for display.
Already moving, he gave her no choice.
The music swept them into motion as much as the crowd. Daisy stumbled, her feet tangling with his in a graceless collision. He corrected her with a sharp tug, pulling her back into position with more force than necessary.
“Relax,” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and unwelcome. “Fighting only makes it worse.”
His steps were foreign and impossibly fast, the pace punishing and pulling her in directions she had no way of anticipating.
“Surrender to it. Let me lead.”
Every time she found her footing, he changed direction, tugging her off balance and spinning her until she was dizzy and breathless. When he dipped her, she gasped, certain he’d let her fall, but instead, he yanked her back up, clutching her tighter than before.
“You’re trembling.” His hand slid lower on her back, fingers pressing into the curve of her spine. “I like that.”
His smile held no warmth. When he brought her wrist to his lips, her eyes went wide behind her mask.
“Your pulse is racing. I can feel it right here.” His tongue swept over her throbbing veins as his thumb pressed against the soft skin.
When she tried to pull back, his grip tightened.
“Name’s Hadrian.” He dipped her quickly, yanking her back with a flourish. “Hadrian Welles.” They twirled. “You’ll want to remember that.”
“Why?”
“Because by morning, it will be the only name that matters. The one that claimed your innocence.”
Her lips parted as he spun her out, snapping her back to him like a whip. Her back collided with his chest, and she gasped when his fingers trailed down her exposed belly. But before she could respond, he was twirling her again, bringing her right back to his chest, once again face to face.
He marched her backwards. “I read your file.” He walked her backwards around the perimeter of the room, voice dropping to a lover’s whisper, intimate and obscene. “Responsive. Shy.” His laugh was soft and private. “A virgin.”
She angled her head away, his words a secret she didn’t want to hear.
“We’ll see about that.”
Daisy’s heart raced as if inside a cornered rabbit. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to disappear. But his hands were everywhere, controlling her movement. Her direction. Even her breath.
And if not by him, she’d be seized by another. Every tribute had been snatched up. Handed over. In the grip of giants.
Hadrian Welles was everything fairytales warned little girls to avoid. He was the wolf in the woods and the dragon in the thorns. They all were. Monsters dressed in silk. Trained to speak in eloquent words that rained like poetry while telling scary stories that kept little girls up all night.
They were the shadows that triggered nightmares. By dawn, they would devour everything soft and good in this room.
“You’re not breathing,” he smirked, eyes narrowing as a Cheshire grin curved under his mask. “Careful. You’ll faint before I’ve even begun—not that I mind, of course. Nothing you do can deter me from my plans.” A clipped, peculiar laugh escaped his throat. “And it could be fun, plucking your cherry as you lie limp and helpless at my mercy.”