What is there left for me? It’s not like I have the money to afford a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I get a commission every few weeks, which is better than nothing. Millie probably wouldn’t want me working at the store after what’s happened, and it’s not like I’d want to.

“Do it,” he challenges me, gesturing to the keys. “But remember, there isn’t anywhere you could go where I won’t follow.” His promise sends my heart galloping, and fire ignites in my veins.

I open and close my mouth, willing words to come out, but I have nothing to say—No, not nothing. I don’t know what to say because the words on the tip of my tongue will seal my fate, and I’m not ready for that.

Silence reigns over us, making the tension between us electrify as the fireplace crackles. "Run." His chest rumbles while his deep, darkened gaze locks with mine, descending goosebumps along my skin. “I’ll give you a head start. But know, I will catch you. Every time. You’ll scream, beg, and fight, but there will be nothing stopping me from claiming you.” I draw in a shuddering breath when his lips brush the shell of my ear, his voice a silky whisper. “Run. I dare you.”

Then he gives me the look that tells me what time it is: Tag.

The chair tumbles back and clatters against the floor as sparks ignite through my blood, alighting my skin with a flush of fear and excitement. Thunder erupts through the house to the beat of my bounding steps as I bolt past the keys and for the door.

Fear and rapture flood my senses, making me lose all thought as I aim straight for the trees, not feeling nature’s assault on my feet. Cold air stings my face as I go bounding through the forest while I hear the door slam open.

“Oh, Bella,” he calls in a singsong voice.

As my heartbeat roars in my ears, I don’t dare look behind me to see how far away he is. His voice seems close and a world away at the same time.

My thundering steps sound too loud in my ears as pine needles stick to my clothes and branches tear at my skin. The pain doesn’t register beyond the need to keep running and the desire to meet the hunter when I’m caught.

It’s fucked up and thrilling. Pure exhilaration surges through me; feeling like I have injected some kind of drug straight into my veins.

Tag. It’s been years since we’ve played it; I’ve forgotten how the euphoria of that hunt feels.

He’ll trap me. His claws will sink into me, and he’ll claim his territory like a savage.

Even though I can’t see him, I can feel him and his scent everywhere, overpowering the smell of the fresh earth.

He starts whistling a cheery tune somewhere, as if the chase doesn’t tire him. The eerie melody spurs me on, heightening my sense of panic.

My muscles burn as I push myself to run faster, each unsteady step threatening to send me tumbling down. I glance around frantically, aiming for something that helps me hide my tracks. Luckily, it’s not long before I spot rock formations on the horizon, covering a good portion of the forest floor.

I didn’t expect Roman to give me so much time to run, but I know he’s playing with me, giving me the false sense of security that I might have some semblance of control in this situation.

Climbing onto one of the rocks, I jump to another, then another, finally sprinting for a low-hanging tree. I duck behind it, breath ragged and wheezing. Even as I try to muffle my greedy lungfuls of air as I move, I may as well be screaming for him to find me with how loud I'm breathing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” His coo echoes through the forest, so I can’t pinpoint where he is.

Nature stills, and the birds’ and insects’ songs go quiet. I hold my breath. Waiting. Listening.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Nothing happens. No sound, no movement, nothing.

The cawing of a bird booms overhead, and I jump back, colliding with something solid before a hand clasp over my mouth.

“Tag. You’re it.”

I shriek against his hands, and he releases me. Spinning around, I stumble to the ground, before scrambling to escape him.

Roman’s laugh bounces through the forest as he stalks forward, never more than a couple of feet away. The wide red smile of the mask—the one he wore to murder my foster parents—glows tauntingly.

I would bet my life there’s an animalistic grin plastered over his face.

Every one of my senses screams at me to run away from this predator. I keep crawling away from him, slipping in the sodden earth.

He pauses, and I do too. A head tilt is the only warning I get before he lunges. A cry rips through my throat when he seizes my ankles with his strong hands and drags me back to him. I thrash around, clawing at the ground with all the strength I can muster up, but everything is in vain.

His hips press against mine, and I cry out again, switching tactics by unleashing my hands on him instead to find purchase with my nails. He’s quick to react, and my wrists are shackled above my head by his long fingers before I can do any damage.

“I told you I’d catch you.” His dark laugh sends a tingle down my spine, and he grinds our hips together. I want to squeeze my legs shut to stop the building ache that only grows damper with each second, now that the predator has trapped his prey, and all that’s left for him to do is play with his food. “I hope you’re ready to be devoured.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the moan wanting to break loose. “Please,” I whimper, wiggling around without actually trying to get away, but all it does is add friction to where our hips connect.

He pushes his hand down my panties, and I buckle beneath him, breath rasping and lids heavy. Rough fingers sink into my core and curl up. There’s no way to hide the evidence of what his words and commanding touches do to my body.

I don’t remember tag being like this. But I think it’s now my favorite kind. Nothing I do frees my hands. He isn’t going to let go, and I don’t want him to.

“God, you’re fucking wet. Does my girl like being chased?” He clicks his tongue tauntingly, making my breath hitch. “Dirty girl.”

His fingers move, and his palm digs against my center. With my nerves soaring and the anticipation of being caught rushing through me, his touch feels better than it did at the house.

I’m sure I’m possessed. I must be. That’s the only reason to explain why I start grinding my hips.

“Fuck. Your cunt is drenching my hand.”

I moan at the sensations unfurling low in my stomach, kindled by his sharp thrusts. I shouldn’t want him like this when I haven’t fully forgiven him for what he’s done. Especially not when my wounds are still fresh. But it feels so good to have him here, above me, like he was three years ago.

This is exactly how it should be, with both of us panting and sweating, so starved for each other that candles and refinery mean nothing. It’s always been raw and primal, so full of passion that it’s sometimes hard to breathe.

I never needed the grandeur of fairy lights and picnics. I love them, but as long as I had Mickey there, it could be a real haunted house and it wouldn’t matter.

I want him in his element, and now he’s here before me. This is who we are; predator and his prey; Mickey and his mouse.

“Roman,” I plead, staring into his gray eyes, hoping he can read my mind without me saying what I want. My blood grows hotter because I can’t see his face or how he’s reacting because of the mask.

My teeth sink into my lip as he works his fingers faster. Just like he said, I’m drenched. Some sick, depraved part of my mind begs for more when my body is already shuddering and stretching to accommodate the intrusion.

“Say ‘Roman’ if you want me to stop.” He doesn’t stop plunging his fingers into me as he says it, and there isn’t a single cell in me that wants to be left on edge.