Chapter 25

"You were right about the accident victim not being Bel," Sheriff Griffin said as he settled beside the immobile Eamon.Nightwas fast approaching, but Eamon didn't feel its bitter wind as he stared at the deep wounds the crash had carved into the road. He prayed the sight would give him a clue as to where to search next since he couldn't track her scent. According to the office's security footage, Bel had gotten in her car after leaving the doctor's, but she hadn't driven it to the crash site. At some point, she'd abandoned her vehicle, and even if he knew where the transfer occurred, her scent would've vanished the moment she was locked away inside another car. Her phone had been destroyed, sohe couldn't track its signal. Its last ping before it went dark was at Blaubart's office, which she'd left afraid but very much alive. Charles' mansion had been void of anything remotely suspicious. He owned two other properties—a house in the Hamptons and a condo in Miami—which Eamon investigated, but they were empty. Anne Blaubart was also conveniently missing, a fact Olivia insisted meant she was Hyde, but Jake L. Hyde owned no other properties besides the island. If Anne had taken Bel, he had no way of learning where, but that wasn't what bothered him. Bel hadn't seen Anne at the office. She'd met Charles before fleeing unexpectedly. Anne wasn't Hyde, but Eamon suspected Bel figured out who was.

"Thum did a thorough exam of the Jane Doe," Griffin continued. "They're faint, pointing to a surgeon of incredible talent, but she found signs of plastic surgery around the face and neck. The crash mangled the rest of the body, hiding any attributes that would've alerted us it wasn't Bel, but DNA and dental records prove she isn't our girl. Whoever did this was probably banking on Reese Emerson's positive ID being all we needed. If the crashwasruled an accident, we wouldn't have investigated her death, and I hate to admit it, but I was convinced it was her. If you hadn't noticed she wasn't Bel, we would've buried her with Emerson's name."

"All the good it's done," Eamon said, his body so still that he was more stone than man. "I can't find her. All my money, all my power, and I can't help her."

"Gold shared her Hyde theory with me," Griffin said. "Agent Jameson Barry called as well to say Bel left him a message before she supposedly died saying she was going to find proof, but?—"

"It's not Anne," Eamon cut him off.

"Olivia seems convinced."

"A woman remade into Isobel's likeness with plastic surgery dies hours after she left Blaubart's office in fear," he said. "It isn't Anne."

"The doctor?" Griffin asked. "The FBI has been monitoring him since Emerson's call to Barry about his wife, but no one's seen her in a few days. Charles has been at his house, though."

"Isobel told me about Walker's farmhouse," Eamon said, the confession earning him a glare. "It was designed to fool outsiders into believing it was occupied."

"It was…" Griffin's words sounded like a question.

"I sent Ewan to check out Blaubart's Hampton home, and I flew to Miami to search the condo. We found nothing, but there were hours when we weren't monitoring Charles."

"I know you, Mr. Stone," Griffin said. "Something tells me you had someone surveilling the mansion."

"I did," he answered. "Only they don't have my senses. They wouldn't have been able to smell Blaubart leaving the house."

"Okay?" Griffin dragged out the word, but Eamon remained silent. He stared at the sheriff in the failing light and watched as realization dawned on him.

"The Farmhouse," Griffin said, his metaphorical lightbulb clicking on. "Charles isn't home, is he?"

"He was there when I left for Miami this morning and gone when I returned. The house is still despite signs of life. No one's inside."

"You think he has Emerson?"

"And his wife," Eamon said.

"If that's the case, he's only been missing for a few hours." Griffin shuddered, the movement having nothing to do with the cold. "The women might still be okay. He hasn't had much time."

"He hasn't." Eamon stared at the broken car debris littering the pavement. "But I wasn't there when he escaped his residence, so I can't locate his trail. For all my power, I'm helpless." He looked at Griffin, the despair in his eyes so raw that the sheriff stepped back uncomfortably. "I can't save her," he whispered. "She's in danger, and I failed her."

"Your spirit reminds me so much of my Anne's." Charles turned his predatory gaze on Bel, thegleamin his eyes sending her heart into overdrive.

"No." She stumbled backward, her panic nearly forcing her to the ground. "No, you can't have me."

"It'll be a shame to erase such a beautiful face, but I will remake you as my final Anne." Charles stepped closer. "I'll make you happy. I'll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams and rescue you from that small town and demeaning job. You deserve the spotlight. You deserve a husband like me, not a brute like Stone."

"I won't let you do this." Bel scanned the room for a weapon, but with her hands bound, favor wasn't on her side.

"You will be my masterpiece, my chef d'oeuvre." He stepped forward again, and despite the vaulted ceilings, claustrophobia tightened its hold on her chest. "I'll remake you as my Anne, my scalpel returning to me what was lost."

"I will never marry you." Bel didn't want to cry, but six identical women stared down at her, waiting for her to become them, to lose herself and be reborn as a dead woman. "I'll never love you."

"What choice do you have?" He advanced a step for her every retreated one. "You're dead. It was on the news. Your family will bury you. Your friends will mourn you. Stone will forget you. You're a smart woman. It's why I showed you my Annes. The others needed fear to encourage them to change their faces, but you don't require a ruse.You needthe truth, and the truth is simple. Detective Isobel Emerson is dead, and when you next wake up, you'll be wearing a different face." He withdrew a syringe from his pocket, and tears flooded her eyes at the sight. She stumbled backward, tripping over her haste as she saw her future play out in that needle. If he injected her, Bel Emerson would truly die. Blaubart's witch-cursed scalpel would cut her apart and stitch her back together until she became the eighth version of Anne, and when she woke up, a stranger would stare back at her in the mirror. No matter how hard she screamed that she wasn't Anne, the world would never believe her. She'd be trapped in another woman's life, in another woman's body, with her murderous husband. If she eventually broke free from this false marriage to find Eamon, he would believe her. Her scent would tell him the truth, but would he still love her if she wore another woman's face?

"You have no choice," Charles continued. "You either embrace your future, or you die here with Annalise. I would rather you didn't die, though. I went through so much trouble to have you. Don't waste that."

"You can never have me," Bel spat. "Eamon will come for me."

"But he won't recognize you. You'll be my wife the next time you see him."

"No, I won't." She lunged away from him, silently begging Eamon to hurry. He would find her. He had to. She didn't want to lose her face. She didn't want to wake up in a stranger's body. She wanted Eamon, now and always. He was the only man she'd ever want, and she would die before she let this murderer make her his wife.

"You will." Charles turned murderous. "Or I'll bury you outside in a shallow grave where no one will ever find you."

"Better dead with myownface than alive as the wife you killed because you were a failure too stupid to succeed," she spat, widening her stance for the fight. She couldn't win with her hands bound, but she would try. Lord, how she would try, and if she angered him enough, he might make a mistake. "You're a coward," she continued. "You couldn't hack it on your own, so you turned to magic and ruined the best thing in your life. You're nothing. Anne would be embarrassed if she could see you now."

"Shut up!" Charles launched himself at her, but at the last second, she lunged sideways, narrowly missing the needle's tip as she sidestepped him. The instant she moved past him, she clasped her fists together and jabbed her elbow backward, the sharp bone connecting with his skull. The surgeon grunted as he stumbled, and Bel bolted into a run. She only made it a few steps, though, before he swung his legs as he fell. They tangled with her feet, and she toppled to her chest, her bound hands barely catching her before her forehead slapped the tile.

"Don't make me angry." Charles grabbed her ankles and dragged her backward on her stomach, flipping her over as she struggled until she lay below him.

"Why?" Bel spat, her voice brave despite her fear. "You think I'm afraid of you? I've faced evil. Real evil, and I survived. I've seen what an alpha predator does when he's angered. I've witnessed how easily he can snap the bones in a man's neck. I'm not afraid of you. You're nothing."

"Shut up!" Charles gripped her throat and pinned her to the ground, aiming the syringe above her face.

"Do it!" Bel shouted, her mind picturing Eamon at the beach. He stood in the sand, the waves dancing about his calves as the sunset bathed his pale skin in fiery hues. Love sparked his black eyes, and his sharpened canines peaked through his soft smile. He was so painfully beautiful. She hated that she'd never see him again, that she'd never tell him how she truly felt. She was going to die here because Charles couldn't have her. She would die as Isobel Emerson, and she hoped Eamon would keep Cerberus after her death. Her dog loved him. They could remember her together.

"Do it, coward!" she screamed. "Do it where Anne can see you. Show her the pathetic man she married."

"Be quiet!" Charles shoved the needle at her throat, but the second before it pierced her skin, she kneed him in the groin and punched his wrist so hard that the syringe slammed into the floor. The needle snapped on the concrete, and as Blaubart screamed his rage, Bel pictured Eamon's canines. She loved how they were sharper than the average man's, and while they were responsible for her scars, she'd stopped hating them. She loved the way they flashed when he smiled. Her body burned electric when they dragged over her lips when they kissed. They were undeniably sexy, and while her human canines lacked their brutality, she bared her teeth and became her beast. Just like he'd bitten her all those months ago, she latched onto Charles' neck and bit down. Blood exploded on her tongue, but she refused to let go. She bit harder, despite her urge to gag. She wasn't Bel. Not right now. She was Eamon. She was the predator, the monster with the death-black eyes, and her victim screamed.

Charles flung himself offher,and spitting blood onto the tiles, she scrambled to her feet.

"You bi?—"

She cut off his words with a violent kick to the temple. His head snapped backward, and she bolted for the surgery as he hit the floor. She'd spotted a stairwell at the rear of the room. If she couldjustreach it, she could get outside. She could call for help, and she ran with all her might.

"Get back here!" Charles stumbled to his feet and barreled after her. His neck poured blood, but without Eamon's teeth, the damage wasn't fatal. She wasn't going to make it. He was too fast. The door was too far. She felt the heat of his rage at her back, but then she was through the door, slamming it in his face. She wasn't stupid, though. This was his domain. There was undoubtedly another way for him to escape. Locking him out of the surgery only bought her a head start, and she scanned the room for a way to undo her bonds. They were the leather handcuffs, the ones used on medical patients, and finding a scalpel, she twisted her wrist at an awkward angle until the blade met the material. The scalpel sliced the leather like butter, and Bel stared at the metal instrument as Charles pounded on the door. Was this it? Was this what gave Blaubart the power of a god on the operating table? Its metal practically glowed and even at the odd angle, it had cut through her bonds with ease. If this was the cursed scalpel, she wasn't leaving it here for him to use, and wrapping the sharp tip in gauze, she used the excess to wipe her bloody mouth, trying to ignore the dangers of consuming bodily fluids. She wasn't Eamon. Blood fueled him, but as a human, it could riddle her with diseases, and with that fear plaguing her, she bolted for the stairwell.

Bel only made it a few steps before blonde hair stopped her. Anne—or should she say Annalise—was still alive. If Bel left her in the surgery, Charles would add her to his collection. She would pay the price for a man's quest for power, and with an aggravated roar, Bel bolted back down the stairs.

"Annalise!" she shouted as she shook the unconscious woman. "Wake up."

Annalise groaned, and Bel grabbed her legs and dragged them off the gurney.

"Annalise, listen to me. You need to get up." She slapped the woman's face withjustenough force to shock her awake. "I know you haven't heard that name in three years, but I need you to hear it now. You are Annalise, and I'm not letting you die here."

The door rattled as something massive slammed against it, and the hinges groaned. It wouldn't be long before they gave way.

"I can't carry you." Bel slapped her again. "I need you to get up. Please get up."

"Don't you touch her!" Charles shouted, a string of obscenities pouring from his mouth as the object hit the door again like a modern battering ram.

"Annalise Sept, get up!" Bel roared as she hauled her off the gurney. "We aren't dying here!" She dragged the half-conscious woman to the stairs, the door rattling its threats behind her, but she kept moving, one step at a time. They just had to get outside. They just had to find a phone, and she could call Eamon. He would come. He would save them, but they had to get outside.

Annalise's foot snagged on a step, and both women fell hard. Bel stifled a scream as a sharp corner skinned her forearm, but she caught the blonde's body before she slid down the stairs.

"Please get up," she sobbed as she wrapped the woman's arms around her neck. "Please, don't make me leave you."

"What?" Annalise groaned, her voice barely audible above the clanging metal.

"Get up!" Bel shouted. "Annalise, I need you to stand up!"

"Annalise?" the woman stared at her with glazed eyes. "I knew an Annalise once. I think I was her."

"You were." She dragged her companion up one step, then another, and another until they reached the top. "You still are, and you aren't dying here. Neither am I, for that matter."

"I know you." Annalise tripped as she tried to use her legs.

"Yes, you do." Bel tugged her out into the open, their surroundings shocking her.They stood in a luxury cabin,the sleekdécor and wood furnishingsnotwhatshe'd expected.Where were they?

"Please don't leave me." Annalise grabbed the front of Bel's shirt with a death grip.

"I won't." She locked the basement door behind them and dragged her companion into the living room, spinning wildly as she searched for the exit. "Where are we?"

Annalise didn't answer.

"Do you recognize this house? Where are we?" she repeated.

"Don't leave me," the woman sobbed as something heavy crashed in the surgery below, and Bel cursed. She didn't have time to stand in this uncomfortably perfect living room with its sleek lines and white furniture. Everything was clean and bright and fake. It was all a show, all a lie, all too pure for the sins below the floorboards, and she bolted in the first direction she looked. It took her a few turns to locate the front door, but with a strangled sob, she flung it open and lunged outside into the cold air.

Snow.

Bel froze with a sharp pain piercing her gut. Snow for as far as the eye could see. Snow and trees and sky. This wasn't a neighborhood. They were in the middle of nowhere, high in the mountainsandsurrounded by frigid wilderness. There was nowhere to escape to, no one to beg for help. They were alone. They were lost somewhere Eamon couldn't find her. Snow was falling, beautiful and cold and deadly, and by the crash deep below the house, Charles had broken free.