Page 3 of Bleed the Shadows

“What thefuck?” Hawk said, edging closer.

When Bram spoke, his voice was low and threatening. “What part of ‘she’s wearing our collar’ don’t you understand?”

Viggo clawed at Bram’s hand, leaving no doubt that Bram was squeezing.

The other teams shuffled a few feet back. No one wanted to be at ground zero when Bram detonated. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was best to get clear of the blast zone.

“It’s a legitimate question,” Jagger said next to Viggo.

Poe looked at his nails. “We caught her last time.”

He was sellingunperturbed, but I knew he was as fucked up about Maeve being here as Bram.

As me.

We’d made mistakes. Gotten too close.

“So fucking what?” Hawk asked. “Why didn’t you take off her collar when she left?”

It was what would have happened — what should have happened — at the end of Maeve’s ninety days with us.

Except Maeve hadn’t made it to ninety days.

I wondered why she’d left the collar on, felt a stupid surge of hope that it was because deep down she wanted us to hunt her again before I realized it was probably just because she hadn’t found a way to remove it. The gold band was too thick — and too close to the neck — for wire cutters, and we had the only key.

“None of your fucking business.” Bram released his hold on Viggo’s throat and he stumbled back, gasping. “All you need to know is that she’s wearing our collar.”

Hawk scowled. “You know, no one’s going to want to hunt if you keep being such an asshole.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo,” Bram said.

The Hawks clustered together, glancing at the girls across the room as they tried to choose another target.

“So it’s settled,” Poe said. “We hunt Maeve.”

We didn’t have a choice. Not really.

Surrendering her to another team wasn’t an option, and I felt a surge of hope at the possibility of Maeve living back at the loft.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Because this time I wouldn’t be able to pretend I wanted to keep my distance.

And getting close to Maeve was a mistake that couldn’t be undone.

3

MAEVE

I didn’t needto see the waiver Bram handed to one of the girls to know what it said.

I consent to be hunted.

I consent to be stripped.

I consent to be marked.

I consent to be owned.

The words were branded into my memory from the last Hunt. They’d been the beginning of my undoing, the beginning of the six weeks at the loft when I’d almost lost myself to Poe, Remy, and Bram.