Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  Little mouse.

  That name is going to haunt me.

  I’m not prey. I’m not.

  “Satan’s Affair is coming to town again, and they have new haunted houses,” Daya reminds, bringing me back to the present.

  Satan’s Affair is a traveling fair that comes to town every year, staying for two nights before moving on to the next town. They set up loads of haunted houses and thrill rides. Daya and I go every year religiously.

  After the first few years, the haunted houses became predictable. Since then, they change them every year, and now the traveling fair has some of the best haunted houses in the country.

  “You already know I’ll be the first one in line.”

  “Yeah, we know, freak,” she teases. Despite the fact that it used to be my mother’s favorite slur, I don’t let it bother me anymore.

  Plenty of men have called me the same, followed up by desperate begging to fuck me again. Being a freak took on a whole new meaning a long time ago. I tend to enjoy the name now.

  Daya leaves once we confirm plans for the fair night. It’s not for another few weeks, but the event has garnered a loyal fanbase and sells out every year. It got to the point where so many people would come, they had to limit the number allowed in.

  They treat it like a concert to avoid lines forming outside the fairgrounds. Once tickets sell out, you won’t be able to enter. Luckily, I have a computer genius on my side, and she gets tickets for us before they even go live.

  The moment the door clicks shut behind Daya, my phone buzzes. Thinking it’s Daya texting me that she forgot something, I slide my phone out and open the message without registering who it is.

  The second I see the text, my heart drops.

  UNKNOWN: Ready for your punishment, little mouse?

  I look up and storm over to the window. He’s not standing outside. Daya is just now pulling out of the driveway and speeding off, her taillights disappearing through the trees.

  I turn around, nervous he found another way inside my home. Or that he’s already in the house with me and has been the entire time.

  ME: Why are you doing this?

  His text doesn’t come through right away. I wait with bated breath, and when I realize I’m glaring at my phone, I nearly throw it across the room. He’s probably making me wait on purpose.

  Finally, my phone buzzes. I force myself to wait a minute before opening it, just to spite him.

  UNKNOWN: You haunt me. It’s only fair I return the sentiment.

  I swallow, nervous energy coursing through me as I decide how to respond.

  UNKNOWN: You’re so beautiful when you’re scared.

  I drop the phone. Embarrassed and praying he didn’t see my blunder, I look out the window again. Still not there.

  Where the fuck is he?

  As if reading my thoughts, another text comes in.

  UNKNOWN: I’m so close, I can smell you.

  My hands tremble as I read his text over and over again. The words begin to blur as panic sets in. He’s here in my house somewhere. I run over to the kitchen, grab my handy dandy knife and storm back into the living room.

  He hasn’t come out yet, but I imagine he will.

  Heart racing and hands shaking, I perch myself on the edge of the rocking chair, sealing my fate.

  ME: Quit being a pussy and come out then.

  The second the message shoots off, I regret it. I want to snatch it back.

  Footsteps sound from above me. I swallow and look up as if I’ll be able to see through the ceiling and spot him. The footsteps travel further away from me, towards my room.

  My phone buzzes.

  UNKNOWN: Come find me.

  At this exact moment, I’m questioning my sanity. Without thought, my ass lifts off the seat and I take a single step towards the staircase. My instincts are to run towards the danger, not away.

  God? Me again. We really need to talk about your life decisions when you made me.

  I’m not even sure I believe in Her, but if She is real, then someone needs to smack Her hand for making me the way that I am.

  Thankfully, common sense kicks in, and I stop myself from going up and finding a crazed man in my house. The smart thing would be to call the police.

  There’s no way he’d be able to get out without being seen. The only way out of this house is down the steps. He can’t hide forever. At this point, I don’t even care if the officer can’t catch him. As long as someone else has proof that they saw him, too, that’ll be enough for them to take me seriously.

  Another buzz.

  UNKNOWN: Too scared, little mouse?

  As if challenging me, a door slams shut. I startle from the noise, my heart jumping up into my throat. Even if I wanted to scream, I wouldn’t have been able to make a sound.

  My chest pumps erratically as the fear grows more potent.

  ME: I’m calling the police.

  I can feel the judgment through the walls. Here I am, calling him a pussy and challenging him to come out. Then when the tables turn, I threaten to call the police.

  Because that’s the smart thing to do, dumbass.

  Then why the fuck do I feel so stupid for saying it? How is that possible?

  UNKNOWN: Do you remember what I said last time?

  How could I forget? The more I disobey him, the harder the punishment. I bite my lip, seriously contemplating going upstairs and finding him. I release a shaky breath.

  I have a choice to make, and I already know I’m going to make the wrong one.

  I resign myself and start typing.

  ME: Here I come, asshole.

  I keep my phone clutched in one hand and the knife in the other. No way am I going to be an idiot again and drop the knife. It’s staying firmly planted in my grip, just like it’ll be firmly planted in this dude’s face once I find him.

  I make my way up the steps quietly. Though I’m not sure it really matters if he hears me coming or not. I have a dreadful feeling that even though I’m coming to find him, he’s going to find me first.

  That familiar heady feeling settles in my gut. It churns like alcohol in an empty stomach. Sweat breaks across my forehead, and my mouth feels like I swallowed sand.

  I’m fucking terrified.

  A row of sconces on each side of the hallway provides just enough light to see that no one is there. I click the flashlight on my phone and start in the first room.

  I slowly make my way into each room, checking immediately to my left and right before entering any further. I check behind the doors and in every corner of the room.

  The closet is the worst part. Opening the door and knowing that I may come face to face with a man.

  A man that wants to punish me.

  Tears gather in my eyes when I discover the first closet empty. My poor heart is suffering from extreme palpitations right now. I don’t think this amount of fear in my bloodstream is healthy.

  Still, I forge on, finding the following two rooms completely empty as well.

  There are only two more rooms and a bathroom left in this hallway. And lastly, a door at the very end of the hall that leads to the attic.

  If he’s up there, he can stay there. There’s no way I’m going up in the fucking attic to find him. I will gladly admit defeat.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I face my bedroom. Aside from the attic, it’s the only room left in this hallway with a closed door.

  What is he feeling right now? Standing on the other side, waiting for me to enter. Our roles are reversed, this time with me lingering outside the door. Still, I’m the one left terrified while he calmly awaits me. Anticipating all the things he’s going to say to me. Do to me.

  How he’s going to hurt me. Punish me.

  Steeling my spine, I turn the knob and push open the door. When it swings open, a scream climbs up my throat.

  He didn’t even try to hide.

  My balcony doors are wide open, the moonlight spilling in. And there, a dark figure shrouded in white l
ight, is my shadow. Staring at me with a wicked smile on his face and a blade in his hand.

  Chapter 15

  The Manipulator

  I ’m completely immobilized beneath his stare. I can only imagine the look on my face when I see him standing there, waiting for me.

  The sconces behind my bed are lit, offering dim lighting. Enough for me to get a clear view of him. He’s clad in all black. Leather boots, jeans that wrap tightly around broad thighs, and a matching hoodie that looks a size too small with the way he fills it out.

  Still, I can’t see much of his face—that damn hood.

  My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips.

  “Take off your hood,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. He doesn’t. Nor does he speak.

  Anger begins to build beneath the fear.

  “You wanted me to come find you, kitty cat. I did. So take off your fucking hood and show me your face,” I demand, my voice rising alongside my anger.

  A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.

  Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.

  Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.

  And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.

  In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.

  His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.

  Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.

  This is wrong. So wrong.

  I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.

  His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.

  He takes a step toward me, a hint of that smirk remaining on his face—just the slightest curl in his lips.

  I take a step back. Finally, my instincts aren’t completely jacked sideways, and I make my first smart move of the night.

  “Cat got your tongue, little mouse?”

  Briefly, I close my eyes. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound is as deep as his black eye.

  I swallow again, nearly choking on the very muscle. It feels like my tongue has swollen to double its size.

  “What do you want from me?” I choke out.

  He prowls towards me. My spine tightens, and despite the gallons of fear pumping through my heart valves, I stay still. When he gets close enough, I’ll stab him.

  Aim for the throat, Addie.

  My eyes lock with his, and all thought escapes me. He presses the entirety of his body against mine. No shame. No shyness. No, let me buy you a drink first before I press my man pecs into you.

  The boldness of it has me nearly biting my tongue in surprise.

  It takes several seconds for my body to unlock. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I swing my knife towards him, but meet resistance when I attempt to lift it.

  I look down in confusion, just to see his bare hand wrapped around the blade. Blood pools in his hand, a small trail heading straight towards my own.

  I gasp, my eyes widening and snapping back to his. Not a single iota of pain shines in his eyes. Not even a glimmer.

  He jerks on the blade once, ripping it from my weak hold, blindly tossing it behind him.

  The knife clatters loudly against something before toppling to the floor, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet room. Nothing but my heavy panting breaks the static of silence surrounding us. His presence is a vortex, steadily depleting the oxygen from the room—and even from my brain.

  Because I cannot think straight with his body so close to mine. With the fear coiled tightly around me, the force of it turning my body to stone. I’m useless. Powerless. The inability to fight rages in my head, my survival instincts tell me to just move, yet my body refuses to.

  And then his bloody hand is wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing my body flush with his once more. I cringe at the feel of his life’s essence dripping from his hand. The blood feels like menacing fingers crawling down my spine, staining my skin as if to mark me.

  To my horror, he lifts his other hand—the one still gripping a much more wicked-looking knife than mine—and brings the tip of the blade to the underside of my chin.

  He applies enough pressure to force my chin up further, the metal biting into my skin. The slightest curl to his lips stalls the breath in my lungs. The act speaks of something daunting. Something condemning.

  “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmurs, his sinful eyes devouring my face.

  I scowl and plant my hands on his chest, ignoring the pure steel beneath his flesh, and attempt to push him away. But he resists the force, his lip curling into a snarl.

  Tears rim my lids as frustration grows.

  “Please, just leave. I-I don’t want you here. I don’t want you. Just leave me alone,” I beg. It feels like reaching a hand inside my chest, yanking out my pride and throwing it onto the floor. But I don’t give a fuck about my pride in this moment.

  I just want this man to fucking leave.

  He presses in closer. “Are you going to cry, Addie?” he taunts. My hands are still pressed firmly against his chest. His heart is racing beneath my palms, giving me pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s not as unaffected as he’s appearing to be.

  “No,” I lie.

  I will absolutely have no problems crying my eyes out after he leaves. But I refuse to show him any more weakness.

  He flashes me a feral, toothy smile, pulling the blade from my chin and dropping his hand from behind my neck.

  The second he steps away, I feel a mixture of coldness and relief. But then he’s coming right back.

  The intensity in his eyes holds me in place as he walks to stand beside me, his chest brushing against my arm. He smells like leather and smoke. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

  Fear has a taste. Acidic, burnt metal. It numbs my tongue. Not just my tongue, but my entire being.

  I’m so, so scared.

  But yet, so… consumed by him.

  I keep my head straight but don’t let him out of my line of sight. He leans into me, pressing his weight against me. I combat his strength. Rather than being pushed away from him, I’m being absorbed by him. Hot breath warms my skin as his lips trace the outer edge of my ear. Another shiver wracks my spine.

  “I want to devour you,” he whispers.

  My lip trembles. I suck the traitorous lip between my teeth, if only it stops showing my weakness. When I risk a glance at him, his eyes have zeroed in on my lips.

  “Are you here to kill me?” I ask lowly, trying my best to mask the tremors wracking through my body.

  I’m failing.

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “Why would I do that?” I’m not sure how to answer that. He continues, “I wouldn’t kill you, little mouse. I want to keep you.”

  “What if I don’t want you to?”

  He smiles. “You will.”

  I open my mouth, ready to tell him about himself and his momma, but the words die on my tongue when he reaches up a hand and swipes his thumb roughly across my bottom lip.

  “Mm,” he growls
in delight. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to allow you the opportunity to run and hide. If I find you, then I will deliver your punishment. If I don’t, you go unpunished and I will leave.”

  I pinch my eyes shut, a small single strand of hope threading throughout the hysteria. I know this house like the back of my hand. I know where the good hiding spots are.

  There are two bedrooms down there in the hallway on the bottom floor. The first bedroom has a tiny little nook in the back of the closet. Just barely able to fit my body in, but I used to hide there all the time when Nana and I would play hide-and-seek.

  “Fine,” I whisper. “How long will you search for me before I win?”

  He smiles. “I’ll give you five minutes before your ass is bent over my knee.”

  I huff, jerking my face away from his hand. He lets me go, but the smile on his face grows.

  “Your time starts now, Adeline. Better run.”

  I don’t hesitate any longer. Turning, I bolt out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t miss the amusement on his face when he watches me do so, but I don’t give myself time to care.

  I head straight for the stairs, keeping my steps light as my little legs carry me down the steps at an alarming speed. Halfway down, I nearly pitch forward and face plant, barely catching myself on the railing and keeping the loud squeak from escaping.

  I feel like throwing up, the adrenaline and fear intense and biting at my nerves.

  Making a left turn, I aim for the hallway and slip into the first bedroom just as I hear heavy footsteps from above.

  My heart races impossibly faster, and my hands tremble fiercely as I slide open the closet door. The metal rattles from my sloppiness. A slight, insignificant sound that feels like thunder rolling throughout the bones of the house.

  Heaving in a deep breath, I force my body to slow as I glide the closet door closed and hurry into the nook.

  I’m panicking.

  My chest is tight, and I have the strangest urge to cough. Could be because my throat is dry and steadily closing. I want to claw at my neck, force the muscle to open back up, and let in the oxygen I so desperately need.