Page 6 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

A rianette

Run.

The word rattles against my skull as I race into the dark.

It’s pitch black, only a pale sliver of moonlight shifting through the canopy of trees overhead.

Not enough to avoid the whip-thin branches slicing into my arms and legs.

Too dim to expose the uneven ground, the tree roots, and rocks.

I take the brunt, the nicks and the cuts, the bruises, to delve deeper, getting far away from the fire.

Away from the men. The masks.

A chill tiptoed up my spine when I stepped into the circle.

The King, grand and bright, commanded the scene, Regina sitting at his side.

Daddy , she’d called him, and he’d stroked her hair, touched her with gentleness.

But we weren’t alone. Like their name, they clung to the edges, stealing the air from my lungs. The Shadows stole the oxygen, with their black, blank faces, and cold, lifeless eyes. It’s no surprise that they’re thieves. Not with the way they steal souls. One innocent at a time.

At least none wear the face of the beast. But three of them wore the face of death, flesh removed, only the bone remaining.

Dangerous. The powerful always are.

But I know my truth. I got away once; I can do it again.

The final chime of the clock reverberates in the distance, the midnight hour. They’ll be coming now. Hunting.

Hide , the Baroness said. Stay hidden as long as I can. The more time they have the more damage they’ll do.

They. Armand, Hunter, and Damon.

Names but no faces–at least not in full. I did my best to memorize what I could. Burn their images into my mind. All I can conjure is Armand’s white knuckles gripping the knife, the glint in Hunter’s blue eyes, and the sleek bow slung against Damon’s back.

My heart beats like a drum, like the sound of footsteps on the ground. The sound of a dance beat– One, two, three, four…

Snap!

They’re coming.

Fear ratchets across my nerves and I look back. A mistake. I stumble, toe kicking into a root, arms flailing, striking something big. Something solid but warm.

Something– someone –with hands. Panic rises in me, a scream lodged in my throat. I wait for the dark laugh, the sneer of conquest, but in the pale moonlight I see the arc of a full-face mask looking down at me.

A Shadow.

He can’t hurt me. The King said so.

Still, I spin, running back the opposite way. I slam into something again, this time rough and biting into my flesh. Pressing my back against the tree, I exhale, allowing my eyes to shut.

Not far away I hear a coy voice call out, “You can run, Sister, you can hide, but I’m going to find you…”

Calm, Arianette. Stay calm.

Nothing can hurt me.

I’m in control.

“You’re in a field, right? Sun beating down. Warm breeze. Flowers everywhere.”

The reminder comes like a whisper, and I take one breath, then another.

“What color are the flowers?”

“Periwinkle.”

The color. Soothing purple. Warm like a blanket. Safe.

Wrapping myself in it, my breath grows steady–sure. Nothing can get me when I’m here. Not the Shadows. Not the dog. Not the beast. It’s too bright. Too exposed.

The whistling sound hurtles toward me. Hurtles, like it’s carried on the wind. Not a whistle. An arrow.

I duck. Inches above my head the bark splits, ripped apart by the tip.

The bark scrapes against my shoulder blades as I inch around it, taking tiny steps to get to the other side. I’m crouched there, feet up on the roots, heartbeat pounding in my ears as the footsteps approach.

“Dammit.” The swear raises every hair on the back of my arms. I hear a grunt and the sound of the arrow being pulled from the tree trunk. “Where the fuck did you go?”

Sure he’s going to find me, I wait, bracing myself for the moment.

I must imagine it when he walks in the opposite direction, his heavy feet stomping over the dead leaves.

But after a moment it’s just me, my heartbeat, and the darkness.

Steadier, I push away from the tree and look up, catching a glimpse of the full moon.

It’s shifted, night is passing. The minutes eat away at the clock.

My eyes adjust, the world a moonlit-soaked gray.

I’m too exposed here, there must be somewhere safer.

Run! But I know better. Running is loud.

It’s obvious. Dangerous. I slow. Creeping through the forest, I use my hands as my eyes, running over the rugged trunks, feet careful over the rocky terrain.

Ahead there’s something dark. Up close I feel thick leaves, bendy branches.

Dropping to the ground, I crawl underneath, pushing into a thicket, and pull my knees into my chest, making myself small.

The minutes pass, my heartbeat slowing until all I hear is crickets chirping and night creatures roaming. How many are Shadows, I’ll never know. They could be a foot away, an inch, living and breathing, keeping me within the boundaries of this game.

They are both my protectors and enemies.

I’m so lulled into a sense of quiet that when I hear the footsteps crunch on fallen leaves, I think I’m dreaming. I hold my breath, wrapping my arms around my legs to make a tight ball, listening.

One set of footsteps.

He stops and starts. Moving slow. Careful. Meticulous. Then I hear, “You out here, Sister? You close?”

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 bring up my safe space again, the periwinkle flowers, the warm sun, and block the pain out–block him out.

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, making him 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, his scent, 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.

Close.

Mine.

The carved handle is familiar in my grip, like it’s been waiting. Like it belongs.

Armand lunges, trying to beat me to it, but I’m faster. I rise with the blade in my hand and dancer’s grace in my blood. He reaches for me, fingers grazing my arm–but I catch the cuff of his shirt, twist it, hold him just long enough.

Our eyes lock.

Dark.

Malicious.

I drive the blade forward.

Hot blood arcs, splattering my skin. He gasps, a wet gurgle that bubbles and flails. His hands clutch his throat, eyes wide, disbelieving. I tear the blade free, the fabric ripping under my fingers.

He collapses sideways, slumping into the forest floor. My breath comes ragged and deep, like I’ll never get enough air again. I’m still holding the knife in one hand. A scrap of his shirt in the other. They’re both soaked. Both mine. Both binding me to this moment.

It would be so easy to slip away.

Periwinkle.

But I’m not alone. From the shadows, a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Drop the knife.”

I freeze. Turn toward it.

A figure steps forward. Calm. Tall. Watchful.

“You’re not going to outrun us,” he says, chest rising and falling. Dark ink on his pale skin teases from beneath his shirt collar. Flaxen hair curls at his temples, just above the cut of his mask. “You’ve already been caught.”

Two of them now. One with a bow already drawn–silent, focused. Both with their faces half-covered, jawbone and teeth etched in white.

I shift the blade toward them, even though my arms tremble. The blood on the knife has dried tacky. I’ve already killed one man tonight.

But he deserved it.

He broke the rules.

Now I’m surrounded. Two against one. There’s no more forest to vanish into. No more magic left to summon.

The knife slips from my fingers, lands in the dirt with a dull thud.

The Hunt is over.

I’ve been caught.