Chapter 4

When he pulled away, I was dizzy. My lipstick was smeared; my breath was coming in short gasps.

Damien stepped back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic remote. He pressed a button.

The front door clicked. It swung open a few inches, letting in the cool night air.

I stared at it. Then I stared at him.

"You locked it," I whispered.

"I wanted you to listen," Damien said. He walked over to the side table and poured two fresh glasses of wine. He didn't look at the door. He didn't look at me. "But I am not a jailer, Clara. I am a provider."

He turned, holding the glasses.

"The car is where you left it. The road is clear. My pack has been ordered to stand down."

I looked at the black gap of the open door. Beyond it lay the winding mountain road. Darkness. Poverty. The radiator that didn't work. The loneliness of a city that didn't care if I lived or died.

I looked at Damien. He was waiting. He looked like a king in a castle made of glass. A monster who had built a world just for me.

"If you run," Damien said softly, his golden eyes burning, "I will come for you. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I love the chase, Clara. And I always catch what is mine."

He held out the glass of wine.

"Or," he said, "we can drink to your new job."

The wind howled outside, lonely and cold. Inside, the fire was warm. The wine was expensive. The monster was beautiful.

I stood there, paralyzed between the terror of freedom and the comfort of the cage.

I looked at the dark woods. I looked at the wine.

And slowly, terrifyingly, I felt my hand begin to reach out.