Theirs to Chase

Chapter 8

Eveline

I scramble out of the room, heart in my throat. This mansion is like a fucking maze, I could sense it from the outside.

A voice inside my head tells me I should run away from here—find Max and Nadia and get the fuck away. This is too dangerous. I don’t feel safe here, but at the same time, I haven’t felt safe since the day my family died.

Arousal has me clenching my thighs, and I foolishly run along the hallway. Paintings from a time far away, in the colors of black and white, hang on the walls, depicting families and people that all stare ominously into the camera—gazes set, shoulders tightened, jaws clenched. In another photo, a man holds a knife as he brutally stabs a woman, and I nearly lose my footing.

How can someone willingly want to have paintings like these hanging inside their home?

I ignore the goddamn paintings, continuing along the hallway with its flickering light that casts a dim glow. I can hardly see where I put my feet.

The floor vibrates with the force of my weight slamming into it as I scramble to run as far away from the seating area as possible.

It feels like a nightmare—a sick, twisted one that has my pussy craving for more but my mind terrified.

I find a grand staircase ascending to the floor above, the marble surface cold and hard against my feet. If I slip, I’ll be as good as dead if I hit my head.

I use the railing for support, noticing how dusty it is, making me think of how unlived this place appears.

“Little pumpkin,” his voice hisses from downstairs.

I run into a door, opening it as quietly as I can, and I find a ladder leading into what looks like an attic. It’s probably a stupid idea to hide in a place where I have no chance of escaping, but it’s my only choice.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I close the hatch beneath me, finally alone.

Cobwebs linger in every corner with boxes everywhere, yet neatly aligned. The air is thick with dust, and I contain the cough wanting to come and threatening to expose my cover.

I take a step deeper into the attic, regretting it instantly as the floorboards creak underneath me. I stop, waiting with bated breath for Eros to find me. When I don’t hear anything from downstairs, I venture deeper into the attic with lighter steps, almost tiptoeing, toward a window with the view stretching endlessly over a beautifully dark lake in the middle of the woods. It’s breathtaking, and I take a step closer to admire the view when I suddenly stumble into something.

“Ouch,” I whisper, glancing down to see whatever it was I hit.

A row of porcelain-looking dolls are arranged along the walls, one having fallen down and laying stretched out before the window. My eyes adjust to the gloom, but something feels off—that same uncomfortable feeling I had at the amusement park.

I move closer to the window, trying to ignore the creepy dolls, but it’s as if their eyes are following my every move—eyes frozen in a forever eternity.

I’m so fucking paranoid. All I really should do is go home and never venture into the outside world again. The cops will surely want to interrogate all of us who were there to find the murderer.

I gulp, moving the doll out of my way. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end with a primal warning—the doll’s skin doesn’t feel glassy like porcelain. Instead, it’s too soft, too real . It’s colder than the Arctic, and I stare into its glossy yet hollow eyes, too reminiscent of a human’s. Scrambling backward, fear paralyzes me along with a wave of nausea as my legs lock in place. The face before me is eerily familiar.

Elias.

A scream claws its way up my throat, bursting forth in a shrill wail that completely blows my cover. From downstairs, a menacing laugh echoes—like the one at the upside-down roller coaster—accompanied by two distinct voices.

“Fuck, she shouldn’t have gone up there.”

“She would have found out sooner or later. She’s already a part of the collection.”

I hear the creaking of the ladder, drawing closer with every second. Much to my horror, I don’t have the time to rush to the hatch and block it—it’s too far away now.

A whimper builds, but I force it back, my breathing halting as I spot Eros standing there. His mask is gone, revealing dangerously striking features all too evident in the flickering moonlight that spills through the window.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he says, his voice a soothing balm against the wild beat of my heart.

I instinctively step backward as he steps forward, and before I know it, my back meets the cold glass of the window. The cat-and-mouse chase is over, and I brace my hands against it.

“Who’s downstairs?” I ask, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

“What are you talking about? No one’s there.”

His response comes as he takes another step, wearing clean black slack pants and a suit jacket rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattooed forearms thick with veins. I glance over my shoulder—there’s nowhere to go unless I want to shatter the window and plummet to my death.

“I-I heard two voices,” I mumble, staring at him with wide eyes.

His brow furrows in confusion, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“It’s just you and me in the house,” he says with another step, until he’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from him.

My breath hitches at his closeness, hating myself for how my body responds to the very danger I should be fleeing from. He is intoxicating, a poison I took that day at the pumpkin field, and there’s no antidote. I tilt my head away when he lifts his hand, lingering on my skin as he strokes my cheek, prompting me to close my eyes.

Don’t look at him, and you won’t fall into the death trap that he is.

The fear only heightens the magnetic pull I feel toward him. It’s so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop craving him.

“Shh, look at me,” he whispers, breath hot against my tingling lips, craving to feel his against mine.

I need to stop this. I can’t let myself fall for his antics.

But his touch is so soft, trailing over my skin, coaxing me to open my eyes and meet his. I know I shouldn’t, but his eyes lure me in, even as every muscle in my body screams to flee.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “I know this night has been hell, but it’s all over now. Everything is okay.”

He looks at me, expecting me to reply. Thoughts churn in my mind, unsure of what to think or do. Am I really that paranoid for believing he’s the bad guy?

Just at that second, I spot the doll beside us—the one disturbingly replicating Elias.

“W-who are all these dolls?” I ask.

In an instant, his demeanor shifts. The tender mask he had slips away, replaced by a simmering agitation. His deep, green eyes darken with an intensity that matches the pounding in my head. There’s nowhere for me to go.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he repeats.

Now, his hand trails toward my throat, squeezing lightly in a grip that isn’t enough to kill me, but it sparks a primal urge within me. Oh god, why am I so turned on by the dangerous allure that he is?

A whimper escapes as he pulls me closer, holding me tighter as he embraces me.

“Shhh.”

He feels like a looming statue before me, his existence threatening mine, like a predator does its prey. I can’t stop my eyes from roving over his body, from how his shirt clings to his muscles, pressed taut against it. The sudden urge to run my hand up his torso overwhelms me, and I stagger back until I realize I can’t because of the window. The glass rattles behind me, sending my heart into a whirlwind at the fear of it breaking—it would send me plummeting to my death down the hill, and the mere thought of the pain it’d bring makes me nauseous.

He leans closer to my ear, and I try to push at his shoulders to shove him out of my way, but he’s like that statue, unmoving and heavier than me. A low growl rumbles from deep within his chest, and I find my legs instinctively crossing in a futile attempt to stem the rising arousal within.

Without another word, his knee forces my legs apart, and an overwhelming wave of pleasure washes over me at having his knee right fucking there . I swallow the moan threatening to escape, determined not to give him the satisfaction. But as his knee hikes higher between my thighs, the unwanted sound slips from my lips at the visceral sensations tearing through me.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers.

“Go to hell,” I spit out.

“We’re already there, sweetheart,” he ominously says the moment a creaking sound is heard from underneath us.

My heart stalls as he shifts his thigh to gently press against my clit, and a pleasure flutters in my abdomen, even as suspicion coats my tongue. His hand slips to my hips, forcing me to grind against him.

“Answer me,” I breathe, struggling to stay composed.

“You’re not the one in command. And I decided that you’re not worthy of answers.”

Then, he continues to force my hips to grind against his thigh, hands digging into my skin, until he’s no longer forcing me. I’m doing it of my own volition, craving the sweetness.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he growls, and that flutter of heat intensifies inside me. “Grinding my thigh,” he coos. “Are you a dirty little whore, desperate for my cock?”

I’m close to coming as I keep grinding against him, needing that sweet release.

“Ask me to come,” he commands, hands coming up to squeeze my nipples.

“I won’t ask you for shit.”

He slaps them, causing me to cry out, before his hands are suddenly on my hips again, stopping all motions. He lowers his knee, and my body instantly misses the intensity. I whimper at the loss of contact, only now realizing how close I was to actually coming, which he seemed to notice even before me.

“P-please, make me come,” I stutter like a desperate little whore, begging for more when he’s denying me it.

“Too fucking late,” he grumbles, instantly taking a step back.

I’m panting, chest heaving from the arousal dripping down my legs. He notices, a grin teasing at his lips as he leans closer. I expect him to do anything else than use his finger to wipe up my wetness, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“I’m getting out of here,” I angrily mutter, moving to get past him, but he’s like a mountain blocking my way. “Get out of my fucking way.”

“There’s no way out now, sweetheart.” His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my mouth drying.

“You gave up your freedom the moment you stepped into this house. Into the amusement park, to be exact.”

His words hit me hard, a wave of despair settling in my stomach as I release a silent huff. “You can’t be fucking serious,” I say as I go to move past him again, but his hand clasps my arm harshly.

“I am. Things will only get worse from here, but it’s up to you to decide how much.” He leans in, and despite my mind’s projections, my body betrays me, drawing closer to his touch. “You can either give in, or fight.”

I only stare at him in confusion.

“Though I’d love a good fight, he does not take kindly to disobedience.”

“Who the fuck is ‘he’?”

“You’ll see.”

He drags me down the ladder, and I nearly stumble until we reach the floor beyond, away from the dusty attic. A confusing mixture of fear and excitement fills me as he drags me through a hallway, feet pounding against the marble floor. I don’t know where he’s taking me, and it’s clear I’ve walked into a trap I’ll never escape. Deep down, whatever this is will bring a pleasure unlike no other—just like this twisted night already has.

I scramble behind him, trying to catch up to his rapid pace as we make our way through the huge gothic mansion. In a wardrobe with its door open, I see another human-sized doll, and the fear increases tenfold.

“Who are the dolls?” I ask him, a seriousness in my voice that makes his shoulders tighten.

He doesn’t reply, the only sound being our feet clicking against the floor and my labored breathing.

“Who are the dolls, Eros?” I repeat.

He turns around, slamming me against the wall. The look in his gaze frightens me, but his touch is possessive.

“You’re fucking infuriating, you know that? I should spank your ass raw for the shit you pulled up there, venturing into places you never should have.”

“It was you who told me to hide!” I scream back at him.

He freezes in place, looking at me with a confused gaze that gives me whiplash. “I didn’t.”

Now, a chill spreads through my body at his words. I’m fucking done being toyed with. “Who are the dolls, Eros?” I repeat again, putting emphasis on his name, which has him clenching his jaw.

“Our victims.” The voice comes from the other side of the hallway, and I jolt in surprise, my eyes wide as I stare at the silhouette approaching us.

Fight-or-flight instinct takes root inside me, screaming at me to fucking flee, but something tells me it will be impossible.

I stutter out a breath, staring between the two of them as all the puzzle pieces fall into their places. Two men…

A Ghostface mask covers his face, and there’s something primal stuttering to life within me at the thought of it—the allure it brings.

“You see, Eveline, every doll contains a story. We make ours as reminders of what happens when you defy us, or the corrupted world. Sometimes, morality twists into eagerness and evilness.”

I feel trapped between the two dark forces these two men are as I stare between both of them. Those fuckers.

He slowly removes his mask, revealing strikingly beautiful features that make my heart race, the weight of their gazes anchoring me in place. He’s familiar, and now I can’t keep my own weight up as I fall against the wall, captured by Eros holding me in his toxic grip.

Because before me, beside Eros, now stands Zack, my dead brother’s best friend.