Page 50

M y aching chest heaves with each haggard breath I gulp down, lungs burning from exertion. The pulse thundering in my ears drowns out the woodland symphony while twigs and leaves crunch underfoot. Every throbbing muscle screams in protest, urging me to succumb—to simply crumple to the damp earth and welcome the sweet relief of surrender.

But that’s not an option. Not when the consequences stretch far beyond this brutal initiation rite.

So I press on, hurtling blindly through the night-cloaked forest with reckless abandon. Brambles tear at exposed flesh, drawing crimson tributaries that trickle unheeded down my arms and cheeks. Every stitch of focus narrows to placing one foot in front of the other, evading the relentless pursuit echoing through the gloom.

From the moon’s ascent arcing across the star-speckled canopy overhead, I judge perhaps ninety minutes have elapsed. Three more hours until midnight’s toll frees me from this sickening crucible labelled a ‘hunt.’ Three hours to avoid Arius, Rhys, Hayes, and Jace’s detection at all costs.

The thought alone ignites a frisson of terror down my spine, despite their reassurances this would be… tempered.

An errant root snarls my ankles without warning, pitching me forward in a tangle of flailing limbs. I crash to the ground in a breathless sprawl, the impact knocking the meagre oxygen from my battered lungs. Gravity takes its merciless toll, dragging me down the sudden slope until my back slams against something unyielding.

Trembling fingers claw at the detritus matting hair across my face, frantically wiping away the obstruction as I wheeze. The world spins in a dizzying kaleidoscope, eventually coalescing into the looming shadows of timber stretching skyward around a deep trench.

I must’ve tumbled into some sort of drainage ditch during that last fall. Perfect—fewer potential vectors of attack to guard against while regaining my bearings. Teeth gritted, I force shuddering breaths to steady, ribcage flaring with each labourious inhale. Every nerve ending screams agony, but at least that fall didn’t rupture anything vital.

Reaching up, slender fingers ghost over my ribs, testing the skin gingerly. Not broken, not from that blow. Going to blossom into some spectacular technicolour patterns later, though. Joy.

A tentative brush at my hairline makes me hiss, digits coming away slick with crimson warmth. Dammit, I must’ve cracked my head on something during that plummet. With a grimace, I drag my arm across my brow, wiping away the obscuring rivulet before risking another glance towards the rim of the ditch.

Approximately ten feet of dried, compacted earth separates me from regaining level footing and better odds. The cratered depressions and brush suggest it’s been a while since any recent rain filled this trench. That means no mud to contend with—just a slightly damp slope packed hard against the embankments. May be climbable if I can locate suitable footholds…

Decision made, I roll onto my side with a grunt, then push to hands and knees. Gravel and leaf litter shift beneath my palms as I crawl towards the nearest earthen wall, chest heaving with the strain.

Inspection proves promising—the combination of roots and rocks have left a sporadically spaced network of indentations perfect for gaining traction. If I brace properly and test each hold before committing weight, I should be able to scale my way back to level ground without incident.

I crane my head back to look up at the lip, planting one boot into the nearest divot as a brace before driving my fingers into the next promising crack. Shoulders bunch with effort as I begin hauling my battered frame upwards, every ounce of willpower channelled into the gruelling ascent.

Each foot seems to stretch forever, muscles trembling with fatigue until I finally crest the ridge with a breathless groan. Reaching up to grasp the very lip of soil and exposed roots offers a fleeting surge of triumph.

Then a calloused palm clamps around my wrist with crushing force.

Before the startled yelp even finishes leaving my lips, the world tilts as that same vice-like grip wrenches me upright. My boots scramble for traction as I’m effortlessly towed off the embankment and deposited on level ground in one fluid motion.

I blink away the spots hazing my vision, gaze skittering upwards to collide against the dull glint of a camera lens attached to a body harness.

Shite…

My gaze inches further up to lock with Arius’ own, heartbeat thundering in my ears with each passing second his expression remains unreadable. Even in the fading light, those mercurial depths betray the flash of tortured remorse and guilt flickering across aristocratic planes. But it’s gone before I can catalogue the nuances, vanishing beneath an impenetrable mask once more.

Then, with no preamble or warning, Arius’ fist slams into my sternum with brutal economy. All the air expels from my lungs in a choked wheezing gasp, entire body folding around the locus of agony exploding through me.

My knees buckle, sending me crumpling in a graceless sprawl at his feet as he retracts his arm. The dull thudding of my pulse thrums with each erratic draw for oxygen, every instinct screaming at me to curl into a defensive ball. Not that it would afford much protection, not from…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I have to remind myself this is a farce. A twisted game adhering to archaic rules and principles beyond my comprehension. Arius swore he wouldn’t pull any blows aimed at my face. Small mercies and cold comforts.

Doesn’t prevent bile from scorching my throat, or tears of frustration and anger from searing behind my clenched lids as I wheeze in the loam. Survival demands I discard self-preservation and rally before I blow this whole damn thing and endanger us all.

Wincing, I blink my eyes open as Arius’ hand suddenly fists into my hair, hauling me unceremoniously up onto my knees. Christ, if this is him being ‘gentle’, I don’t want to see what he’s like when he’s actively trying to hurt someone. Gravel digs into my knees, drawing a hiss past gritted teeth as I crane my neck to meet his shadowed gaze.

With an impatient jerk, Arius hauls me back to my feet, making me sway dizzily from the abrupt shift in equilibrium. Gotta make this look convincing for the fucking camera rig he’s sporting. Trembling fingers scrabble ineffectually against the iron band of his wrist holding me upright as I blink away an errant tear. Even through the hazy fog of pain, I don’t miss the way his chiselled features crumple briefly—a fleeting glimpse of remorse guttering behind that stony mask before the impassive veneer slams back into place.

Fuck, he’s trying so damn hard. The realisation twists like a knife in my chest, heart fracturing for Arius. He doesn’t want this, none of them truly do… but they’re compelled to honour whatever twisted pledges sealed their fates to this nightmarish cult long ago.

Those brooding thoughts careen to a screeching halt as Arius draws a blade from the sheath at his hip, the razor edge glinting with wicked menace in the milky moonlight filtering through the canopy above. Shite. Shite shite shite. He’d walked me through the steps last night, the motions to disarm him safely when the time came. But what the fuck was I supposed to do again? Muddled neurons scramble uselessly, my brain lagging several beats behind as it transitions from flight to fight.

As the seconds tick by, Arius hesitates imperceptibly, waiting for me to make my move according to our hushed rehearsals. Not fucking good. The camera will definitely pick up on that hesitation, that lapse in commitment to the role.

Swallowing hard, I force a convincing whimper to flutter past my lips, trying to sell the illusion he’s taunting me off-lens and I’m too paralysed to react. We aren’t certain yet if the rigs have microphones in addition to visual surveillance, so Arius won’t risk delivering any verbal cues to prompt me.

His jaw clenches until the sharp line of that severe bone threatens to slice through taut skin, entire frame tensing before he moves. Gone is any trace of gentleness or mercy, as the hand anchoring me by the hair shifts to clamp around the slender column of my throat instead. With just a subtle shift of his weight and leverage, he forces me stumbling backwards, body arching into a crude semblance of submission until my shoulders slam against the rough bark of the nearest tree.

The impact knocks what little breath remained from my lungs in a strangled wheeze, chest constricting beneath that merciless grip even as my own palms instinctively fly up to grasp his wrist.

God, that’s going to leave marks.

Lip curling in a silent snarl, Arius moves the blade into position, dragging the razor tip from the hollow of my collarbone in one torturously slow path down the centre of my sternum. I hiss at the first biting sting of skin parting, followed by a sluggish trickle of warmth oozing through the torn cotton of my tank top. Nostrils flaring, he leans in until the harsh planes of his features blot out any view beyond the smouldering banked fury in those gunmetal depths.

Pressure points. The tip lodges in my brain, a belated memory surfacing through the haze of panic and pain. There’s a pressure point nestled just below the bicep that can incapacitate or spasm the muscle… if struck with enough precision and force. I just need to find the dip beneath that solid bar of muscle and strike with the right angle.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, I steel my nerves and release Arius’ wrist before my resolve can falter. Fingers curling into a tight fist, I summon every ounce of strength coiling in trembling muscles and lash out. My knuckles slam against the side of his bicep with pinpoint accuracy, striking that crucial divot beneath the bar of corded sinew.

A guttural grunt punches past Arius’ gritted teeth as the impact reverberates up his arm in a shockwave. I watch in grim satisfaction as his digits instinctively spasm, clutching vice-like around the knife’s hilt for a split second before it clatters from his grasp. The blade tumbles end over end, glinting dully before embedding in the loamy soil with a muted thud.

Despite the calculated violence, the barest flicker of pride creases the corner of those impassive features, forging a fleeting crack in that granite veneer. It lasts a mere fraction of a heartbeat before vanishing again, but that solitary glimmer bolsters my faltering courage with a surge of reckless daring.

I don’t allow myself to hesitate or second-guess the impulse, pivoting on my heel to drive my other fist towards his exposed inner arm. My aim proves impeccable once more as knuckles connect squarely against that same pressure point on his opposite bicep, relentless force radiating up to the bunched muscles framing those chiselled contours.

The unexpected onslaught proves sufficient to loosen his grip clamped around my throat just enough. With a feral snarl, I tear myself from Arius’ slackened grasp and stagger sideways, boots dragging furrows in the soft earth. Not wasting a heartbeat more, I whirl and hurl myself bodily back into the sheltering tangle of underbrush, disappearing once more into the night-drenched woodland.