Chapter 7 7

The sudden, pitch-black darkness hit Christal like a physical blow.

Her mild claustrophobia flared instantly. Her chest tightened, and her lungs refused to draw in air. She fumbled blindly for the lock, shoved the stall door open, and stumbled out of the bathroom into the pitch-black hallway.

At the end of the corridor, the ballroom was in total chaos. The sound of shattering glass echoed over the panicked screams of the guests as people shoved each other in the dark.

Christal pressed her hands flat against the cold wall, trying to feel her way toward the side exit door.

A group of terrified socialites rushed past her, their elbows hitting her ribs. Christal was thrown off balance.

Her ankle rolled sharply in her cheap high heels. A jolt of pain shot up her leg. She pitched forward, falling face-first into the dark void.

She didn't hit the floor.

She crashed hard into a wall of solid muscle. Her nose brushed against the rough, expensive fabric of a tailored suit jacket.

Christal gasped, her hands flying up to push herself away to apologize.

Before she could move, a massive, heavy arm wrapped around her waist like an iron chain. The grip was brutal and absolute, locking her flush against a rock-hard chest.

Then, the scent hit her.

Cedar wood. Faint tobacco. And the dark, metallic undertone of danger.

Christal's entire body went rigid. Her heart stopped beating for a full second before it exploded against her ribs.

It was him. The monster from the Zephyr Hotel.

In the pitch black, Abraham Bush had simply reacted to a body falling into him. He was about to shove the clumsy guest away when the scent invaded his senses.

Cheap floral perfume mixed with the salt of desperate tears.

Abraham's body reacted faster than his brain. His muscles coiled tight. His dark eyes, blind in the darkness, flashed with the ruthless instinct of a predator who had just caught its prey.

His large hand slid up her spine, feeling the violent trembling of her skin through the wet, wine-soaked fabric of her dress.

Christal shoved her hands against his chest, her fingers curling into fists.

"Let me go," she begged, her voice a broken, terrified whisper. "Please."

That broken plea was the exact sound she made in the hotel bed.

Abraham's Adam's apple bobbed. A low, dark chuckle vibrated deep in his chest.

His hand moved up, his long fingers finding her jaw in the dark. He pinched it, forcing her face tilt upward.

"Found you, little runaway," his rough, gravelly voice exploded against her ear, heavy with dark, predatory amusement.

Before Christal could scream, his mouth crashed down on hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. It was a claim. His hot lips devoured hers with terrifying dominance, stealing the air straight from her lungs.

The memory of the hotel room crashed over her. Her brain short-circuited. The heat radiating from his body was burning her alive. Her hands, pushing against his chest, slowly lost all their strength.

Just feet away, people were screaming in panic. But in this dark corner, they were trapped in a violent, secret collision.

"Christal!"

Ethan's furious, impatient voice echoed down the hallway. He was looking for her.

Hearing Ethan's voice snapped Christal back to reality. A wave of sickening humiliation washed over her. She was being assaulted while her psychotic fiancé was hunting her down.

She opened her jaw and bit down as hard as she could on the man's lower lip.

The sharp taste of copper flooded her mouth.

Abraham grunted in pain. His body jerked slightly, but his iron grip on her waist didn't loosen a fraction of an inch.

He pulled his head back just enough to speak. His thumb brushed over her swollen lips, smearing his own blood across her mouth.

"Biting?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal register. "You've grown claws."

A loud mechanical roar shook the floorboards. The estate's backup generators kicked in.

The emergency lights bolted on, bathing the hallway in a dim, blood-red glow.

Christal opened her eyes.

In the red light, she saw his silhouette. A razor-sharp jawline. A straight, aristocratic nose. And a pair of eyes that looked like a hawk staring at a dying rabbit.

He was standing with his back to the emergency light, his face still cast in heavy shadow. She couldn't see his exact features, but the suffocating, god-like aura radiating from him made her soul tremble.

At the far end of the hall, security guards burst through the doors, sweeping bright flashlights across the walls.

A beam of light swung toward them.

Adrenaline flooded Christal's veins. With a burst of hysterical strength, she shoved both hands hard against Abraham's chest.

She kicked off her high heels, leaving them on the carpet. Barefoot, she spun around and sprinted into the chaotic crowd, running like her life depended on it.

Abraham stumbled back half a step.

He didn't chase her. He stood perfectly still in the red light. He raised his thumb and wiped the fresh blood from his bottom lip. His dark eyes tracked her fleeing figure until she disappeared into the mob.

The main power grid finally rebooted. The crystal chandeliers blazed to life, flooding the hallway with blinding white light.

Avery Shaw pushed through the crowd, flanked by four massive bodyguards. He stopped next to Abraham, his eyes dropping to the blood on his boss's mouth.

"Sir," Avery said quietly. "Should I lock down the estate?"

Abraham looked down at the abandoned high heels on the floor. He slowly rolled his thumb over his index knuckle.

"No," Abraham said, his voice cold and absolute. "Just investigate."