1. I’m playing some twisted game of hide-and-seek.

Chapter 1

I'm playing some twisted game of hide-and-seek.

ZENYA

"Comatose" by Skillet

"Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace

L eave it to me to fall off a mountain straight into another dimension where people without faces are hunting me.

For now, I'm just calling this Goth Wonderland. And I honestly don't know if I want to go home or go deeper. Especially when home is kind of…everywhere for me.

All I know is I don't want those things eating me.

I've never shied away from the dark nature of the world. Not when that dark nature is in my blood. This is probably taking it too far—but what a rush!

At least Wonderland didn't steal my tattoos. After all the money I've spent to decorate my body, I'd hate to start a supernatural small claims court.

Heart ricocheting in my chest, I toss my dark purple waves over my shoulder and pick up the luxurious skirts of the gothic white corset gown I found myself wearing when I arrived. I'd say it's out of place against the backdrop of twisted shadows and ethereal mists. But it could be my subconscious projecting last night's gothic tragic romance film.

The left side of my body taunts me with its dark ink of skulls, swords, and dead flowers, telling me I'd always end up here. The right side, like the angel on my other shoulder, comforts me with pretty purple fairies, stitched pink hearts, and silver stars.

Adrenaline thrills my blood—from fear and lethal curiosity.

These faceless beings herd me like a morbid, twisted gang, their mouths open in a voiceless perma-scream. Like symbolic echoes of my past when I spent my life with someone who wore a thousand faces. None were ever real.

I stagger through the murky haze of this realm that can only be described as ominous but in this dark, tragic way. Like I've stepped into a vintage black-and-white photograph. Or a realm where everyone is silhouetted with a small moon glowing behind them.

Terror rips through my blood at the thought of these wraith-like figures touching me. For all I know, they could turn me faceless, too—forcibly transforming me into them.

In the distance, a malevolent fortress looms like a dark guardian, its sinister iridescence pulsating against the blackened sky.

Against the backdrop of this dark, fathomless landscape, and the ground seeming to shift with every passing moment, it's the only potential hiding place. My bare feet sigh on the soft, gray moss, cloaked in cool mist before pain howls into my arches from a jagged rock cutting into the skin.

Surrealism distorts my surroundings.

Drawn towards that castle, I quicken my pace, my hands clutching the folds of the gown. The air thickens with the malice of these stalkers hunting me. Their icy breath curls so close like claws scraping the back of my neck until chills shiver up my spine.

Hope and desperation war in my chest as the fortress seems close enough to touch one second before betraying me like an untouchable mirage.

A wave of iciness sweeps across my back, and I press my lips together, resisting the urge to turn my head.

Close your eyes, Zenya. And never look back. The familiar deep voice thunders in my mind, followed by the memory of lips touching my brow and the scent of decay and blood lingering in my bedroom.

When my body collides with hard stone, agony knifes through my chest. A cry tears from my throat, but I stumble without falling and lurch forward…right into the heart of a desolate cemetery.

Of course, I'm playing some twisted game of hide-and-seek.

The atmosphere grows colder, and my tattered breath ghosts into the air. More faceless hunters appear on each side of me, prowling ever closer.

With crypts surrounding me like a labyrinth, restricting my view, I hold onto the vision of that fortress, only hoping there is a way through this gravestone maze.

Part of the dress snags on the finial of a small iron gate wrapping around a grave, ripping half of it away until it flies away like a bridal veil on the wind.

A shift in the wind signals more phantoms lurking closer. And I'd swear fingers creep along the ends of my hair. Violent emotions devour me, ones I have always tried to avoid, ones I've substituted for mad thrills.

Rounding the corner of another crypt, I crash right into a figure—towering over me, reducing my average height to a waif-like state. So dark and imposing dressed in a long black robe with a hood—like a specter making me wonder if he's with the faceless ones. My breaths stagger.

But when he slowly turns his head, revealing the skull where his face should be, woven with black veins and etched with eldritch symbols like forgotten nightmares, my heart screams in my mind. A crown of bones, fused with gold and obsidian, rests upon his hood. Dark and glimmering orbs hang in his eye sockets like two suspended black moons going on for eternity.

Time freezes, the edges of the world unraveling at the very seams as I gaze up at this dark king, awe and terror consuming me. He eclipses me, embodying dread and seduction. Both disturbing and exquisite, full of raw power, he transcends the confines of all worlds.

My spine locks up, and I brace myself for some malignant action. My life snuffed out in a moment. The memory of the scent of death makes my skin crawl.

"You are not meant to be hunted here, strange girl." Oh! His voice echoes like distant thunder. I can't say I've ever been attracted to a corpse-like reaper, but there's a first time for everything. Rule 34 is so not playing in my mind right now.

A cacophony of haunting whispers fills the air, signaling the approach of the faceless chasers. His focus snaps to them.

In the blink of an eye, he passes through me like a beautiful ghost, raising all the hairs on my skin. Is he going to suck my soul from my body? Perhaps it won't be too horrible from such a violent and beautiful god.

Heat overthrows me, flaring between my thighs, smoldering my blood, and awakening my adrenaline. His energy allures me with the highs I've chased all my life and the dark force of the abyss that burrowed into my soul while I was still in the womb. I've never felt such a torrent of fire and ice.

A sudden wind flows through him, surging his robe with the fabric like black, writhing serpents. He absorbs all the shadows, rising taller, consuming all light until he is the definition of celestial darkness. The faceless ones shudder as if devoured by a dark storm.

He raises his bone skull, those black moons igniting with blood. Not like flames but actual streams of swirling blood branching out like a network of scarlet roots. Bone dust fuses with the blood roots. Then, a fearsome roar erupts from his being.

I slam my hands over my poor, bleeding ears, feeling the scream shaking the ground and sending seismic activity through every bone in my body. Rattling me. It's a thunderous proclamation of his dominion.

The faceless ones recoil, their shapeless bodies quivering in terror. The King advances, his presence a force of nature, each step radiating an intensity that burns with primal fury. Fury on my behalf.

With a final, commanding growl, he unleashes those bone-dusted, bloody roots. They surge forward, a tidal force that smites the faceless ones with irresistible power.

Unable to withstand his might, the faceless ones retreat, disintegrating into wisps of shadow—banished by the King's supremacy. The air grows still again.

I can breathe again—even if my breath is a windstorm in my ears.

When he turns to me again, those black orbs gaze at me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.

The left side of my body, covered in deathly symbols, seems to pulsate. Nightmarish thoughts creep into my mind. A corpse so lovely drifting along a black sea. Dark lullabies. Dolls with broken faces. Breath-smothering spiderwebs.

He steps closer, gifting me with that same intoxicating pull. Kaleidoscopic prisms of light burst in my belly. Falling stars shatter to heat the space between my thighs. Feather-like tingles tickle my skin and senses.

The dark Wonderland I've entered is his domain, and somehow, I'm irrevocably bound to him, drawn to the haunting power that both terrifies and enthralls me.

He's the ultimate anti-depressant with a sinister edge. It calls to some deep, morbid place inside me, awakening desires I've never known.

An irresistible drug. And well, I have a needle fetish.

So, when he starts to turn away, I scramble to my feet.

"Wait! What's your name?" I ask, breathlessly.

The jawbone of his skull seems to harden. "Nyxion," he says, his voice like dark velvet, lyrical but malevolent that pulls up goosebumps on my skin. "And you, Zenya Alice Myre, should run away. Run far far away…before you meet your death, little killer ."

Feminine fury seethes through me. But I don't correct him. Because…there's nothing to correct.

The mouth of his skull lifts, seeming to smile. I tilt my head. He tilts his, much more of a predator while I might as well be a blinking little firefly. No, he's the fire. A great pillar of flame. And I'm a hapless, little moth!

A sense of effervescence takes over. A tingling on the left side of my body. And the smoldering molten heat returns to my center.

I laugh and laugh and laugh. Like a sweet, mad Alice. Because I stared death in the face every day of my life. And survived.

So, when he walks away from me, I make the sign of a finger gun, stab myself with an imaginary needle, and follow the ultimate addiction and walking carnival of horrors right inside the doors of his castle.