Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

E ight years ago.

Her chemistry final exam ran long, and now dusk fell as Regie's feet pounded the cross-country trail. She matched her breathing to the rhythm of her pace. She knew she shouldn't be out in the dark by herself, but running relieved the anxiety that had plagued her since she was a child.

And strange things happened if Regie didn't find an outlet for her emotional stress.

Things she couldn't explain.

Bad things.

As darkness fell, shadows reached for her from behind the trees. She increased her pace, forcing her legs to move faster. The path sloped upward, and she pumped her arms to keep the momentum going. Her breaths came faster, and she focused on pulling enough oxygen into her lungs.

Maybe she shouldn't have lingered over the test. The professor had allowed extra time, and of course, Regie took advantage. She wished she could rid herself of the compulsion to double and triple-check everything, but if she hadn't, she'd not be able to sleep that night. Besides, she enjoyed figuring out chemistry.

Science made sense. Ruled by laws and governed by equations, it provided clarity that was missing from the rest of her life. Driven by the need to understand everything she studied within a larger context but also down to every minute detail, she'd spent days and long nights preparing for final exams week. And just like with all assignments in all of her classes, she had to review and recalculate every answer to every question before she turned it in. If she didn't, that pesky anxiety reared its ugly head.

The trail leveled out again, and she could keep pace with less effort. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her athletic shirt and checked the time on her fitness watch. It was later than she thought. She should have picked the shorter trail but had wanted a longer workout since she'd neglected her exercise routine the last few days.

She'd expected the familiar excessive worrying and digestive issues creeping up on her. But after the test, the restlessness that had built up in her throughout the week peaked, worse than usual. Her skin felt stretched to its limit, and her stomach cramped. Pressure built inside, demanding to be released.

She'd gone to the gym first. When she found it filled to the brim with students laughing loudly and shouting to each other over the loud music, she immediately knew it was the worst possible environment to decompress and find her mental balance. And she had to find her equilibrium. College was stressful enough without unpredictable and unexplainable things happening around her.

And so here she was, running in the wooded area on the outskirts of campus, despite the late hour. At least she had reached the lighted part of the path again.

The slight incline that marked the final spurt of the trail loomed ahead. Regie quickened her pace, pumping her arms and leaning in to exert more power.

She wished there was someone she could talk to about the weird, dark tension trapped inside her. The college mental health counselor she'd visited had suggested anti-anxiety medication, but those made Regie more restless. When she felt agitated, she sometimes lost control of her emotions. Something that absolutely couldn't happen because—yeah, bad things.

Plus, if her grandfather ever found out she had mental health issues, he'd blow a gasket. In the world in which her family—well, her grandfather—moved in, appearances were everything. The importance of always portraying an image of perfection, no matter what personal struggles you battled, had been drilled into her at an early age. At the age of eight, to be precise, when she'd lost her parents and had only been allowed to grieve in isolated privacy. Any tears, or heaven forbid, tantrums, meant being sent to her room and locked in until she'd calmed down. Or at least could portray an outside calm demeanor. Regie had quickly learned how to make her trembling body still and her face a frozen mask of indifference.

She crested the small hill and saw the brighter lights by the trailhead parking lot. Sweat poured down her face. Struggling to breathe evenly, she pushed harder, sprinting the last quarter of a mile. Finally, she reached the first tall lamppost on the edge of the parking lot and leaned against it until her breath slowed.

As she counted inhales and exhales, making each one deeper and slower until her heart rate calmed, her phone rang, signaling a call from her grandfather. For a brief moment, she considered ignoring it. But she'd have to talk to him eventually, so now was as good as any time.

"Hello, Grandfather."

"Regina," he said in his usual deep, leveled voice that betrayed no emotion, "how did your chemistry exam go?"

It didn't surprise her that he knew about her test. Her grandfather was a master of control, including the schedules of those around him. "I did well, I think. "

"Lansfords never just ‘think,' we always know ," he replied, his voice still leveled.

She stifled the sigh that wanted to escape her lips. "I know I did well," she corrected herself. Regie knew he loved her, even if he never said the words. He took her in after her parents died and showered her with gifts. Emotions, however, were not in his repertoire. Instead, he spoke to her as an adult—even when she was little—expecting her to react rationally and apply unemotional logic to all situations. And, of course, keeping the Landsford image and reputation spotless and in high regard.

"That's what I like to hear. I knew you would make sure you were prepared for all of your exams and would not disappoint me."

"Of course, Grandfather. I would never let you—or myself—down." Some people might resent their family for having such high expectations and putting pressure on someone about to graduate college. Regie didn't mind, though. Thanks to her dad's disastrous screwup, she owed her grandfather much more than she could ever repay, which was why she had to excel in every class and every subject. There were expectations to live up to, but she also wanted the knowledge to put her business plans into action. On top of her science classes, she also studied accounting and business management.

"I know you won't," her grandfather replied. "I'll let you get back to your evening." He hung up before she could ask about how he was doing. Not that he would answer. Their conversations never included anything so banal as how they felt, what physical shape they were in, or how they spent their days. It was always about what had been accomplished and what needed to be done.

Regie pushed off from the lamppost and walked toward her car. Another vehicle had arrived since Regie started her run, so she wasn't the only one who pounded the trail this evening. She fished her key fob out of the hidden pocket in the back of her shorts and hit the unlock button. Her car beeped and flashed its lights in response. She opened the trunk and retrieved her stainless-steel water bottle. When filling it, she'd added some ice and now appreciated the chilled liquid as it flowed down her parched throat. The cool evening temperature dried the sweat on her skin as she gulped down the water, draining the bottle completely. Although calmer than she'd been before her run, her nerves still felt raw.

Suddenly, a man stepped out from behind the other car in the lot, startling her.

Dropping her water bottle, she yelped.

"Whoa," he said, holding out his hands, palms facing her. "I didn't mean to scare you." Grinning wider, he walked toward her. "I think you're in my chem class."

Regie didn't recognize him, but there were over two hundred people in the class that met in a vast auditorium. She studied his tall, lean build and curly black hair, but he didn't look familiar. He also seemed older than most college students. "Did you do okay on today's final?" she asked, picking up the dropped bottle.

He frowned briefly but then smiled and nodded. "Right, the final. I probably passed." Unease trickled down Regie's spine as he took a few steps closer and lowered his voice. "I bet you got a high score, though."

Careful not to turn her back on him, she stepped to the side of the car, threw her water bottle into the trunk, and closed it. She placed her finger on the alarm button of the key fob. "Well, I better get going. I'm meeting someone for dinner."

"No, you're not," he said. "You're a loner, Regie. I've been watching you for weeks. You rarely see friends. I don't think you even have any."

The unease flared to full-on high alert. She twisted around to open her car door.

Before she could grab the handle, the man grabbed the wrist of the hand holding her key fob and squeezed hard. The pressure forced her fingers to open, and she watched the fob fall to the ground. It landed with the red alarm button facing the ground.

The man pulled her toward him. He looped an arm around her neck, covering her mouth with his hand, and pushed down hard.

Regie struggled to get free as he dragged her toward the other car. But her running shoes slipped in the gravel, refusing to gain traction so she could push against him. And his palm pressed too hard against her lips for her to bite him.

She tried to scratch his face with her free hand, but he just pushed her head further down toward the ground, making it impossible for her hands to reach. Trying to keep her balance in the loose gravel, she grabbed the hand that covered her mouth and screamed. Only a muffled groan came out.

They reached the car, and Regie fought to force down her panic. If she gave in, she wouldn't be able to think coherently. She needed to remain in control and apply logic so she could find a chance to escape.

She grabbed the man's wrist and yanked to free her mouth.

The man's pulse throbbed against her thumb, beating almost as fast as her own heart. "Keep fighting," he said. "I like my women feisty."

Anger quickly rose inside Regie. While her heart thudded wildly because of fear, this sick freak had an elevated heart rate because her struggle turned him on.

The anger swelled to rage, filling her with a dark calm. The thuds of his pulse filled her mind. Their rhythm sang to the evil thing hiding inside her, and the darkness rose to dance.

She closed her eyes and embraced the swirls of black. In her mind's eye, she could see his blood pumping through the vein on his wrist on its way to the heart. That beating organ loomed in her mind, and she wanted to squeeze it as hard as he was still holding her.

Tendrils of her dark rage swirled from her hand through the man's skin. They spiraled along the vein leading to the man's heart and weaved an ebony net around it. Every cardiac beat made the mesh stronger and pulled on the life force inside, funneling energy to the dark fury inside her.

The man stumbled. He tried to release her, but she kept her grip on his wrist, pushing her anger inside him.

He yelled out and crumbled to the ground.

Regie loomed over him, still holding his wrist, squeezing it harder. She stared into his eyes, the man's shock and fear evident in his gaze.

"Please," he whispered.

"Is this feisty enough for you?" Her voice trembled with cold fury. She sounded nothing like herself.

He opened his mouth again, but only a wet, strangled gurgle escaped his lips as his eyes closed. His pulse stopped abruptly, and his body went limp. A cell phone fell out of his shirt pocket and skidded under the car.

Regie dropped his wrist. Stumbling back, she stared at her hand.

What had happened ?

Did he have a cardiac arrest? She didn't really stop his heart? Did she?

She took another few steps back and turned toward her car. She stopped mid-step toward the vehicle. She couldn't just leave the man on the ground. He was probably just injured, right? She didn't kill him. Did she?

She returned to his side, crouched down, and nudged him.

The man didn't react. Shit.

Placing her fingers on his neck, she found a weak, fluttery pulse.

A relieved breath escaped from Regie. Not dead, but close.

Her fingers still touched the man's skin, and the tendrils of darkness oozed out again, wrapping themselves around the man's neck.

Horrified, she snatched her hand back.

What kind of monster had she become?

Taking big gulping breaths of air, she separated herself from the weird darkness swelling inside her. The black tendrils she could see in her mind's eye still danced, now weaving back and forth to her heart's staccato beat.

She squatted down so she could reach the man's phone under the car. The locked screen made her hesitate, but then she noticed the SOS icon. She pressed it .

A warm voice answered, "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

Regie wanted to scream about dark rage and black tendrils, but swallowed down her panic. "There's an injured man in the cross-country trail parking lot next to the university campus," she croaked out.

"What is your name?" the operator asked, but Regie had already removed the phone from her ear.

She wiped down the screen and the exterior with the man's shirt, careful to keep the connection open.

The operator's tinny voice kept repeating, "Ma'am? Ma'am?" as she placed the phone on the ground next to the man.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around the man. There were a few scuff marks in the gravel, but nothing that looked like proper footprints. She returned to her own car and picked up the dropped key fob. Once inside the car, the sound of the car door closing echoed in her ears. She pressed the start button with trembling fingers and resisted the temptation to look at the man as she exited the parking space.

Emergency vehicle sirens sounded in the distance.

Regie popped the gear in the drive and floored the gas pedal. Gravel shot out from underneath the tires as she hurried back to the main road, desperate to get home before the first responders reached the parking lot.