Page 143 of Monstrous Serpent

A snarl rips out of my chest, my lip curling back over my teeth.

Garrett looks away, the fucking coward.

The brush rustles behind my uncle, and another man steps out. No one I know. He whistles, looking me up and down. “Oh, he's a big boy.”

I widen my stance, keeping my body between Atlas and the three men, knife angled and ready.

My uncle smirks, a slight tilt to his head. “Promised you a good hunt, didn't I? And this one will fight until his last breath. Will be the best thing you ever killed.”

Behind me, Atlas’s boots scrape the ground. A second later, his fingers rest against my lower back, his harsh breath fanning the back of my neck. I angle my free arm backward, making sure he stays tucked behind me.

My uncle chuckles, low and deep, his smirk widening. “If I were you, I’d run, boy.”

“No.”

Another crack cuts through the air, shards of bark spraying Atlas and me again when the bullet hits the tree behind us.

There’s someone else out there.

Fuck.

I could get to my uncle and open his throat. Take out the wannabe behind him next. Even hurt, Atlas can handle Garrett. But I don’t know where the one with the rifle is. Might even be more out there.

I step back, closer to Atlas until his chest presses into me.

“Hunt, go.”

“No.”

Another shot. More wood fractures around us.

God-fucking-dammit.

Atlas shoves me. “Run, you stubborn asshole! Please!”

“Better do what he says. Or the next bullet goes in Bambi’s head.” My uncle pulls his hunting knife out of its sheath, then runs his finger along the blade. “Come on, boy. Run. I’ve been waiting twenty years for this.”

A growl tears past my lips, and my eyes drop to his throat. No. First I want his wrist. Want the bones to shift and break under my fingers. Then I’ll use his own knife to end his life.

Not clean.

Not quick.

I’ll drag it out the way he did to all those kids.

My uncle points the tip of his hunting knife at me. “Three.”

Atlas nudges me again. “Hunter, go!”

Wade takes a step. “Two.”

I take a deep breath, tucking my knife into my waistband.

“One.”

After spinning to face Atlas, I pull him close and kiss him—brief, hard, eyes open. Pressing my forehead to his, I hold his gaze. “I love you.”

Before he can respond, I turn and run.