Chapter 1 - THE HUNT
The rain had stopped ten minutes earlier, but the lawn at Blackthorn Hall still looked like a drowned field.
Water dripped from the stone gargoyles. Bare branches scratched against the gray Virginia sky. Beyond the muddy sweep of grass, the old mansion rose in pale limestone and black slate, beautiful in the cold, merciless way of a monument built to remind everyone who had owned the land before them.
Elena Ward stood near the edge of the lower lawn with blood running from her left forearm.
Her pale dress was already soaked to the knees. One sleeve had torn when Victoria ordered her through the thorn garden, and the thin fabric clung to her skin in the wet wind. She was exhausted, shivering, and trying not to look toward the terrace.
Trying not to look at her husband.
Charles stood beneath the stone arch above them in a navy blazer and pressed trousers, dry beneath the covered terrace. His hands rested at his sides. His expression revealed nothing.
“Charles,” Elena called. “Tell her this is over.”
He did not answer.
Behind Elena, a heeled boot struck the soft earth.
Victoria Ward shoved her hard between the shoulder blades.
Elena pitched forward. Her injured arm folded beneath her, and she landed face-first in a deep patch of mud. Cold water filled her mouth. Her cheek struck a buried stone. For several seconds, she could hear nothing but her own gasp and the wet pounding of her heart.
She rolled onto one hip and wiped mud from her eyes.
Victoria stood above her in a cream riding coat, pearl earrings, fitted gloves, and immaculate heeled boots. Two large black-and-tan Dobermans strained at the leashes in her hands. Their muscles trembled beneath their wet coats. Their lips pulled back from their teeth as they stared at Elena.
Victoria smiled.
“Let’s see if you belong in this family.”
She released both leashes.
The dogs charged.
Elena crawled backward through the mud, one hand slipping beneath her every time she tried to push herself up. Blood ran from her scraped arm and mixed with the rainwater on her skin. The Dobermans came low and fast, their paws tearing dark clumps from the lawn.
“Stop them!” Elena shouted.
Victoria watched with bright, delighted eyes.
On the terrace, Charles saw everything.
He did not move.
Elena looked at him as the distance between her and the dogs vanished. She saw the small tightening of his jaw. She saw his right hand lift slightly, almost as though he had started to step forward.
Then he lowered it.
Something inside her broke more cleanly than fear.
One Doberman lunged close enough that Elena felt its breath against her face. She threw her injured arm over her head.
“Charles!” she screamed.
He remained beneath the arch.
Victoria laughed.
“Only real aristocrats survive the hunt.”
The dogs circled Elena, barking and snapping at the muddy hem of her dress. She curled inward, trembling so violently that Victoria could not see her right hand slide toward the torn pocket at her hip.
Her fingers found a small hard object inside.
Elena closed her hand around it.
The fear on her face did not vanish all at once. It hardened. Her breathing steadied. She raised her head and looked directly at Victoria.
“You trained them to attack me…” she said, low and steady.
Her thumb pressed the hidden device.
The Dobermans stopped snarling at Elena.
Victoria’s smile disappeared.
Both dogs slowly turned their heads toward her.
A deep growl rolled from one throat, then the other.
Victoria froze. Her eyes widened as she took an instinctive step backward. One heeled boot sank into the mud.
Charles finally moved forward in shock.
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Elena remained on the ground, blood on her arm and mud across her torn dress, staring calmly at the woman who had released the dogs.
Victoria stared back at her in wide-eyed terror.
