Page 32 of The Dead Don’t Scream

“What happens if you use it?”

“Everything stops.”

“Even me.”

“Especially you.”

Pride burns through my chest. I lower my hand.

“Come to the altar, Sloane.”

She looks past me at everything waiting in the candlelight. Then back at my mask.

“Make me.”

The thing inside me that waited an entire year finally bares its teeth.

“No.”

Surprise flashes across her face. I offer my hand.

“You will walk to me because you choose to.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I open the door.”

I reach past her and turn the lock. The doors ease apart. Cold moonlight cuts across the chapel floor. The maze waits outside. So do Rhys and Dante. Sloane can leave. She can return to the other men. She can end the game. Instead, she closes the doors. Locks them. And places her hand in mine.

I lead her toward the altar. The final ribbon glows like fire between our joined hands. Rhys made her surrender. Dante made her lose control. I will make Sloane understand why she was always meant to end up here. With me. At the center of the maze. Where even the dead will hear her fucking scream.

Chapter

Three

THE SCARECROW’S CHAPEL

SLOANE

Callum’s hand swallows mine. Black leather surrounds my fingers. His grip is firm without being restrictive, leaving enough space for me to pull away. I don’t. I follow him down the center aisle. The chapel looks as though it has been abandoned for a hundred years and prepared for me this morning.

Dead leaves cover the stone floor. Black candles burn along cracked windowsills, their flames reflected in broken pieces of stained glass. Thorny vines crawl over the walls. An old wooden cross hangs crookedly above the altar.

Lengths of black rope rest on the white cloth covering it. Beside them lie a blindfold, a small metal bowl, a bottle of oil, and a card bearing my handwriting. My application. Every filthy confession I submitted waits at the altar. Callum stops behind me. His broad chest brushes my back.

“I wondered what you would wear.”

His voice vibrates through my body. I look down at my white dress.

“Disappointed?”

“No.”

One gloved finger traces the strap against my shoulder.

“I hoped you would wear something that made you look innocent.”

My heart beats faster.