Chapter 45: Run away
Eleanor’s POV
Sir Kieran walked beside me outside their building, his silence a palpable force. My mind raced, tripping over itself.
Why was he seeing me out? A man of his standing? It was... weird. Unnecessary. A simple gesture from the butler would have sufficed.
This personal escort felt like an elevation I hadn’t earned, and in my experience, things you didn’t earn usually came with a hidden price tag.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, my gaze fixed on the path, each crunch of our footsteps echoing in the quiet.
He broke the silence, his voice calm but purposeful. "Eleanor, I’d like to ask you a question."
My heart gave a little jump. "Of course, Sir. Please, go ahead." I braced myself for something about the strange events at the Serpent’s Kiss, something I might have done wrong.
"Have you ever been to a club before?"
The question was so utterly unexpected it took a moment to register. A club? I ran through a mental catalogue of my uneventful life.
There was only one instance. Mira, dragging me out, the purpose to get over Dickson. Should I tell him that? Why was he even asking?
The urge to lie was a fleeting, foolish impulse. A man like Kieran could investigate and find the truth in an hour. There was no point in lying.
"I... I have," I said, the words feeling clumsy. "Once. It was a women’s only club. And it was for... personal reasons." The additional detail tumbled out before I could stop it. I internally cringed.
He didn’t ask for that, you idiot. Now he’ll think you’re even more strange.
But Sir Kieran just gave a slow nod, a look of understanding passing over his features that confused me more than suspicion would have. "I see," he said. Then he stopped. "Have a nice trip back, Miss Eleanor."
And with that, he turned and walked back toward the imposing estate, leaving me standing there, more bewildered than ever.
Why did he ask that? What could my single, awkward visit to a club possibly matter to him? The question looped in my head, a puzzle with no solution.
My thoughts were interrupted by the soft clearing of a throat. The butler, stood a respectful distance away. "The driver is ready to take you home, Miss Eleanor."
I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself. "Oh, that’s very kind, but... I’ll take a cab. Thank you." I needed the space to process everything.
A gentle smile touched his lips. "I’m afraid you won’t find any cabs anywhere near the estate, Miss."
He was right, of course. I could get a cab here, but can’t get a cab back from here. The reality of my situation hit me, and I scratched the back of my head nervously.
The butler gave a soft, warm chuckle that held no mockery.
"This way, please," he said, and I followed him quietly to the waiting car. He opened the door for me, his manner impeccably polite.
"Thank you," I murmured, sliding into the plush interior.
"You’re most welcome," he said, leaning down slightly. "And please, call me Alfred."
"Oh, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right."
"I insist," he said, his tone firm yet kind. "We will be seeing each other more often, I suspect. No need for such formality."
The statement sent a fresh wave of confusion through me.
Seeing each other more often? What did that mean? Before I could form a question, he gave a small wave and closed the car door.
The engine purred to life, and we began to glide down the long driveway.
I twisted in my seat, looking back through the tinted window. Alfred’s figure grew smaller, but he remained standing there, watching the car depart.
His words echoed in the quiet of the car. It sounded less like a prediction and more like a promise, and I had no idea what to make of it, or of any of this strange, unsettling day.
The car ride was a blur of quiet anxiety. I mumbled a thanks to the driver as I got out, my mind still churning over Kieran’s strange question and Alfred’s even stranger insistence. The weight of the entire day—the estate, Scarlet’s venomous gaze, the cryptic conversation—pressed down on me as I entered my apartment building. The elevator’s hum was a monotonous soundtrack to my overthinking.
Stepping onto my floor, the familiar, slightly worn carpet should have been a comfort. It wasn’t. I was halfway to my door when I froze, my key hovering in mid-air. A noise. A faint, shifting sound from inside my apartment. My blood ran cold.
Had Dickson come back? The thought was a spark of anger in the sea of my fear. After I’d beaten him, had he returned for another round? If so, he was about to get a piece of my mind.
I focused, straining my enhanced hearing. But it wasn’t the sound that confirmed it wasn’t Dickson. It was the smell. As I cautiously unlocked the door and pushed it open a crack, a wave of cloying, sweet scent hit me.
I recoiled, clamping a hand over my nose. That smell. It was familiar. Horribly familiar.
My mind flashed back. The Kingsley hotel, the spray of a perfume bottle he’d " triggered. The world had gone fuzzy. I escaped getting trafficked.
They found where I lived? How?
Panic, cold and absolute, seized me. Alertness screamed through every nerve. I didn’t enter.
I spun on my heel and sprinted for the elevator, my heart hammering against my ribs.
As if summoned by my terror, the elevator doors slid open. And there they were. Two of them. The men from the hotel. Their eyes, cold and predatory, locked onto mine. A cruel smile twisted one of their lips.
"Found you."
I didn’t think. I just moved, twisting my body and throwing myself toward the stairwell door. Their shouts echoed behind me, bouncing off the concrete walls. "You won’t be able to escape this time!"
Oh no. This is bad. This is really bad. My breath came in ragged gasps as I hurled myself down the stairs, taking them two, three at a time. Beatrice, my wolf, was a frantic presence in my head, a single, driving command: Faster! Run faster!
But I could still hear their taunts, their heavy footsteps gaining. I burst out onto another floor, a desperate plan forming. I ran down the hallway, pounding on doors, my voice a terrified shriek. "Help! Please, help me!" But the doors remained shut, eyes peering through peepholes and quickly looking away.
I turned another hallway, and skidded to a halt when I saw the third man standing at the end of it, a smug, triumphant look on his face. I glanced back. The other two had blocked the other end, cutting off my retreat. I am trapped.
"Can’t believe you detected something wrong in your room," the third man said. "Seems you became a bit smarter. But that won’t save you now. We’re going to take you back and make you disappear."
No. The word was a silent scream inside me. I am not going to be taken by them. Not again.
My eyes darted around, landing on a window at the wall beside me. And a crazy, suicidal thought entered my mind.
The building across the alley. It was close. Maybe too close. But it was the only way.
Do you have the balls to do it? Beatrice’s challenge was sharp, laced with our shared fear.
I wasn’t just a human anymore. My strength, my new life... it had to be good for something. I had to believe it was.
"No," I whispered, not to them, but to the fate they were offering. I sprinted for the window.
"Hey!" one of the men yelled.
I didn’t stop. I put every ounce of my newfound strength into my elbow, smashing it through the glass. The shattering noise was immense.
Pain lanced through my arm as shards dug into my skin, but I ignored it, scrambling through the jagged frame. The cold evening air hit my face. I didn’t look down. I focused only on the balcony railing of the opposite building. I pushed off with my feet, launching myself into the open air.
For a heart-stopping second, there was nothing but the void. Then my hands slammed onto cold, wrought iron. My body swung violently, my grip slipping for a terrifying moment before I held fast, my feet scrambling for purchase against the wall. I hauled myself over the railing, collapsing onto the balcony, my whole body trembling.
From the broken window across the alley, I heard their stunned voices. "Shit!" "I can’t believe this shit!"
I made it. But I was far from safe.
Gasping for air, I lay on the cold concrete of the balcony for only a second before a light flicked on inside the apartment. A face, furious and startled, appeared at the glass door.
"Who the fuck is on my balcony?" a man’s voice yelled, muffled by the door.
"I’m so sorry!" I scrambled to my feet, my hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Blood from the cuts on my arm dripped onto the floor. "Please, I—"
"I’m calling the police for trespassing!" he shouted, already fumbling for his phone.
"Call them! Please, call them!" I begged. That was exactly what I needed. I didn’t wait. I slid the balcony door open—it was unlocked—and stumbled past the shocked resident, who backed away from me, phone held to his ear. "I’m leaving, I’m sorry, I’m leaving!"
I burst out of his apartment into the hallway of the unfamiliar building. My own phone was in my hand, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely press the numbers. 9-1-1.
The dispatcher’s voice was calm. "911, what’s your emergency?"
"Some men are trying to kidnap me," I choked out, my voice trembling. I tried to force it to be steady. "They chased me from my apartment building, the Willow Creek Apartments. I’m now in the building across the alley. I jumped."
"Okay, ma’am. I need you to stay calm. What is the address of the building you’re in now?"
I looked around frantically, spotting a faded fire evacuation plan on the wall. I read off the address, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear my own words.
"Units are on the way. I need you to find a secure location, stay quiet, and wait for officers to arrive. ETA is approximately thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes. The number was a death sentence. "I don’t have thirty minutes!" I whispered, the panic rising again, sharp and acidic in my throat. "They’re going to search this building. They know I’m here."
"Ma’am, you need to hide. Now."
The line went dead, or I ended the call, I wasn’t sure. The instruction echoed in my head. Hide. But where? This wasn’t my building. I didn’t know the layout, the safe spots. And they could have reached the building already. What will I do?