Were they out there? Watching me watching them? Were they waiting for reinforcements before entering my property?

Unlike the woman below, they might be smart. She’d had no thought to her safety. No respect for someone else’s home. She’d strolled in as if this ivy-smothered building was hers.

My teeth ground together.

Nothing here belongs to her.

It’s all mine.

Looking one last time out the window, I allowed my back to relax, my knife to lower, and my rage to fade.

I supposed, after nine hours of her disappearance, if anyone was out there waiting for her to return, they would’ve given up being patient by now and raided my home. They would’ve appeared with their demands and either gotten killed in the process or succeeded in killing me.

The resident pack of coyotes slinked through the darkness, and a few weasels helped themselves to a drink out of the bowl that I’d placed by the back door for that purpose. Nothing was on alert. No creature acted as if anything was different.

I had to trust that they had better noses than me for sniffing out traitors.

I was alone.

Which meant the time had come.

I had to go back down there.

Fuck.

Dressing slowly now that a chill existed in the air, I hoisted on my ruined slacks and shrugged into the taupe shirt with destroyed cuffs. Pulling my hair back, I secured it at my nape with a rubber band from the study.

Shoving the key into my pocket, I clenched my jaw as I stomped down the stairs, bypassed the kitchen, and opened the cellar door. My stomach growled with discomfort, reminding me once again that I hadn’t given it any food.

Later.

Once she’s dealt with.

Once I have my answers.

My bare feet slapped on the damp concrete stairs, loud in the night.

Even though I’d memorized the cells below the house, I flicked on the lights, wanting illumination to see her, to watch her lies—to do my best to see her truth.

Because one thing was for certain—she would lie.

I’d strangled her, imprisoned her, and now I’d come to interrogate her. She’d hate me almost as much as I hated her. She wouldn’t be cooperative, and I was prepared to do what was necessary to get information.

The moment she’d stepped into my valley, her fate had been sealed. She wouldn’t be leaving here while breathing. And for that, I should’ve felt guilty. Instead, all I felt was absolute authority and obligation to be as merciless as required.

Moving toward the heavy door blocking her cell, I sucked in a breath. I swallowed to lubricate my throat, preparing for words that I hadn’t spoken in sentence strings for over a decade.

Thanks to my lonely existence, I’d embraced more animalistic tendencies. I didn’t talk. I didn’t fuss over my appearance. I’d forgotten what it was like to hold a conversation and be a man instead of a beast.

That was all I was now.

A beast.

A forest dweller who wasn’t fit for society.

And it was all their fault.

The day I was born, a curse was put upon me.

That curse grew up with me from boyhood to man. I had no mark to prove it. No doctor to confirm it.

But I knew.

A blackness had attached itself to me, and I was cursed.

So...what are you going to do with her?

My hands balled as I paced outside the cell where I’d thrown her.

I don’t know.

That was a lie.

I knew what I should do.

I’d told myself countless times.

So...do what you know is required.

I stopped.

I glared at the heavy wooden door, dropping my gaze to the rusty padlock that’d continued its role of imprisonment for far too long.

Get it over with.

I pulled the key from my pocket.

I opened the door.

I stepped inside to face my enemy.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER NINE

MY EYES COULDN’T GET used to the harsh brightness of the screaming light bulb above me. White haze danced over my sight, obscuring the barren cell that I’d woken in.

I didn’t know how long I’d been locked in the dark, but it’d been long enough to have to use the bucket I’d found in the corner and drink out of the tap like some trapped animal.

Unlike earlier today, when I’d complained of being overly dressed and too hot, now I was grateful for my windbreaker and layers.

It was cold.

Very cold.

Damp and deep, seeping into my bones and making me shiver.

I’d like to say I attempted to escape—that I pounded my fists on the door and clawed at the walls for a weak spot—but my head ached so badly that I’d dry-heaved when I’d first exploded back into consciousness.

My throat burned. My neck was swollen and sore to the touch. Bruises throbbed over my shoulders and back from thrashing beneath his hands.

And my knife was missing.

Flashes of being strangled kept torturing me.

Pieces of him chasing me, killing me, and then leaving me to rot in this place.

God, the images wouldn’t stop.

The only comfort I had was my personal locator beacon. My cell phone was utterly useless, the screen lighting up the stagnant dark when I’d checked my leggings pockets and found both devices still there.

I had to admit, I’d been shocked that he hadn’t taken them off me. Why had he taken my blade and compass but not my PLB or phone?

Had he believed he’d killed me and just stored my body down here to decay? Or was his intention to keep me alive and his captive? In which case, why permit me to keep the very things that might enable me to escape?

Who was he?

Why had he been naked?

Why had he chosen to hurt me before I’d even explained why I was in his house?

With fear coursing through me, I’d used my time as his prisoner wisely. After taking care of my needs and drinking what I could around my bruised throat, I settled back against the wall and confirmed my phone was of no use in my current no-reception predicament.

Doing my best to stay strong and smart, I turned it off to conserve the battery.

That hurt.

It slashed at my heart to watch the glow of communication die in my hand, cutting me off from my brother, my fellow climbers, my life.

You’ll survive this. You’ll see.

Wrapping those brave words around me, I pulled out my PLB. The black piece of technology was cumbersome and weighty. So many times I’d been tempted to put it in my backpack instead of stretching my legging pocket with its bulk.

But now, sitting in a cold puddle in a wretchedly dark cell, I cried tears of gratefulness.

This tiny black device would save my life. It was a gift.

Salty droplets tracked down my cheeks as I pulled out the antenna, flicked open the case, and pressed the button.

I’d hoped for a light to flash. Some announcement that my signal for help had been received, but it remained exactly as it had been. Cold and immune to my terror.

Vaguely, I recalled the shopkeeper giving me a lesson on it when I’d bought it years ago. He said it was a one-way street. The signal would be sent out, but no acknowledgment of it being received would be sent back.

The anxiety that granted wasn’t fair.

Had it worked?

Will they come for me?

All I knew was I had to keep it serviced, check the batteries regularly, and be prepared to wait a few days for rescue. Satellites needed to make two passes minimum to confirm my location, and that was only if it had direct access to the starry sky.

Who knew if GPS could track me down here, in a stone basement in the middle of nowhere? The not knowing and lack of confirmation were the worst torments imaginable as hours ticked onward and the chill in my bones solidified to ice crystals.