68. The Monster Unmasked

CHAPTER 68

The Monster Unmasked

WREN

The landline's ring slices through days of silence.

I've barely slept, barely eaten, barely moved from my surveillance station. Maps and traffic patterns blur across my screens, a thousand possible paths she might have taken, each one leading nowhere. My fingers hover over the keyboard, frozen by that intrusive sound.

No one uses landlines anymore.

My hand shakes as I reach for the receiver, something primal and possessive clawing at my insides. "Carlisle residence."

"You have a collect call from ..." The operator pauses. "From Ballerina . Will you accept the charges?"

The word hits like a bullet to the chest. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. " Yes. "

A click, then?—

"Wren?"

Her voice. Small, exhausted, but alive . The need to touch her, to wrap my hands around her throat and feel her pulse beneath my fingers, nearly brings me to my knees. My grip tightens on the receiver until the plastic creaks.

"Where are you?" The words come out harsh, more growl than question.

"Marshall Cross." She sounds breathless, frightened. "I'm so tired. I can't?—"

"Stop." I force down the urge to hunt down everyone who's made her sound this way and peel them apart piece by piece. She needs me to be calm. She needs the version of me that won't shatter her further. "Breathe for me. Are you safe?"

"No."

The word is barely a whisper, but it cracks something loose inside me. Images of her—alone, afraid, where I can't reach her—flash through my mind like photographs I never want to take. But I can't let her hear the madness clawing its way up my throat. Not yet. Not when she needs me to be stronger than the rage burning through my veins.

"I've been hiding in abandoned buildings, but I can't keep going like this. They'll find me."

Not before I do. Not ever again.

The thought pulses with my heartbeat, a drumbeat of possession that drowns out everything else.

I dig my nails into my palm until blood wells up, using the pain to focus. "Listen to me. You're smart. You're resourceful. You made it this far. You need real shelter—somewhere to rest without being seen."

"Where?" Her voice breaks. "I have no money left."

"Churches. Side entrances are usually unlocked. No one looks twice at someone seeking sanctuary. Or diners—places open all night, where no one pays attention to one more person nursing a drink. You find shelter. I’ll find you."

She's quiet, her breathing uneven through the line. "Are they watching you?"

I glance at the monitors. Shadows move through my woods—federal agents playing at stealth while they wait for me to break. The need to make them suffer for every second they've kept her from me burns like acid in my throat. I want to carve their eyes out for daring to watch what belongs to me.

"Let them watch." My voice drops lower, letting a hint of the monster show through. "They think they know what I'm capable of. They have no idea what I'll do to get back to you."

"I'm scared."

The fear in her voice tears through me like barbed wire. For a heartbeat, the rage is so intense I can barely breathe through it. But I force it down, lock it away where she can't hear it. She needs the Wren who owns her, not the one who'll tear the world apart to keep her.

"You don't have to be." I make my voice velvet-smooth, a caress through the phone line. "You're mine , Ballerina. And I protect what belongs to me."

"Promise?"

That single word winds around my throat like a collar, choking me with need. Her voice—small and desperate and trusting —ignites something primal in my blood.

"When I find you, this ends." My voice drops lower, darker. "No more running. No more hiding. No more of their pathetic attempts to take what's mine. Do you understand?"

Her breath catches. "Yes."

"Good girl." The praise comes out rough and possessive. It steadies her, and something inside me purrs at the way her breathing evens out. She needs this, needs me , as much as I need her.

The line goes dead.

I stay frozen, the dial tone buzzing in my ear, static crackling through my veins. She's alive. She's waiting. And now I know where to find her.

Something shifts inside me, the last thread of restraint snapping clean. The rage I've been holding back rises like a tide, but it's different now. Focused. Every violent impulse, every dark desire narrows to a single purpose: getting her back.

My reflection catches in the darkened monitor screen—eyes wild, smile twisted. I've been wearing a mask so long I barely recognize myself without it. But this? This feels real. This feels right .

The monitors show the cameras catching movement at the edge of my property. Another black SUV joins the others.

Time to give them what they want.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up every traffic camera between here and Marshall Cross. They'll expect me to take the main roads. They'll watch the highways. But I know these woods. I grew up learning every hidden path, every forgotten track that leads away from this place. Every escape route I've mapped obsessively, never knowing I was preparing for her .

I grab my phone and call Monty. He answers on the second ring.

"Get Nico." I don't wait for him to speak. "I need you both here. Now."

A pause. "What kind of mess are we making?"

"The kind that brings federal agents running." I move through the house, gathering what I need—cash, the burner phone I keep for occasions exactly like this. My mind fills with images of her waiting, alone, mine . "I need chaos, Monty. Beautiful, vicious fucking chaos."

"Fuck." He laughs, and I hear the familiar excitement in it. This is why we're friends. He understands . "How big are we talking?"

"Big enough to make them think I'm losing my mind." I check the monitors again. More shapes between the trees. More eyes watching. Good. "Make them think the pressure's gotten to me. That I'm ready to burn it all down."

"You know Nico's gonna want to use actual explosives."

"Whatever works. Just keep them busy. Keep them looking here while I get away." My reflection grins back at me from the window. "By the time they realize their mistake, I'll be gone."

"Knew the feds couldn't keep you away from her forever."

"She's mine." The words come out like a prayer and a death threat combined. My fingers trace over the dried roses under the glass on my desk, remembering how she felt beneath my hands. "And I'm going to tear apart anyone who tries to keep her from me."

"What do you need?"

My mind races with possibilities, with ways to make them regret ever thinking they could keep her from me.

"A car. Something untraceable. Leave it at the abandoned Carson farm, keys under the back tire." I study the monitors, anticipation burning through my veins. "And I need you to give them a show they won't forget."

"You want us to blow shit up?"

"I want you to make them think I'm blowing shit up." My smile widens as I imagine finding her, watching her realize I've torn apart everything to reach her. "Give them the unhinged rich boy they're expecting. Make it look like something inside me finally snapped."

Every second without her feeds the darkness clawing at my insides. I want to hunt down every agent who's touched her, who's made her run, who's forced her to hide. I want to take them apart piece by piece until they understand exactly what they've awakened.

"Thirty minutes enough time?"

"Make it fifteen. I want to hear them screaming before I hit the tree line."

Monty exhales slowly. "You know they'll come after you hard for this."

"Let them try." The laugh that escapes me doesn't sound human. "They have no fucking idea what I'll do to get her back."

She’s mine. Always mine.

I move through the house, gathering what I’m going to need, before I walk out the back door and into the trees, letting the darkness swallow me whole.

Let them chase their ghosts. Let them think they've pushed me over the edge.

By the time they realize their mistake, I'll be gone.

And then?

Then I'll show them exactly what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to me.

I'm coming, Ballerina. Wait for me.

Time to become the monster she needs me to be.