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His own name.

I frown behind the visor.

Why would he say it like that?

What the fuck is it about you?

Crouching there longer than I have any reason to, I lose track of time, my eyes returning to the pulse in his throat every time he swallows.

I could rest two fingers there. Could do anything, and he’d never wake in time to stop me. The thought keeps me beside him, glove off, closer than the knife in his hand would ever allow if he were awake.

I’m the only danger keeping him alive.

Sometime after midnight, another candidate comes hunting. He moves carefully through the trees, stopping every few paces to listen before reaching the edge of the drainage and peering into the dark below.

For one ugly second, I consider letting him get closer. Let him wake with a stranger standing over him, let those green eyes find me in the dark and finally understand exactly who’s been keeping him alive.

Maybe then he’d ask.

Fuck, I’d like to hear him beg.

I rise from my crouch just enough for the visor to catch the light filtering through the branches, holding perfectly still.

The candidate freezes. “Fuck,” he breathes. “It’s the one with the blond.”

I take one step toward him. “Fly away, little bird. Before I decide to clip your wings.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Turning on his heel, he disappears into the trees without another sound.

Yeah, that one will talk.

Let him.

Stories are cheap, and mine buys more than his.

Maybe Dad hears it before my fiancé does.

Pulling the glove back on, I give him one last look before returning to my pine.

Toward the small hours, the rain gives out and our neighbouring planets burn through a tear in the cloud. Onyx sleeps on. By tomorrow he’ll need water. By the day after, he’ll need me.

The Hunt will do the hard part.

I should go back to my sector, to the cabin and the console and the warmth, but I stay against the pine instead.

The bill is still running, and he just doesn’t know he’s adding to it.

7

ASH

Apine needle brushes my visor. I blink awake, scrub a hand over my face, then push myself upright against the trunk. Every muscle protests, my neck stiff from sleeping where I absolutely fucking shouldn’t have.

Excellent. Fell asleep against a tree over a candidate.

My eyes drop to the root tangle below.

Empty. Fuck. My prey is gone.