Page 55 of The Hunter's Empire

For several long seconds, neither of us looks away. The moment stretches. Uncomfortable and heavy.

I force myself to break eye contact first. Drawing attention to myself would accomplish nothing. Whatever Fergus is thinking, I have no intention of helping him reach a conclusion.

I continue jogging as though nothing happened.

By the time I finally return inside, the run has done very little to clear my head.

The manor is noticeably quieter now. Most of the guests have disappeared for the evening. The conversations that remain are distant and muted behind closed doors. Staff move silently through the hallways, collecting glasses and extinguishing candles.

I make my way quickly back to the room. The space is empty when I enter, with no sign of Domenico anywhere. He must still be somewhere in the depths of the manor, perhaps deep in conversation with Darragh or advancing some other thread of our dangerous plan.

I decide to take a quick shower before attempting to sleep. The earpiece remains in my ear, music now a low, throbbing pulse that matches my lingering tension.

Without thinking, I push the bathroom door open. Warm steam immediately spills into the bedroom. The scent of soap fills the air.

For a second, my brain struggles to process what I am seeing. Then a figure moves behind the glass.

Domenico. He turns toward the sound of the door opening.

My eyes widen, and all coherent thought abandons me. Instead of looking away like any sensible person would, I continue staring. My gaze slips downward, and when my brain finally catches up, it is far too late.

He is completely naked. And very, very big.

"See something you like, Elf?"

Heat rushes to my face so fast it feels like I've walked into a fire.

I tear my gaze away with all the dignity I can salvage and turn on my heel before he can say another word. I am never going to recover from this.

Chapter 14

Zora

The sharp crack of a rifle tears through the morning air. The sound rolls across the woodland like thunder, scattering birds from the treetops and sending startled movement rippling through the undergrowth. For a brief second, everything seems to freeze.

Then the fallow deer collapses. One moment it is standing among the tall grass. The next, it is on the ground. Dead. The shot could not have been cleaner.

A low murmur spreads through the gathered crowd. Several people immediately turn toward Domenico. Or rather, Lucien.

Darragh lets out a laugh as he lowers the binoculars from his eyes. "Jesus Christ."

He shakes his head before clapping a hand against Domenico's shoulder. "You make it look insulting."

The guests around us laugh.

Darragh continues staring toward the distant clearing where the deer fell. "That had to be at least three hundred yards."

"Closer to three-fifty." Domenico replies.

The answer only earns another disbelieving laugh. "Of course you know the exact distance."

Domenico hands the rifle to one of the attendants waiting nearby. "You asked me to shoot it."

"I didn't expect you to make it look effortless." Darragh studies him for another moment before turning toward the others. "This is why I hate inviting him."

The crowd chuckles.

"He appears out of nowhere, humiliates everyone, then disappears again before the rest of us can recover our pride."