Reckless Surrender by Zoe Blake
Chapter 12
Present day, later that evening.
Hush now, Phoebe, do not you fear
Never mind, Phoebe, the Mad Monk is near
The sickly-sweet sing-song voice echoed around her empty bedchamber. Phoebe’s mouth opened, the lower lip trembling in a macabre pantomime of a silent scream. Fear kept her immobile. A fear so intense it struck straight through her, making her very bones feel brittle and weak. A cold sweat broke out over her brow as she searched the darkness in vain, trying to peer past the moving shadows. Every outline was suspect. Every hint of sound, real or imagined, a cry of alarm, but there was nothing.
Through the distorted glass of her window, she could see the burnt orange and crimson glow from the macabre dance of flickering flames as black-cloaked figures ran about with torches.
Casting a glance to her left, she could see a faint halo of light surrounding the cracks at the edges of the door. Through it was the dark outline of a heavy bolt. The door was locked tight. Of course, someone had managed to get into her locked room before this.
It had been a warning.
A warning to stay away, to leave this place.
A warning she was putting herself in danger.
A warning she had ignored.
It was a small, single-room chamber with just enough space for a bed, desk and cozy chair in the corner. Barely larger than a student’s dorm room. Surely she would know if someone had entered the chamber.
Leaning over, she flicked the switch to the dome ceiling light. Phoebe both craved the security the brightness would bring and dreaded what it might show.
Nothing happened.
Darkness still reigned.
She felt a fresh wave of terror. It took Phoebe a moment to recall she had removed the light bulb herself earlier in case he had tried to search her room looking for her. She’d wanted the darkness to shield her, to hide her from his prying, intense gaze but now she wondered what else the darkness was hiding. Had someone else learned of her true purpose for being there? Learned about the lies she’d told to get to the truth?
Again she scanned the darkness. The chamber was silent and still save for the distant shouts and cries from those outside.
Maybe she was just imagining it?
Her nerves were already strung tight from hiding from him…from lying to him. It only made sense her imagination would lean toward the dark and forboding, that her mind would conjure up monsters under the bed and a mad monk specter to go bump in the night.
Hush now, Phoebe, do not you fear
Never mind, Phoebe, the Mad Monk is near
The raspy voice was definitely coming from inside her bedchamber.
Phoebe launched herself at the door. Throwing the bolt, she ran into the hallway. She was halfway down the long corridor before the chill of the flagstone seeped through her thin socks. In her haste, she had not even grabbed her boots. Throwing a nervous look over her shoulder, she saw the corridor remained empty. The darkness was broken by shafts of weak, blood-stained light. Its source a row of tall, cathedral windows along one wall. Each window had a ruby red cross of Saint John in its center, a remnant from the school’s monastic past. A luminous full moon shown through each cross, bathing the space in an eerie red glow. Keeping an eye on the empty corridor, Phoebe reached into her back pocket for her phone. Needing a sense of safety no matter how meager, she leaned against the cold stone wall, protecting her back. She pressed the power button and waited for the screen to come to life.
No bars.
The earlier storm must have knocked out what passed for cell service in this remote area. Phoebe didn’t even know who she would call. The police? Would they even dare to cross through the gates onto the property? Probably not. Worse, they would probably just call him and expect him to handle the situation. At that very moment, she wasn’t certain what she was more afraid of…the possible murderer haunting her…or his wrath when he found out she had disobeyed him.
One thing was for certain, she needed to keep moving. Needed to find someplace to hide. Someplace no one would think to look for her.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she dared to return to her chamber for her boots but then thought better of it. She would go to the gymnasium. The locker room would be a bright open space and perhaps she could borrow a pair of shoes from one of the open lockers.
With at least an immediate plan in place, Phoebe headed off down the corridor, feeling more confident the further away she got from the twisted rhyme and whoever was singing it. Stopping before a somber-looking portrait of some old man in a white wig who seemed to be staring down at her in disapproval, Phoebe tried to remember where the gym was in the labyrinth of old hallways and buildings.
The moment’s distraction cost her dearly.
A strong arm wrapped around her middle as a large hand covered her mouth, stifling any hope of a scream for help. The hard, unrelenting form pressed along her back radiated masculine strength. Phoebe kicked out as her nails clawed at the hand covering her lips. Desperate to escape, she tried twisting and turning her body. The band of muscle wrapped tightly across her stomach squeezed harder, pressing painfully into her ribs, cutting off her air. Wrenching her head to one side, Phoebe tried to break his grasp. Her stockinged toes scraped along the flagstone for purchase as, with his superior strength, he easily lifted her off her feet.
Still she fought.
Then she heard a deep, throaty chuckle.
Warm lips skimmed the shell of her left ear. She could feel the faint touch of his breath along the exposed delicate skin of her neck. Inhaling precious air through her nose, she caught the spicy scent of his cologne.
“I warned you what would happen if you defied me, princess.”
Phoebe’s bright green eyes grew wide at the darkly whispered threat cloaked in an endearment. Her pleas were muffled nonsense from beneath his hand.
Already lightheaded from her fevered gasps for breath, she failed to fight when he shifted his grasp to effortlessly lift her over one powerful shoulder.
“You need to learn that no one… no one… defies my command.”
She could feel him pivot. Just as he crossed a threshold and slammed the door shut behind them, she reclaimed her voice.
The faint echo of her cry was swallowed by the dark shadows of the cold, uncaring stone corridor.
* * *
“Let me go!”she raged as she pounded on his lower back.
Michael had flung her over his shoulder and carried her down another long corridor and then into a darkened room. As he flicked the light switch, she saw the familiar chairs and desks of her own classroom. Striding to the front, he finally dropped her back onto her feet.
Pushing her hair back, she stormed, “What the fuck, Michael?”
Getting right down in her face, he paused a hairsbreadth away from her. Raising both his hands almost to her neck, he then clenched them into fists before turning away without saying a word. She watched as he restlessly paced a few steps away from her. He was dressed in a long black robe. A monk’s robe. It gave him an even more ominous air as he stomped from one end of the small classroom to the other in his agitation.
A few hours ago when she’d jumped out of the taxi the moment it was out of view of the academy grounds, she was resolute in her purpose. This was her investigation. What kind of reporter would she be if she left before it was over? Before the climax? She also admitted she was curious to see the pageantry of Mad Monk’s Night. All the midshipmen running about in black robes carrying torches. The energy and excitement that would culminate in the lighting of the bonfire at midnight. How could she possibly leave before seeing it all? Besides, it was not as if she didn’t know to suspect Mrs. Ludtz. The other victims hadn’t been so lucky. That was probably why there had been no signs of a struggle. The poor things hadn’t realized they were in danger until it was far too late. She knew better. It was not like she would blissfully follow Mrs. Ludtz into the dark forest, for fuck’s sake! She was smarter than that, and besides, the sheriff had probably arrested her by now. How could she give up the opportunity to possibly interview Mrs. Ludtz in jail? No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She simply had to stay.
Had to defy him.
Yes, a few hours ago in the waning daylight it had all seemed so clear. Michael was being over-protective, letting his Marine training kick into hyperdrive. She would be perfectly fine on campus among the midshipmen.
Then everything had gone wrong.
The voice in her chamber. The eerie sight of the faceless midshipmen as they scattered about the grounds. The feeling of isolation…of danger. She’d known then with icy certainty that Michael would be furious. Her arguments, which had felt so solid and definitive earlier, now seemed weak and petulant. After all, Michael could have had her escorted off campus for her duplicity…or worse. Instead, he had listened to her theories on the murder and decided to act immediately even though technically she had no proof of her suspicions. He believed in her. Despite her lies, her outright deception.
All he’d asked in return was that she be safe, even going so far as to promise her all the exclusive details about the arrest, in exchange for not having to worry about her being Ludtz’s next target.
Fuck. She had made a mess of things.
“Michael, I—”
“No! No! You don’t get to speak, Phoebe,” he shouted as he abruptly turned to face her, his features tight with anger. “Goddammit! Do you have any idea what it felt like to hear you cry out? To see you running in terror?”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Oh, babygirl. You’re damn right you’re about to be sorry.”
