Page 11

The voice is deep. Amused. To him, this is all a game.

I’m not naive enough to think it’s anything but.

“I think you're close…” he muses. “Crouching down. Hiding in the dirt, burrowed in the ground like a rodent. I’m not used to getting my hands dirty, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

He’s close enough that I hear him inhale, taking a deep breath, and for a terrified second I wonder if he can see me, or worse, smell me.

He lingers just outside my hiding place, pacing back and forth. A cramp ebbs through the muscle in my calf, aggravated from being curled up so tight. Pain shoots down my leg to my foot and I bite down on my bottom lip. Closing my eyes, I bringup my safe space again, the periwinkle flowers, the warm sun, and block the pain out–blockhimout.

I fade out, lost in my safe space until it’s quiet again. Did he leave? Did I fall asleep? That happens sometimes. Missing time. Lost memories. Tears burn at the corner of my eyes, the pain in my leg sharp. My corner of the forest grows still and I dare an exhale. I know he’s just the first of the three. There will be more and next time I won’t be so lucky. In the distance, a curse bounces off the tree trunks. Calls for me to come out carry on the breeze. Whatever happens tonight, I won’t make it easy on them. I can’t.

For now, the night is still. The hunters far away. I let my muscles loosen, dare to stretch my leg, flexing my foot to get the feeling back–

“Gotcha.”

The voice is a dark snarl, connected to fingers clamped around my ankle, locking me to him with an iron grip. He’s strong, dragging me from my hiding spot, my skin tearing against the unforgiving ground. He doesn’t drag me to my feet. Instead, he shifts his grip to my wrists, pinning me to the forest floor, blocking out the moonlight, his body heavy over mine.

That’s when I catch his scent, under the sweat and adrenaline. It’s not the scent of a person. It’s from a place, and for the first time since all of this began, my blood runs cold.

“Thought you got away,” he says, nose next to my cheek. “Or that maybe one of those two would get you first? The pin cushion and the nerd the King thinks is so smart?” He snorts. “No fucking chance, I doubt those two have ever spent time in the wilderness like I have. Do you know that I held my first rifle when I was five years old? Shot my first buck when I was six? From there it was pheasant, boars, alligators, and big game.” He works my hands over my head, pushing them together and binding them as one. His eyes glint off the moonlight, makinghim look every bit of the devil he seems to be. “I’ve gutted and dressed every animal worthy of catching, but do you know what my favorite game is?”

“No,” I whisper, knowing that men like this only play games that hurt.

“Virgins,” he says smugly. “Not everywhere places a value on it, but Forsyth? It’s like sitting on a pile of gold. There’s only one thing that makes it better.” His breath is hot on my ear and his teeth press into the lobe, giving a quick bite. “A virgin claimed for a Royal.”

His hand pushes up my skirt, hot and clammy against my thigh. “I worked my way through as many potentials as possible, sullying them up when I could. It wasn’t hard. Most of the little legacies have a shitload of Daddy issues and there’s nothing like giving away your innocence to show them just how valuable you are.” His fingers reach my panties, curling into the waistband. “A few got away. I put in a bid to be the one to take Story Austin’s in the pit, but her stepdaddy had other ideas. Leticia Lucia went missing before I could get to her and then the Count had Lavinia locked up tight for two years before the Dukes got their hands on her. And Verity Sinclaire? No one saw that coming. She was nothing but a basic cutslut.” His laugh is mean, and his fingers twist deeper against my hip. “Although, secret babies are so on brand for the Princes that we should have.”

I don’t know the people he’s talking about, but there’s no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. He’s angry. Jealous. Vengeful.

“Everyone wants to know why Armand Stein came back to Forsyth,” he says, voice even in the darkness. “How did a spoiled East Ender earn the coveted position as Baron? Truthfully, I didn’t.” His fingers yank hard, dragging the underwear down my legs. I hear them land in the dirt. “I’m not here to just fuck you, Sister. That’s just my fee to do the dirty work of others.”

His palm flattens on my thigh, pushing them apart. I fight back, squirming underneath him. “Do you know what you did to deserve me?”

I shake my head, even though I don’t think he can see me. I catch the scent,hisscent, it’s cloying, dank. Terrifyingly familiar.

“You never should have run, Arianette.” His knees rise, holding my legs apart. “And once you did, you never should have stopped.” The rip of his zipper cuts through the sounds of the forest. “It’s simple really.” He kneels before me and his profile catches the moonlight. The mask covers the lower half, the ghoulish skull jeering at me, but his eyes are not human. “You know too much.”

I feel something press at the heat of my entrance, hard and unrelenting. I squirm against him, the muscles of my thighs straining to shut, the channel between us shuttering closed. “Don’t be a bitch,” he growls, lining our bodies up. “This is the best thing that’ll happen to you tonight.”

His hips thrust and a sharp intrusion pushes into me, eliciting a howl that rips from my throat. It feels like I’ve been stabbed with a hot poker, my insides on fire. Surging upward, I snap at him with my teeth, catching the corner of his mask. I yank back, fighting against him, inside and out.

“Feisty, huh?” he laughs, face revealed, proving he’s as much of a devil covered or not. He drops my wrist to recover the hard line of his jaw. “Go ahead, come at me.” He spreads his arms wide. “I like a little violence with my sex.” To prove his point, he reaches behind his back. His next move is swift, revealing the glint of a blade. It slices through the moonlight, landing diagonally across my throat. “I have no problem using this, Sister. It’s your choice.”

I tilt my head and look at him, really see him for the first time, and say, “You used to be a sweet boy. Towheaded with innocent eyes. You’re tainted. They tainted you, too.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, dragging the tip of the blade down my neck. “This is exactly why you have to die.”

He leans over, angling himself again. I don’t know what it feels like to have the full invasion of an enemy inside. But I’ve seen it happen. A witness to too many crimes. But this time, I’m on the other end of the weapon.

Footsteps echo against the trees–short, sharp, fast. Someone is coming. His head snaps to the side, distracted. “Jesus Chris–” he starts to shout, pivoting toward the noise. His knife hand jerks. A second figure barrels through the brush, slamming into him. Armand stumbles, caught off guard, twisting hard. The blade lashes out, wild, catching only air. He tumbles over his own feet, scrambling to recover.

“No!” he bellows, weaponless now, eyes darting. “Take her! She’s your prey!”

He spins back toward me, like I’m the lesser threat, but everything shifts, slows. The world blurs at the edges, turning still and crystal-clear at the center. I see the knife in the dirt, half-buried in leaves.

I crawl.

Fingers stretch.