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I put a hand on her shoulder, gently. She leans into it without looking at me. “Who, Arianette?Whoare you talking about?”

She looks over her shoulder, like we’re in the middle of the student center and not deep in the forest. “It’s not a who. It’s a them. A beast. Maybe more than one.” She presses a hand to her chest. “When they took me I thought it was to finish what they started. But it wasn’t. It wasn’tthem. It was worse.”

“Why was it worse?”

“Because the beast doesn’t care about altars and blood. It only cares about locking the past in a teeny-tiny box.” Her hands clamp together, snapping shut. “Forever.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and sour, despite the wind and rushing water. Arianette may be confused, and hell, more than a little crazy, but there’s truth here, something that was freed in this damp forest.

Something, I have a feeling, that is worth killing over.

The sun dips behind the treetops, cutting the light into golden slashes across our skin. Arianette is quiet now, but it’s not the shut-down kind of quiet. It’s the quiet that comes after a release. A terrible truth settling over us like dust.

I stand, brushing the dirt from my palms, and grab my bow from where I’d leaned it against the tree. She watches me, eyes still glassy but clearer now, the way she looked after she came on my fingertips at the party.

“You always bring weapons when you're alone with a girl?” she asks, voice light, teasing.

“I bring weapons when I go into the woods with someone who survived death and still hears ghosts in the trees,” I answer.

“Damon,” she says, my name soft on her lips. No one really calls me Damon, other than judges and probation officers. I don’t hate the sound of it from her.

“Yeah?”

“Teach me,” she says suddenly. “To hunt.”

I raise an eyebrow and ask, “To kill?”

Not sure the King would approve. Plus, we already know she’s capable.

“To know,” she replies, stepping close, her voice a breath now. “What it feels like. To be the hunter instead of the prey.”

“I think you have some idea,” I tell her, noting the hunger in her eyes. I saw it the night of the Hunt when Armand was dying at her feet. But I get it. I brought her out here and picked at her wounds, dragging her through the muck and mud, to hear her story. She feels vulnerable and wants a little of that power back.

Slowly, I hand her the bow. She stumbles a little, laughing, “It’s heavy,” but steadies herself fast. She’s small, but all tension and wire underneath. Wound tight, like one of those little ballerinas in a jewelry box.

“Let me show you,” I say, stepping behind her. My hand wraps around her wrist, guiding her fingers over the grip, the curve of the string. The first time I picked up the bow, it felt as familiar as my own cock. I just understood how it worked. “You keep your body square, like this. Elbows high. Shoulders relaxed.”

She shifts, and her back presses flush against my chest. I don’t step back. I could. But I don’t.

Her breath comes shallow. I feel it where my hand still rests on her ribcage, just beneath the swell of her tit. Her skin is warm. Damp with sweat after the hike. She doesn’t pull away.

“Now,” I murmur, voice in her ear, “focus. See everything and nothing. Don’t just look–feel it.”

Her exhale shivers across my skin. Moving her arms slowly, I pull the string back with her, guiding her through the motion. Her body arches slightly, and I catch her hips against mine to keep her steady.

“You feel that?” I whisper, lips brushing the curve of her neck. I’m hard, strung as tight as the bow. In a blink I could drop it, shove up that skirt, and have my cock slick between her thighs.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let the tension build. Don’t rush it. That’s how you miss.”

She adjusts her stance, and the movement grinds her against me. Not accidental. I’m desperate, and she feels it. For the first time since I met the Baroness I feel the push-pull of flirtation, the tease of something more. For once, we’re not in a fight, we’re in this moment together.

My fingers trail down the side of her tit, running over the hard metal bars. She keeps her grip firm. “Now.”

She releases the string, and it sings as it cuts through the air. The arrow thunks into a nearby tree with a satisfying, violent thud.

Her breath catches in her throat. That sound–she liked it.