25. Sanity’s Edge

CHAPTER 25

Sanity’s Edge

ILEANA

The hallways are suffocating, every corner a potential ambush. I can't go to the library—that's too obvious. The dance studio is worse. It might as well have his name carved into the door now. Every second I spend deciding where to hide is another second he could appear, catching me off guard.

My feet carry me toward the auditorium before my mind even catches up. I pray the door isn't locked. When I reach it, the handle turns easily, and it swings open beneath my palm. The morning sun filters through the high windows, casting strange, fragmented patterns across the empty rows of seats. Forgotten props and sets huddle in the corners, wrapped in dust and silence. The space feels huge, yet the feeling of claustrophobia doesn’t leave me.

I walk through the heavy door beside the stage, and into the narrow passage leading backstage. It smells of ancient velvet curtains and aging wood. The drama club won't be here until later. Until then, the maze of discarded scenery will create the perfect refuge.

Winding through the clutter, I find a corner where a piece of scenery meets the wall, its canvas draped like a curtain. From here, I can see anyone approaching, but I’m hidden from view, cocooned in dim light and stillness. My breathing slows as I press my back against the wall, but my thoughts won’t quiet.

Wren’s mouth on mine—his kiss from last night—burns fresh in my memory. The shock of his hands on my breasts. The way he pulled up my top. The gleam in his eyes when he looked at me.

That was my first kiss. My first anything .

The shock of it hits me all over again.

My fingers touch my lips, the sensation of his mouth on mine still vivid. I’ve never ... no one has ever ... and he just took it. As if it was his right . Like I belonged to him.

Anger flares, quick and hot, but fear swallows it just as fast. I don't have time to dwell on stolen firsts, or the way his touch made me feel. Not when he could be hunting me right now, closing in with every passing second.

Minutes tick by. Each breath feels too loud in the heavy silence. The warning bell rings, signaling five minutes until the next period. Relief flutters in my chest—maybe he won’t find me here. Maybe he’ll give up.

A door creaks open, the sound reverberating through the empty auditorium. My body tenses. I press my lips together, holding my breath. Footsteps echo, coming closer. Slow. Measured. Too loud in the empty space. The hollow sound shifts as they step onto the stage.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Wren’s voice is soft, yet it sends a shiver down my spine.

I press myself deeper into the corner, wishing I could disappear.

"You weren’t in the studio." His voice is laced with mock patience. "Not in the library. Clever girl. You’re learning."

Something shifts on the stage, the dull scrape of wood dragging across wood. He’s checking behind props, his movements unhurried, methodical, like a predator circling its prey. I picture him, stalking through the auditorium, searching every possible hiding spot with that single-minded focus I’ve come to fear … and anticipate.

"But here’s what you don’t understand." His voice is closer now. "The more you run, the more fascinating you become. The more I want to find you."

The curtain nearest to me shifts slightly. I hold still, too afraid to even blink.

"Every time you resist, every time you run, you make it more fun." His words reach me through the darkness, each one tightening the knot of fear in my chest. "Every time you defy me, it makes me want to break you more."

A shiver snakes down my spine. My lungs are burning with the effort of holding my breath. The final bell rings—class is starting. No one will come looking for me now. A shadow passes behind the curtain, and I bite down on my lip to keep from making a sound.

"Do you know what I’ve been thinking about since last night?" His voice drops lower, turns rougher.

I press both hands over my mouth.

"The way you looked while you danced. The way you ran through the woods. The way your breathing changed when I kissed you. How perfectly your breasts fit in my hands. How hard your nipples were. The little sounds you made when I?—"

“Stop.” The word bursts out before I can stop it.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Found you,” he singsongs.

I lunge for the opening, trying to dart past him, but his hand catches my arm, spinning me back against the wall. The impact steals my breath, and his other hand slams beside my head, caging me in.

“Running suits you.” His gaze travels over me, eyes burning. “But catching you? That’s even better.”

His fingers trail down my arm, warm and possessive. “Your skin is so sensitive to my touch. You’re not used to being touched, are you? It all feels new to you, doesn’t it?”

I jerk away, but he pulls me back effortlessly. His fingers wrap around both my wrists, pinning them above my head, and his body presses against mine, stealing what little space I have left. His free hand dips beneath my hoodie, skimming over my stomach. The contact sparks through me, igniting a reaction I can’t control. My stomach tightens, my back arching against the wall, trying to escape his touch .

“Don’t—” The word barely makes it out before it catches in my throat, swallowed by the rush of heat spreading through me as his hand moves higher.

“Tell me to stop.” He lowers his head, his breath warm against my neck as his nose trails along my skin. “Say it like you mean it, and I’ll stop.”

My lips part, but no sound escapes. His mouth finds the base of my throat, teeth nipping gently. Heat flares in my stomach, unexpected and unfamiliar, clashing with the fear, turning it into something else.

“Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like when I touch you here.” His fingers brush the edge of my bra. “Or here.” His thigh pushes between mine.

I shake my head.

“No one has ever touched you like this, have they?” His voice is rougher now, each word vibrating against my skin. “Never kissed you. Never made you feel the way I do. No one has ever made you feel this alive.”

“Please …” I don’t even know what I’m begging for anymore.

His lips capture mine, silencing any protest. The kiss is a storm—overwhelming, consuming, demanding. His tongue teases my lower lip, and before I realize it, I’m opening for him, letting him in. The sound he makes is low, almost a growl, vibrating through me, setting every nerve on fire.

His grip on my wrists tightens, his other hand exploring my body with maddening slowness. Fingers skim over my ribs, down my side, along my spine. Each touch sends my heart racing faster, draws soft, helpless sounds from me that I never knew I could make.

“That’s it.” He breaks the kiss, lips hovering over mine as he speaks. “Let go. Let me show you everything you didn’t know you’ve been missing.”

A tiny voice in the back of my mind screams at me to stop, to fight back, to run, but I can’t focus on it. I can’t think past the sensation of his body against mine, his mouth, his hands. The world narrows to just us, and I lose myself in him, in the intensity of his touch, in the way he makes me feel alive, turned on, and terrified all at once.

His hand lifts to my neck, holding me steady while his mouth moves over mine. “You’re mine , Ileana.”

The words send a shiver through me. His thigh moves, forcing its way between my legs to rub against me, against the part of me that’s throbbing and aching with a need I don’t want to acknowledge.

“Every thought. Every breath.” He squeezes my throat, then drops his hand to cover my breast. “Every inch of you.”