Page 33 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)
XAVIER
I watch from the shadows as Landon disappears down the corridor after Sadie, leaving Mira standing alone in her borrowed shirt. Twelve hours. I let her sleep for twelve fucking hours of the Hunt. What the hell was I thinking?
My brothers were right to mock me over the radio. In all my years participating in this event, I’ve never allowed prey to rest, never shown that kind of... consideration. The hunters who know me would call it weakness. They’d be right.
Mira wraps my shirt tighter around herself, and even from this distance, I can see the defeat in her posture. The way her shoulders curve inward, the slight tremor in her hands. She’s finally understanding what this place really is, what we really are.
Twenty-four hours have passed since the Hunt began, and the status reports from my hunters paint a clear picture of the maze.
Knox took Bianca into his art room, using her passion for painting against her in ways that left her canvas splattered with more than pigment.
Vane had Lia begging for his knife within the first hour, consensual from the start.
Landon has partially claimed Sadie—cornered her in his tech lab, bound her wrists, and made her scream his name.
But the clever little hacker found a way to slip his restraints and bolted.
He’s enjoying the chase, drawing it out.
Always the strategist, my youngest brother savors the psychological game as much as the physical capture.
Cora Pike never stood a chance. Three hunters descended on the mayor’s daughter like wolves on wounded prey.
Dominic, Liam, and Ryder coordinated their attack.
The spoiled politician’s daughter, who thought her daddy’s name would protect her, learned exactly how naive she really is.
Ryder’s charm lured her into their web while Dominic and Liam closed the trap.
Three to one odds—it was over before it began.
The Dexter twins took Keira together within the first few hours. No surprise there. Ace and Cyrus share everything, and the dancer makes their pursuit more enticing. Last I saw on the monitors, she was willingly surrendering to them.
But Julian surprised me. Watching him dominate Elliot was unexpected, even for someone who’s known him since university. Elliot’s refined composure was completely shattered.
It happens more often than outsiders realize: hunters claiming other hunters. The bisexual ones especially seem to enjoy the power play, the unexpected reversal of roles. Julian has been participating for years, always focusing on female prey.
And then there’s Mira, my supposed prey, wandering free in my maze while I lurk in the shadows like some lovesick fool.
The next phase begins soon. Within hours, we’ll all converge on the center chamber—the heart of this new maze design.
Every hunter brings their prey, and the real debauchery begins.
Bodies intertwining, hunters sharing their conquests with those who came up empty-handed, though that rarely happens anymore.
Some years, the orgy lasts until dawn. For others, it becomes a feeding frenzy that burns out in a few intense hours. It depends on the chemistry, the particular mix of personalities.
Mira starts walking again, moving aimlessly through the corridor. She has no idea what’s coming next. None of them do. The contracts they signed covered the claiming, but the aftermath... that’s where things get truly interesting. There are more than forty hours left to play with.
I should collect her soon and bring her to the center chamber. Should parade her in front of the others, showing them exactly how thoroughly she has been broken down.
But I hesitated, maybe it’s the memory of how she felt around me or the way she whispered my name in the pool.
Or maybe I’m losing my fucking mind over a woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a strategic neutralization.
The radio crackles to life in my earpiece, Knox’s amused voice cutting through the maze’s ambient sound.
“Well, well. Looks like our fearless leader is playing shadowing games.” Knox’s chuckle carries that familiar edge of mocking affection. “Watching you trail behind that fucking journalist like a lovesick puppy, X. Very touching.”
I growl, my hand moving instinctively to the radio control.
“Shut the fuck up, Knox.”
“Oh, come on. We’ve all got eyes on the surveillance feeds. You’ve been following her from a distance for what, twenty minutes now? Just lurking behind corners like some sad stalker.” His laughter gets louder. “Remember when you used to actually hunt your prey instead of playing guardian angel?”
Vane’s voice joins the channel. “Knox has a point. This is pathetic.”
“I’m strategizing,” I snap.
“Strategizing.” Knox draws out the word mockingly. “That’s what we’re calling it? Because from here, it looks like you’re making sure she doesn’t stub her pretty little toe on the mean old maze walls.”
Landon’s cooler tone cuts in. “Xavier, you do realize the entire point of this exercise is dominance, not whatever this protective hovering is supposed to be.”
My jaw clenches as I watch Mira pause at a junction ahead, looking lost in my oversized shirt. The radio chatter continues, my brothers dissecting my every move.
“Maybe she’ll write a bad review in her newspaper,” Vane adds. “Xavier Blackwood: two stars, disappointing follow-through, too gentle for a proper claiming.”
Knox practically wheezes with laughter. “Oh fuck, can you imagine? ‘The maze was lovely, but the hunter lacked conviction. Would not recommend for serious stalking experience.’ “
I grind my teeth together, reaching for the radio volume, twisting it down until their voices become barely audible whispers. The last thing I need is for Mira to overhear their commentary on my apparent loss of instincts.
She can’t know I’ve been following her. Couldn’t realize I’d been close enough to intervene if any real danger had threatened. The carefully constructed image of the ruthless predator would crumble, and with it, any advantage I still maintain.
“Fucking idiots,” I mutter under my breath, adjusting my position as Mira chooses the left corridor.
I can’t fucking think about what they’re saying right now. Can’t let their words sink in and take root because if I process what Knox and Vane are implying—what Landon’s clinical observations suggest—it’ll mess with my head in ways I can’t afford.
Not during the Hunt. Not when forty-eight hours still remain, and every decision I make gets scrutinized by fourteen other hunters who’d love nothing more than to see me stumble.
But the truth claws at the edges of my consciousness anyway, demanding acknowledgment. Mira Sullivan is the first woman to hold my attention like this. The first prey who’s made me question every instinct I’ve honed over the years of these events.
Usually, by now, I’d have moved on. Claimed my target, brought her to the center chamber, and started eyeing the next conquest. The Hunt has always been about power, about demonstrating dominance over multiple women throughout the extended timeline.
It’s a marathon of control, not a sprint toward singular obsession.
Yet here I am, shadowing one adversary like she’s the only woman in this entire maze.
The realization sends ice through my veins.
This Hunt isn’t going to follow the usual pattern.
It can’t, not when every fiber of my being seems calibrated to her frequency.
When the thought of another hunter even looking at her sideways makes my hands itch for violence, forget about sharing her. That shit is not happening.
Mira stumbles slightly, catching herself against the corridor wall, and my muscles tense with the urge to steady her. To fucking help her. The response is so contrary to everything the Hunt represents that it nearly brings me to a standstill.
In previous years, I’d have orchestrated elaborate scenarios to drive prey to their breaking points. Would have set up psychological traps designed to completely shatter their resolve. The maze itself is a testament to that methodology—every chamber is crafted to exploit specific fears and desires.
But with Mira, the calculations feel different. Wrong, somehow. Unlike the usual formulas, they don’t apply to the equation she represents.
She pushes off from the wall and continues walking, her bare feet silent on the polished floor.
The sight of her in my shirt, drowning in the fabric that carries my scent, creates a tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with sexual satisfaction and everything to do with possession of an entirely different nature.
This Hunt is going to be different.
The acknowledgment sits heavy in my gut, undeniable despite every instinct screaming against such vulnerability. Different in ways I’m not equipped to handle, ways that could fundamentally alter the power dynamics I’ve spent decades perfecting.