McAllister and the other five men gather their weapons, checking their blades with the practiced ease of men who’ve done this many times before. They speak amongst themselves in low voices, placing bets on who will find her first, how long she’ll last, what injuries they’ll inflict before the killing blow. Each word feeds the rage building inside of me, a pressure beneath my skin that threatens to tear me apart from within. I’ve killed men for far less across the centuries. I’ve razed cities for insults smaller than what these motherfuckers are saying.
Before I know it, McAllister checks his watch again, raising a finger so that everyone would pay attention. “Gentlemen… the hunt begins.” The ten minutes are up, and they fly out through the same door, vanishing into the night, their blades shining under the moonlight.
The guards follow them outside, but I can see them remaining in front of the building, probably to keep an eye on me, ensuring I’ll do nothing to interfere in their game.
I pull the chains again, but they do not yield. Not even a fraction. Then I try to pull on the pillar, but it holds the entire weight of the mansion's upper floors, tons of rock and concrete.
The metal does something to me, like it’s my fucking kryptonite.
Long minutes pass, marked by the ticking of a large clock in the corner. Each second, Brynn is out there alone, hunted through the darkness by men who live to kill. The thought drives me to a frenzy again, and I pull until one of my shoulders dislocates. The pain shoots through me, and I breathe through my teeth as my bones knit themselves back together. Then I pull again until the skin of my palms shreds against the metal. Again,and again until I feel the blood vessels in my eyes burst, turning my vision crimson.
I close my eyes, waiting to recover, thinking of how somewhere in the forest Brynn is running. Fighting. Surviving. She’s strong—stronger than most mortals I’ve encountered across my long existence. She’s clever and resourceful. But these hunters know the territory. They’ve done this before right here and have the advantage of knowing all the hiding spots.
The thought sends fresh fury through me. I roar again, throwing my weight against the chains, and I can see blood pooling at my feet, but the pillar cracks just a little this time.
I rest my head back against the cool marble, gathering the strength for another attempt. Blood drips from my chin onto the floor. If I were a regular human, I would be dead by now, I know the strength it took me popped a few blood vessels.
My muscles tremble with exertion because I know I’m pushing beyond even my supernatural limits, but then I think of her, fierce and beautiful in battle, then vulnerable in those rare moments when she lets her guard down. I think of her body against mine, her scent, her taste. Of what I said to her in the forest. Things I’ve never said to anyone else.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders despite the agony it causes, and prepare again, then pull. I pull so hard that now the blood doesn’t just flow from my nose, but from my ears as well. Still, I don’t stop. I don’t stop, even as I hear another crack of my bones. I want to feel the fucking thing fall. Though before that happens, my limbs give out on me and I fall against the chains. Then there’s nothing.
I open my eyes minutes, maybe hours later, as the click of high heels against the marble alerts me to someone’s presence.
I don’t look up immediately, conserving my strength for another attempt on the chains.
The footsteps pause a few yards away, and I raise my head slowly, dried blood stinging my eyes as I focus on the figure before me.I’ve seen her around. A tall redhead, wearing a silk robe that suggests she’s prepared for bed but found herself unable to resist visiting the monster chained in the great hall. She’s one of the hunter's wives.
“I thought you might like a drink,” she says, holding a glass of what could be water. Her voice is pitched low, as if we are conspirators in some late-night seduction game.
She extends the glass towards me. But I stare at her without speaking.
Water won’t save her. She knows what’s happening here. They all know, yet no one stepped in. That means by the end of this, they will all be killed. Especially her. She’s been watching me since dinner, her gaze following my movements during the football game, lingering on every inch of me, unbothered that I’d notice. On the contrary, she wanted me to notice. She wanted me.
“You must be thirsty,” she insists, taking another step closer. “It’s safe. It’s just water.” She takes a small sip to convince me, then her eyes drift to my bloodied hands, to the torn fabric of my shirt.
“Get out,” I growl so loud it burns my throat.
But she doesn’t flinch at the tone. Instead, she smiles, her face changing to an expression that suggests she finds my hostility exciting. “So rude,” she purrs, setting the glass on a nearby table. “After I walk down in the middle of the night and come all this way to check on you.”
She begins to circle me, keeping a cautious distance, but her eyes are studying every inch with undisguised interest. Her gaze is objectifying, like she’s appraising property. “You know I’ve been watching you since you arrived.” She says, making a circle around the pillar. “During the football game, especially. The wayyou move…” she pauses, and her eyes focus on my chest. “You’re such a fine specimen. Unique.”
She moves closer. “It’s almost a shame that they eventually hunt you down. Such a waste.”
I remain silent, channeling my rage to the chains. Each time I move, they cut deeper, but the pain isn’t even there now. Pain is just information. Useful only if it serves a purpose.
“You are magnificent,” she purrs again. “I wish I could have known you better before they put you down.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks. If I play civil, maybe I can work my way through this. “Your husband wouldn’t approve of you being here.”
“My husband doesn’t approve of many things I do,” she replies. “It’s what keeps our marriage interesting.” Her finger presses into the middle of my chest, then slowly descends, reaching the waistband of my pants. I know I should play nice, maybe have her untie me, though the chance of that is slim—she’s not stupid. I should try it, but instinctively, my body jerks away from her touch.
Her eyes flush with strange excitement at my response. She enjoys the danger, the defiance, the excitement of touching something wild. “They’re hunting your little warrior now,” she says, switching tactics when she realizes her seduction won’t work. “I talked to my husband an hour ago, and they spotted her twice already. They’re gaining on her.”
My muscles lock, every fiber of my being wanting to go to the forest where Brynn is running for her life.
I pull harder, the chains bite deeper, bringing new blood to the surface.
“She’s fast,” the woman continues, “clever too. She’s leading them in circles, doubling back on her own trail.” She makes a pause for the drama. “But her leg is slowing her down. My husband will find her first. He always does. He has a gift foranticipating where prey will run.” Her lips curve into a sadistic smile. “He says it’s a disappointment when the hunt ends.”
