was Megan Careyâs eyes that bothered him, looking at him clearly through the darkness he trusted she couldnât pierce.
If she was sick, it was an inconvenience, a delay, and nothing else. Heâd simply have to be patient. He had plans for her, fascinating plans. He wanted to see the anger in her eyes, he wanted her hatred and fascination.
And he wanted to see what happened when he finally took her.
Â
M EGAN DREAMED AGAIN . Strange, terrible dreams that filled her head with silent screams, filled her heart with terror and pain, filled her body with longings sheâd never felt. She kept waking up in the darkness of the tower room, the candles flickering in some obscure draft. She could hear the distant thunder, the steady beat of the rain against the walls of the turret. She lay back, staring up into the darkness, and thought about Ethan Winslowe.
Heâd told her if she escaped, heâd leave Reese alone. It was clearly her only option. If only she didnât feel so wretched. Her throat felt swollen, her chest burned, and she alternated between bone chattering cold and a burning fever. Salvatore might have poisoned her foodâshe wouldnât have put it past him, except that she had been feeling strange before sheâd even touched a morsel.
One thing was clear, she couldnât stay there. She couldnât entrust her safety to the good graces of a maniac. She had to get out of there, and fast. If Winslowe broke his promise and went after her father, Reese would have to fend for himself. Sheâd done her best for him and gotten into the worst mess of her life. She needed to get out of it as quickly as possible.
She couldnât find her shoes in the candlelit darkness. She couldnât see clearly at all, with her head pounding, her breath rasping in her throat, her chest aching. It didnât matter. It was spring, even in this wretched part of the country. She could go barefoot, she could walk out that long, twisting road. She believed Salvatore when he said nothing but a backhoe would get her car out of the mud. It had been raining off and on since she arrived, and the mud would have only gotten deeper. Sheâd walk, and keep on walking until she found someone who could help her.
Surely someone in that benighted little nontown of Oak Grove would help her. They hated Ethan Winslowe enough that they should be glad to do him a disservice.
If not, sheâd just keep on walking. Not the way sheâd comeâthere hadnât been any sign of civilization along those back roads for hours. But surely up ahead, life must take on some semblance of normalcy. And once she reached a tiny pocket of sanity, sheâd never look back.
She vaguely remembered that deep, disembodied voice telling Salvatore to leave the key. It was in the lock, on her side of the thick oak door, and for a moment, she just stared at it, blinking, not quite believing it was going to be so easy.
The turret was deserted, lit by an eerie light that just might possibly be gaslight. She started down, her labored breathing echoing in the darkness, and she had the sudden morbid thought that she might slip and fall, tumbling to her death on these stone stairs. No one would ever find her. Salvatore would get rid of her body, and her father, coward that he was, would probably pretend he had no idea where sheâd gone. Heâd simply assume Winslowe wouldnât dare turn him in, and everything would be status quo.
It wasnât until she reached the bottom step that she realized how bizarre that particular fantasy was. That her father would countenance her death simply for his own well-being, was beyond being strange. And yet, even if her brain was clear and cool, she wouldnât put it past him.
Once at the bottom of the turret, she hadnât the faintest idea where to go. Sheâd been taken on too many roundabout journeys to have the faintest sense of direction. She vaguely remembered that
If she was sick, it was an inconvenience, a delay, and nothing else. Heâd simply have to be patient. He had plans for her, fascinating plans. He wanted to see the anger in her eyes, he wanted her hatred and fascination.
And he wanted to see what happened when he finally took her.
Â
M EGAN DREAMED AGAIN . Strange, terrible dreams that filled her head with silent screams, filled her heart with terror and pain, filled her body with longings sheâd never felt. She kept waking up in the darkness of the tower room, the candles flickering in some obscure draft. She could hear the distant thunder, the steady beat of the rain against the walls of the turret. She lay back, staring up into the darkness, and thought about Ethan Winslowe.
Heâd told her if she escaped, heâd leave Reese alone. It was clearly her only option. If only she didnât feel so wretched. Her throat felt swollen, her chest burned, and she alternated between bone chattering cold and a burning fever. Salvatore might have poisoned her foodâshe wouldnât have put it past him, except that she had been feeling strange before sheâd even touched a morsel.
One thing was clear, she couldnât stay there. She couldnât entrust her safety to the good graces of a maniac. She had to get out of there, and fast. If Winslowe broke his promise and went after her father, Reese would have to fend for himself. Sheâd done her best for him and gotten into the worst mess of her life. She needed to get out of it as quickly as possible.
She couldnât find her shoes in the candlelit darkness. She couldnât see clearly at all, with her head pounding, her breath rasping in her throat, her chest aching. It didnât matter. It was spring, even in this wretched part of the country. She could go barefoot, she could walk out that long, twisting road. She believed Salvatore when he said nothing but a backhoe would get her car out of the mud. It had been raining off and on since she arrived, and the mud would have only gotten deeper. Sheâd walk, and keep on walking until she found someone who could help her.
Surely someone in that benighted little nontown of Oak Grove would help her. They hated Ethan Winslowe enough that they should be glad to do him a disservice.
If not, sheâd just keep on walking. Not the way sheâd comeâthere hadnât been any sign of civilization along those back roads for hours. But surely up ahead, life must take on some semblance of normalcy. And once she reached a tiny pocket of sanity, sheâd never look back.
She vaguely remembered that deep, disembodied voice telling Salvatore to leave the key. It was in the lock, on her side of the thick oak door, and for a moment, she just stared at it, blinking, not quite believing it was going to be so easy.
The turret was deserted, lit by an eerie light that just might possibly be gaslight. She started down, her labored breathing echoing in the darkness, and she had the sudden morbid thought that she might slip and fall, tumbling to her death on these stone stairs. No one would ever find her. Salvatore would get rid of her body, and her father, coward that he was, would probably pretend he had no idea where sheâd gone. Heâd simply assume Winslowe wouldnât dare turn him in, and everything would be status quo.
It wasnât until she reached the bottom step that she realized how bizarre that particular fantasy was. That her father would countenance her death simply for his own well-being, was beyond being strange. And yet, even if her brain was clear and cool, she wouldnât put it past him.
Once at the bottom of the turret, she hadnât the faintest idea where to go. Sheâd been taken on too many roundabout journeys to have the faintest sense of direction. She vaguely remembered that
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