I kicked out at his shins, crawling back toward the table. Victor dodged, stepping around my legs and kicking my arms so I fell flat on the floor. We had pistols and rifles beneath the bed, but I could not get to them. I rolled over to face him.

He was holding a pistol of his own. He had come prepared. His dark hair was covered by a fur hat, which was caked with snow. How long had he lain in wait outside our shack to catch me?

All this time we thought we were setting a trap for him. And now I was trapped, alone.

“I have a sled outside with dogs. We will be miles away before that woman knows you are gone. And I know the monster is a full day away, even at his tremendous pace.” He leaned down and smiled at me, the coldly possessive expression reminding me of his father. “Did you really think this would work?”

I scooted back. He watched me, ready to spring. I stopped when my back hit the crate. There was nowhere to run. I could not get the pistols before he could stop me. And if I struggled, doubtless he would drug me again, and I would lose any chance to fight.

“You will be happy to know I am finally ready,” he said. “It has not been easy, but you would neither understand nor appreciate what struggles I have endured. Anticipating your gratitude after your change has sustained me. It has also allowed me to forgive you for your lack of faith in me.”

“I will never be yours,” I said, hollow and lacking conviction.

He crouched down so we were eye level. I no longer pretended for him, and he did the same. His true self was revealed. It was like looking at a portrait—flat, lifeless, no soul beneath the strokes. Had I really never seen it, or had I always chosen to look away, as he said?

“There was never another path for you. Consider how much worse it has all been for me. How much I have had to suffer. And how much of that suffering has been caused directly by you!” His face twitched and his fingers tightened on the pistol. Then he sighed. “It does not do to dwell on it. There is no point in fighting. This is your fate, Elizabeth Frankenstein. I will let no other claim you—not man, not death, not even God.” He stood, holding out his hand.

“If I come, will you let Mary and Adam be?”

“Who the devil is Adam?”

“He is—” I would not say the monster.