Page 4

“No,” she says, lips curved down in a frown. “Not this year.”

She crosses the room and stands before the closet door, taking out a flat metal key and unlocking it. Inside, a single outfit hangs. Regina leans in and pulls out the hanger, turning to show me a dress with narrow straps that cross over the shoulder. “This was also mine.” Her fingers run down the fabric, pausing on a tear. “You’re to put it on and wait. At midnight you’ll be taken from the crypt to the starting point.”

My mind spins. Whirling fast, like a pirouette.

After placing the dress on the bed, she turns to me and takes my face in her hands, thumbs smoothing down my cheeks. “Despite contracts and deals inked in blood, you have to prove yourself, Arianette. In years past, there have been four others. One for each point in the star. North, south, east, west, and the undeclared. This year, there is only you, which means the hunt will be vicious. The Hunters will be more ruthless. You aren't just proving that you’re worthy to be Baroness but to be the King’s Bride.” Her long, lacquered nails drag along my skin. “You’ve survived one hunt. You can do it again.”

“How?” I ask. “How did you do it?”

“In the past, you needed to last the longest, beat out the other girls. This time, it is you and only you. Time is your only weapon.Keep quiet. Hide when you can, for aslongas you can. The hunt only lasts until dawn, which means the longer it takes for the Barons to find you, the less time they’ll have…” She swallows, hand fluttering to her chest. “The less time they’ll have to claim you.”

I don’t know what that means. What any of this means. “I’m supposed to be a bride. I’m supposed to serve the King.”

“There is room for only one female in the Baron King’s crypt, but like him, you have to earn it.”

There’s one more question that I have. One I'm afraid to even speak aloud.

“Will it hurt?”

I see the pity flicker in her eyes.

“Pain is the gatekeeper to destiny.” She takes a step toward the door. “And that’s what this is, Arianette, for all of you. A night of claiming destiny.”

2

Damon

The passage looms ahead,long and dank, our boots heavy on the stone floor. The walls are the same, one rock built on top of the other. The ceilings are low, so much at times that I have to duck my head.

There’s only one question that circles through my mind as I follow the lit torches mounted on the wall:How the fuck did I get here?

There’s something about the way the shadows creep in, the flickering light making the walls and ceiling seem to narrow and tighten. My shoulders tense. Like I’m carrying a weight. I don’t know if it’s the dead buried in these walls. Or maybe it’s just the secrets wedged in between every rock, every grain of mortar.

Or if it’s why we're here tonight.

We reach the end of the hall, coming to a metal grate covering the exit. A cool breeze wafts through the gaps. The smell of the forest on the other side. My sense of direction is shit, but I know we’re on Baron land, in the forest that splays out between the crypt and the river.

“These tunnels run all over the city.” It’s the first time Hunter has spoken all night. Bending, he reties the laces on his boot. “They’re part of an elaborate system of catacombs, evacuation routes, facility management, and secret passages that have been overtaken and expanded by the territories in Forsyth to assist in the drug, gun, flesh, and death trade.”

When he straightens, I get a better view of the tattoos creeping up his neck, rising above the collar like they’re trying to escape. His pale eyes, the light blue even more translucent in the torch light. It’s hard to tell in the dark clothing, but he’s fit. Lean but strong.

“Any idea how long this is going to take?” he asks.

Armand tilts his head, trying to get a look out the bars. “No fucking clue, but I’m going to be pissed if we’re in here for too long.” He sniffs, then waves a hand across his face. The movement draws my eyes to the onyx cufflinks securing the cuffs of his button-down shirt. “It stinks in here. Thank god you didn’t bring your stupid mutt with you.”

Although I agree about the dog, I don’t say anything. Ares, Hunter’s dog, goes everywhere with him. He’s a cool dog. Smart, although a little skittish, with a brindle reddish-brown and black striped coat, and a goofy underbite. I figured he’d bring him with us tonight, but when the time came for us to leave, he gave the dog a chew toy and left him in the room.

I fight the urge to tug at my collar and take a shaky breath. Armand’s gaze flicks to my throat, to the jagged scar. He wants to ask. It’s visibly killing him not to. But judging from the cufflinks and aristocratic slant of his nose, he’s been raised too polite to ask. Probably beaten into him on some shiny, polished, living room floor.

Instead, he says, “I’ve heard about you.”

“Yeah?” It’s the distraction I need. “How so?”

He touches his eyebrow, then lip. “That if you want to get something pierced in Forsyth you’re the man to go to.”

I shrug, tongue touching the labret piercing on my lip. “I work a few hours a week. Mostly house calls.”

Personal houses, frat houses, the whorehouse. I’m not picky, but he’s right, I’m good.