Nightfall (Devil’s Night Book 4)
Nightfall: Chapter 7

Present

I popped my head up, my eyelids heavy with sleep and my head pounding.

White filled my gaze as I jerked my head left and right, realization settling in.

It wasn’t a dream. I was at Blackchurch.

Checking the door across the room, I saw it closed and the chair still fixed underneath the knob. I exhaled, pushing myself up from where I’d crouched in the corner to keep all angles in view.

I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I looked around for a clock, but there was nothing.

How long had I slept? I rubbed my eyes, pulling open a curtain and seeing that it was still dark outside. The forest laid beyond the tree line, the great expanse nearly pitch black under the cloud-covered moon.

Would I still be alive if I were out there now?

Releasing the curtain, I eyed the two-way mirror to my right, wondering if they were watching me. Did all the rooms have those?

And why?

The floor above me creaked, and I shot my eyes up to the ceiling, the floorboards whining with someone’s weight.

Where the hell were we? Think, think. The foliage outside, the trees, the moss on the rocks, and the air, heavy with moisture… Maybe Canada?

And we couldn’t be as secluded as they thought. Checking out the fancy woodwork, ornate doors and fixtures, and the chandeliers I’d noticed in the house, I knew one thing for certain. Blackchurch wasn’t always a prison. It wasn’t functional as one.

Someone built it as a home, and a home this size was built for more than a family. It was built for entertaining. A place this size didn’t run without support from a local population—servants, craftsmen, farmers…

My stomach ached with hunger as I looked at the pasta Aydin Khadir had left me on the bench at the bottom of his bed. The sauce had settled, and the noodles had yellowed, less opaque, but my mouth still watered looking at it.

I’d refused to eat it on the chance it was drugged—which was an entirely reasonable concern, since I must’ve been drugged when I was first brought here, but… I’d also slept without incident, so they clearly weren’t waiting for me to be less on guard to attack.

This was his room, he’d said. He would’ve come back here to sleep if it was that time of night. Where was he?

Leaving the food behind, I twisted around, looking for the knife, and I grabbed it off the floor where I’d dropped it when I was sleeping. Taking it, I dashed into the bathroom, filled a glass of water, and downed a cup before wiping off my mouth and heading past his treadmill for the door.

I only hesitated a moment before pulling the chair away and slowly twisting.

The pulse in my neck pumped hard, even though I knew I wasn’t in any more danger outside this room than in. If they had wanted to get in, they would’ve. I only put the chair up to give myself a warning before they broke through.

But I needed food not made by someone else, and I needed a better look at my surroundings.

Peering into the hall, I glanced left and right, half expecting to see a guard posted at my door, but the night outside the windows around the foyer darkened the floors and walls, the beautiful glow of the glass chandelier the only thing lighting the empty second floor.

There was no one.

That was weird. Were they that confident I wouldn’t try to run again?

I looked right, scanning the wall and seeing the crack in the paneling. Doing one more sweep to make sure I was alone, I stepped out into the hall and dug my nails into the crack, trying to pry the panel away.

I knew it opened. Maybe someone hadn’t been watching me in that mirror, but I knew the room was here, dammit.

After it didn’t give, I planted both hands on the panel and pushed instead, hearing the springs snap and watching as the door immediately opened.

My heart skipped a beat, and I almost smiled.

I swung the door wide and looked inside the small room, seeing a chair sitting on a concrete floor, surrounded by concrete walls. I stepped inside and walked to the glass, turning to look into Aydin’s room, the view spanning the entire width.

I shook my head. Unbelievable. Was Will here hours ago? Watching me?

Was someone else?

So many questions, but mostly…were there more secret rooms and were they here when Blackchurch was someone’s home?

Or were they installed when it became a prison?

Because if so, that meant there was indeed some kind of surveillance. Someone might be checking up on them more than just every thirty days. If there were hidden chambers, then there were hidden ways for people to get in and out.

I backed out of the room and closed the door, scanning the landing again. The shadows of the leaves on the trees outside danced across the railing that loomed over the foyer, and the water falling outside surrounded the house like a metronome—steady and constant.

Inhaling, the scent of old books and burning wood hit my nose, and I clutched the knife tightly at my side as I descended the staircase.

I wanted to go everywhere. See every room, inspect every closet, and get the lay of the land, but I had no idea what time it was, or which rooms would be occupied at this hour.

Stepping off the staircase, I walked through the foyer, passing a dark and empty drawing room, as well as a dining room on my right, and a ballroom and library to my left.

Candles flickered on antique silver candelabras that stood as tall as me around the foyer, and I stopped at one, staring at it for a moment.

The place had electricity. Why the ambience?

I picked up the matchbox on the nearby table and stole a couple of matches out of it, sticking them into my pocket.

Lightly stepping through the house, I sneaked right, toward the kitchen, but a cry echoed down the hall from my left.

I stopped and looked, the hair on my arms rising as I heard a grunt.

“Just leave it, Will!” someone growled.

I narrowed my eyes, inching toward the voice even though I should just run.

I passed a sitting room and an office, and kept walking down the hall, seeing movement on my left.

I turned and looked into a home gym, much like the wrestling room back in my old high school. A wide open-area mat surrounded by equipment—treadmills, ellipticals, free weights…

Taylor Dinescu did push-ups on the mat, his eyes darting up and locking with mine.

His sweaty brown hair stuck to his scalp as his naked chest and back glistened. My stomach dipped at the look in his eyes as his push-ups got faster and faster, and he continued to stare at me like I was something on his plate.

My heart beat in my throat, and I turned away, hearing a grunt from farther down the hall.

“Goddammit!” And then there was a crash.

I jumped, fisting the handle of the knife. What the hell? Following the noise, I stopped near a cracked door and peered inside.

“Just leave it!” Micah growled, falling into a dark wooden secretary, the books on the shelves tumbling out behind him.

Tears wet his cheeks, but fire blazed in his eyes as he pushed Will away.

I inched closer.

Blood was dripping out of Micah’s nose. He was dressed in black pants while Will wore jeans, both shirtless, their forms lit only by the glow of a small lamp.

Will grabbed the back of Micah’s neck and brought him in, forehead to forehead as Micah shook.

My heart ached a little, despite itself. What was wrong with him?

Will stared at him as their deep breaths fell in sync, harder and louder like they were getting ready for something, and then Will took hold of Micah’s arm, grabbed the side of his neck with his other hand, and shoved hard, a low, hollow pop sounding as Micah cried out.

“Ah!”

I winced.

“Motherfucker!” he shouted as his shoulder was snapped back into its socket, choking on the pain and shoving the secretary over until it crashed onto the floor.

Jesus. How the hell did that happen?

Sweat coated Micah’s black hair, which hung over his eyes, ears, and down his neck, and he leaned into the wall, gasping for breath as the color drained from his face.

I wasn’t sure how old he was, but right now, he looked twelve and helpless.

Will handed him a bowl of something with an eating utensil.

But Micah pushed it away. “I’m gonna be sick.”

And at that moment, he grabbed the copper waste basket and leaned over, spilling whatever was in his stomach.

I looked away for a moment, but then I heard more growls and grunts coming from farther down the hall and looked toward it, but couldn’t see anything.

Micah wiped off his mouth and set the tin down as Will set the bowl on the little table.

“Eat it when you’re ready,” he told him.

“I can’t take your food.”

Will picked up an elastic bandage and started unraveling it, probably meaning to wrap up Micah’s arm.

But Micah pushed that away, too. “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want him to see.”

Who? And see what? That he was hurt?

Just then, Micah looked up and met my gaze, finally seeing me hiding behind the door.

I straightened as Will followed his gaze, noticing me, too.

Walking over, he kicked the door, slamming it in my face, and I blinked, startling.

Prick.

Ruckus sounded from somewhere down the hall, and then a growl, and I looked toward the kitchen and back again, gauging my choices as my knee bobbed.

I should get back to the kitchen. No one was paying attention, and for all Aydin knew right now, I was sleeping. I could grab some provisions and be two miles downriver before he realized.

But…

Another cry pierced the air, and my curiosity got the better of me.

Continuing down the hall, I followed the sounds and rounded a corner, seeing white and blue ahead, as well as steam rising into the air through the open door down the hall.

Hiding behind the frame, I peered inside, taken aback by the sight of an indoor pool.

And heated, judging by the steam rolling off the surface.

I scoffed. Rich boys…

Two men rolled around on the mat laid out on the white-tiled pool deck, and I inched in, hearing Aydin talk to Rory as he pinned him to the mat.

“Ask for it,” he taunted him. “He can have it. All you have to do is ask.”

Rory Geardon shot up, grabbing Aydin by the neck and trying to throw him over, but Aydin flipped him over, his naked chest on Rory’s bare back as he whispered something in his ear.

Rory bared his teeth, pain in his blue eyes at whatever Aydin was saying. And déjà vu hit me, remembering a similar wrestling match I’d seen with Will.

Wood creaked next to me, and I tore my eyes away from the match and looked at the wall, feeling a vibration behind it on my shoulder.

It sounded like the movement I heard upstairs.

I stood up straight, ready to lean in and listen some more, but then I saw shadows fall behind me and turned my eyes to see Taylor, followed by Will and Micah, heading for the pool.

They stalked past me, each one throwing a look before stepping inside the room. I hung back, watching as Rory growled under Aydin’s attack.

“All the pleasure you got from their pain,” Aydin told him. “You knew it was going to cost something someday, didn’t you?” He bit his ear, pulling it as every muscle on Rory’s body tensed.

Aydin released it.

“But no,” the alpha continued, “you only dish it when you’re sure you can win. On girls who couldn’t even tell you were coming for them. You knew that wasn’t going to last forever, right?”

What was he talking about? Was that why Rory was here?

Taylor smiled, clearly enjoying the scene. Micah stood at the edge of the mat, looking helpless as he stared down red-eyed.

Girls who couldn’t even tell you were coming.

What did that mean?

“Say it, socio.” Aydin leaned into his ear again. “‘I’m. So. Fucked. Up.’”

Rory resisted, trying to turn away—replace a way out—but the cut on his brow dripped blood into his eye, and he just remained silent.

“I’m,” Aydin recited, egging him on, “so fucked up.” And then he dropped his voice to a hard whisper we all could hear. “In the head.”

A sob escaped Rory, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he was afraid it was true.

I looked over at Will, his gaze locked on the scene playing out.

But he must’ve sensed me watching because he looked over at me, his expression unwavering but his eyes hard.

Why aren’t they helping him? The only person who seemed to be enjoying the show was Taylor. Was this how Micah got injured? Fighting Aydin?

“They’re never going to let you out,” Aydin told the man under him. “I’m your family now.”

Rory gasped, not looking happy about it, and Aydin shot off him, standing up and walking to the small table at the edge of the pool.

Taking a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, he poured himself a glass of Scotch and threw it back, everyone watching him.

I thought Taylor said they didn’t have liquor here.

Will walked over, and Aydin set his glass down, telling him, “Just ask.”

But Will just grabbed for the bottle, and Aydin grabbed him, a hand at the back of Will’s neck and the other squeezing his throat.

“Look at me,” he told Will, their noses almost touching.

And then, Aydin’s gaze flashed over to me, a bitter smile playing on his lips and a sinking feeling hit my gut.

He controlled everything.

Shoving Will away, he brought his hand down hard, slapping Will in the face.

“Ask,” he said again.

Will stumbled, his back to me, but after a moment, he rose again, standing tall.

Aydin shook his head, charging up to him and slapping the same side again and again, pushing Will back until he lost his footing, spun around, and dropped to his hands and knees.

Tears filled my eyes, and I stared down at Will as he took a moment to catch his breath, and then he rose back up, facing Aydin and steeling his spine for more.

What the hell was he doing? Will could fight. He wasn’t even trying.

What had happened to him?

Aydin stepped up, nose to nose, and gazed into Will’s eyes. “He’s hurting,” he said to him. “Ask me or beat me, and you can have the whole bottle.”

The bottle. I eyed the Scotch whiskey.

And then to Micah. Rory and Will were trying to get Aydin’s liquor to soothe Micah’s pain.

The muscles in Will’s jaw flexed, and Aydin didn’t wait for his answer. Balling his fist, he reared back, swung, and slammed Will across the jaw, then grabbed his head and brought it down on his knee.

I gasped as blood spurted from Will’s nose and he fell to his knees again. I started to rush toward him, but he shot out his hand, stopping me without a look in my direction.

He sucked in air, eyes squeezed closed as he wiped the blood away from his mouth and knelt there, trying to get his legs under him again.

Finally, shaking, he rose to his feet.

But Aydin just chuckled and walked away, pouring himself another drink.

“I can’t trade with someone who doesn’t play,” he said.

Will stood there bleeding, and I moved a little, trying to catch his eyes.

But just when I thought he was going to look at me, he looked away instead and walked off the mat.

What had happened to him? He wasn’t the leader in high school, either, but he never let anyone treat him like shit.

“Sleep well?” Aydin asked.

I blinked, realizing he was talking to me.

“Taylor thought for sure we’d have to pry you out of that room,” he mused, taking a towel and wiping the sweat off his face.

He tossed the towel on a nearby chair, his gaze falling to my hand and the knife in it.

“You may as well relax,” he told me. “You’re not leaving.”

“I’m not staying.”

He laughed, unfastening his belt. “Denial. The first phase. I remember it well,” he mused, dropping his pants to the floor and leaving him in his boxer briefs. “Dealing with the loss of freedom and choice are exactly like dealing with the loss of a friend or parent. ‘This isn’t happening. This isn’t my life now. There has to be some way out of this…’”

He stared at me, amused, and then he peeled down the rest of his clothes, leaving him completely naked.

Heat rose up my neck, but I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes dead center on that stupid smirk of his as the others stood around, remaining silent.

“You’re dirty.” He sighed, throwing back another swallow of liquor. “I warned you that we’d bathe you if you didn’t do it yourself.”

“You’re going to have to, Hot Shot,” I fired back. “I don’t listen to you.”

“Oh, what a delight.” He smiled, turning and dropping waist deep into the pool. “I was so hoping you were going to make this hard.”

I glanced at the doorway I came through, wishing I’d gone for the kitchen like I was supposed to.

“Are there more people in this house?” I asked.

He splashed water on his face, coating his chest, as well. “Why would you think that?”

“I heard movement above me in your room a few minutes ago,” I told him.

Maybe if I got them distracted, searching the house, I could get to the kitchen. I might not get out of here tonight, but I could hoard some food.

“And again, in the walls down here,” I said. “But you’re all in here.”

I didn’t pass anyone on my way downstairs, and it appeared they were all already down here when I arrived.

“You’ve never heard anything before?” I asked.

The surveillance room, probably one of many, and movement in areas of the house where there weren’t supposed to be people?

But he knew where I was going with my train of thought. “There’s no help for you here.”

He sank below the surface, submerging his body, and rose up again, swimming to the other side and then smoothing his dark hair over the top of his head as the steam billowed around his body.

Unable to stop myself, I dropped my gaze. The curves and dips of his tight stomach, the bronze skin that looked like he was loved by the sun on some Mediterranean island instead of a cold, desolate house in the middle of nowhere, and the V of his hips that disappeared down into the water would make lots of women—and men—happy to look at.

And I had no doubt he was well aware of it.

“Come here,” he said softly.

I darted my eyes to his, seeing him tread through the water to the edge closest to me, looking like a god on Earth.

Too bad for him, I worshiped no one.

“Why do you control the food?” I demanded, staying right where I was.

“Why would I control the food?” he challenged and then looked behind me. “Taylor?”

I looked over my shoulder, seeing Dinescu approach. I moved away.

“Because we’re surviving,” he answered for Aydin. “When you can’t run to the supermarket or get takeout from a restaurant, you have to make sure people don’t overeat.”

“Or maybe controlling basic necessities helps you control the people,” I retorted, shifting my gaze from Taylor to Aydin.

It was a basic tactic common amongst dictators. When people spent their days fighting for food, shelter, and safety, they didn’t have the time or energy to fight for anything else. Keep them poor, hungry, and dumb.

“In any case,” I said, looking him up and down, “you don’t seem to be underfed.”

Unlike Will, who gave his ration to Micah, and how often was he doing that anyway?

But Aydin simply smiled. “Stay on my good side, and you won’t be, either.”

I’d rather eat razors.

He walked out of the pool. Taylor tossed him a towel, and I watched him dry off his face as he stood there naked, because he could.

“You want to walk out of here with a bag of food and water, right?” he guessed. “Maybe a sweater?”

Yes.

“Tell you what, then…” he said. “We earn what we eat here. You can fight for it. If you win, you can leave. Or try to,” he added. “But if you lose, I’ll show you to your own room with a private bath and some clean clothes until the restock team arrives in twenty-nine days.”

He wrapped the towel around his waist and approached me.

“Or, if you prefer, we can come up with another arrangement.” His eyes drifted down my body. “Women have their uses, after all.”

Taylor laughed under his breath to my left, and I stared at Aydin, trying to keep my nerves in check, even though my insides were bouncing off the walls.

Fight for it? Jesus, he was so nervous about how the size of his cock measured up against everyone else here that he made them fight him—or beg—for whatever it was they wanted or needed.

Did he expect me to have a chance?

“Ready to give up?” he asked, a smile ghosting his lips.

But I stood there, thinking about my options. I could hunker down, earn his trust, hoard supplies when no one was watching, and then make my escape some night when they’d lowered their guard.

That would be smart.

But I also had no idea I wouldn’t be put through hell in this house if I stayed, either. I couldn’t risk it.

“All I have to do is win?” I pressed.

Will lurched forward before he could respond, his whole body tight and flexed.

“One more step,” Aydin growled over his shoulder to Will, “and the choice is no longer hers. We can explore a whole slew of other arrangements to help her earn her freedom.”

Will halted, breathing hard, and the first glimpse of worry in his eyes I’d seen since I got here darted between Aydin and me.

“Isn’t that right, Micah?” Aydin prodded. “And Rory?”

Both boys stood off to the side, bleeding, sweaty, and defeated. “Right,” they murmured with their eyes downcast.

Taylor stepped forward, throwing off the towel around his neck and circling me in his black sweatpants.

I took in his wide chest, thick arms, and the ridges of his stomach, flexing as he stepped around me.

I spun around slowly, following him.

All I needed was one good hit. The jaw was the knock-out button. If I hit his jaw, he’d go down like a dead deer.

“If you’re lying,” I said, turning my gaze to Aydin, “they’ll know your word means nothing.”

He nodded once. “You win, you walk.” And then he waved his hand, signaling us to start. “Taylor?”

“No, me.” Will pulled up next to Aydin. “Let her fight me.”

“But then how can you watch?” he retorted.

He didn’t really want Will to answer the question. He knew—love me or hate me—Will would go easy on me, and I was starting to get the feeling that Aydin wanted this to hurt Will, too.

Hands slammed into my chest, and I flew back, the wind knocked out of me as I landed on my ass.

Shit.

Pain shot through my tailbone, and I sucked in a breath, déjà vu washing over me.

“Instead of winning, maybe you should worry about just staying on your feet,” Taylor teased, followed with a laugh.

It sounded like Martin, though, the dark sound burrowing through my stomach like a screw.

I pushed myself to my feet, feeling Will off to the side, the energy in his legs ready to move at any second.

But I didn’t need him.

I reared back my fist, aiming straight for Taylor’s jaw, but he caught it, squeezing my wrist with one hand and throwing the other across my face.

“Ah,” I gasped, my cheek bursting into flames.

Grabbing the back of my hair and making my scalp scream, he threw a fist into my stomach, and I collapsed to my knees before another hand flew across my face again. Blood filled my mouth, my eyes watered, and I could barely see.

No.

I clenched my teeth to keep the cry in, but then I remembered my grandmother wasn’t upstairs to hear anything.

“Enough!” I heard Will yell.

I flexed the muscles in my thighs, forcing my legs to stop shaking. Will had never seen me get hurt. He didn’t know what I could take.

And Taylor Dinescu was nothing.

Opening my eyes, I saw his groin right in front of me, and I shot out the palm of my hand, roaring and using every ounce of strength as I slammed my hand into his dick and then quickly rolled backward, out of his reach.

He howled, falling to one knee, and I threw off my glasses and charged for him while he was down. I jumped onto his back, locking my arm around his neck and squeezing as hard as I could, paying no mind to the whispers or chuckles going off around the room.

Taylor hunched over with my weight on him, but pushed himself to his feet, breathing a mile a minute and no longer at ease.

“I went easy with those hits,” he gritted out.

“And believe me when I tell you I know how to take one,” I replied.

He popped up, flying backward, and I cried out, seeing the ground rush us over my shoulder. I landed on my back with his weight crashing into me on top, and I coughed and gasped for air, my ribs aching with pain.

“You fucking bitch,” he muttered.

He rolled over, shooting off me, and I opened my eyes in time to see his foot come in for my head.

I widened my eyes and rolled away, my heart in my throat just as the toe of his foot hit me in the eye.

Fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and I could feel the blood dripping over my cheek bone.

“Goddammit,” Will yelled. “Enough!”

“Is that enough, Emory?” Aydin chimed in. “You giving up?”

I didn’t have a chance to respond. Taylor straddled me, slapping me once and then again, and I barely had time to catch my breath before he planted his hand over my mouth and plugged my nose.

I inhaled, blood coating my face, but I couldn’t get any air in. My lungs constricted, my brain shut down, and all of a sudden, I was home with Martin like it was yesterday. I thrashed, flailing my hands as my body screamed for oxygen. I slapped Taylor’s chest, scratched his face, and clawed his neck, kicking and squirming under his hold.

His thighs tightened around me, and I twisted and twisted, trapped. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Tears filled my eyes as my pulse flooded my ears.

No, no, no…

He leaned down next to my ear. “I could be inside you in three seconds,” he whispered. “And I will be when—”

I pounded my fist, slamming it right into his jaw, and his head bobbed, his whole body going slack.

He loosened his hold just enough, and I pulled his hands off my face, sucking down air as I pushed him off me.

Scrambling to my feet, I spun around and backed away, seeing him sitting on the mat and holding his jaw, glaring at me.

But he wasn’t moving for me yet.

I pivoted, staring at Aydin. “Open the door,” I demanded.

He cocked his head but didn’t budge.

Spotting the bottle on the table, I snatched the hem of my shirt, tearing it at the seam and ripping off a chunk as I raced for the bottle.

Grabbing it, I stuffed the cloth in, backed up toward the door, and pulled out one of the matches from my pocket, dipping down to swipe the tip over the dry grout between the tiles.

I faced the room full of boys as blood dripped down from my eyebrow and the corner of my mouth.

I met Will’s eyes, hoping he noticed the symmetry in the Molotov cocktail. He knew this trick well.

“Stay back!” I ordered them, holding the bomb and the fuse.

Aydin still inched forward, drawing close. “You think I won’t handle you myself if I have to?”

“I think you want something from me, too, so…” I stated. “Better stay on my good side.”

He laughed. “Oh, phase two,” he mused. “Anger. I was so looking forward to this one.”

Instead of being worried I could burn down their entire shelter with this one bottle, he was excited. Taylor rose from the mat, all five of them facing me and moving toward me as I drifted down the hallway.

Was I really doing this? Leaving now? No food, no clothes, no help? He wasn’t backing off. They weren’t going to let me run.

Whatever I did, I had to do it now.

I lit the cloth, raised the bottle over my head, hearing the liquid slosh around inside, and they stopped, looking halfway between charging me or retreating.

Fuck it. I launched the bottle, the glass crashing and flames bursting forth, consuming the hallway as they scrambled back, and I swung around, charging for the front door.

They’d have to go around. There was a back door in the natatorium for them to get out, and I couldn’t believe I’d done that, but that was me. Given the chance to run, I always ran.

Digging in my heels, I raced for the front door and swung it open, but then suddenly, Taylor was there, pulling me to a stop right on the front stoop.

I gasped, stumbling back, and he charged toward me, the rest of them shouting from outside, too.

They…they were already rounding the house. Shit. It only took a moment to decide. Twisting around, I scurried up the stairs, remembering that I saw a balcony overlooking the waterfall somewhere on the second floor. If I could get to it, I could shimmy down a pipe and run.

With Taylor on my tail, and the rest of the boys barreling into the house, I raced across the landing on the second floor, someone grabbing my hair from behind and yanking me back.

I whipped around, shoving Taylor away, but I lost my footing and tumbled over the railing, his fists gripping my collar and holding me as my legs flailed fifteen feet off the ground.

Ah!” I cried out, grappling for his arms. I met his angry blue eyes as he just held me there. The fire extinguisher went off downstairs, putting out the fire, and the fabric of my shirt started to rip.

I gasped.

Taylor growled as he tried to raise me, but then…he lost hold, shooting out his hands and trying to catch me again. Rory appeared, diving for me just as I fell.

I slipped, descended, and Rory toppled over with me, both of us flying through the air to the floor below.

I screamed, crashing to my side on the hard, marble surface, and I looked up, seeing the blond boy fall through the air right for me. He hit the ground next to me, his head whipping back, and I shot out my hands, catching his skull right before it cracked against the floor.

We both breathed hard, his head cradled in my palms next to me, and he blinked, finally meeting my eyes.

Then he closed them, relief falling over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Will said, rushing over.

He took my head in his hands, inspecting me.

“Fire’s out,” Micah called. He rushed over to Rory, holding his face and gliding his hands over his torso and arms. “Anything broken?” he asked him.

Rory shook his head, and I watched Micah’s thumb rub across Rory’s cheek.

I moved my eyes around, trying to re-connect with my body, but I couldn’t tell if I was in one piece. Everything hurt.

“Emmy, Jesus…” Will glared at me, his eyes drifting down my body.

But before he could say more, Aydin dove in and swept me into his arms, something between a scowl and worry playing in his eyes, too. “Get her some food and water,” he ordered someone. “And get my kit, some clean bandages, and some alcohol.”

He carried me up the stairs, and I watched Will and Micah sling Rory’s arms around their necks and walk him, following us.

Will met my eyes over Aydin’s shoulder, and while I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he didn’t look away.

“You’re a fighter,” Aydin said. “I like you.”

What? I gaped at him, in too much pain to even roll my eyes.

“You saw the bones in my room today?” Aydin asked.

I didn’t reply.

“That was someone else who thought he could run,” he explained. “We found what was left of him three months later when we were out hunting.”

Another prisoner tried to escape?

It was definitely a human bone. A femur. I knew it the moment I picked it up.

I’d dropped it just as quickly.

I didn’t know if an animal got him or the elements, and I didn’t ask.

And then I remembered something else he’d said. His kit. Bandages.

Then there was all that stuff in his room. Biology. Drawings. Notes.

“You’re a doctor?” I said, finally realizing.

“When I want to be.”

“How long have you been here?”

He met my gaze. “Two years, one month, fifteen days.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. The idea of Will being here that long hurt.

“Use your head,” he told me, carrying me into his room as if I weighed nothing. “You’ll need it to stay alive, because this is not how we end, Emory Scott.”

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

But I didn’t.

No. This wasn’t how I ended.

I had twenty-nine days.