Page 45

Briar

The red bulb casts bloody light across the porch where I stand.

My white nightgown flutters around my bare legs, practically translucent in the moonlight.

The fabric feels both foreign and familiar against my skin—the same style as the night everything changed, but not the same gown.

That one burned in the fire pit behind the greenhouse, along with other evidence.

I curl my toes against the cold wooden boards, remembering the rules of The Hunt. Barefoot. Dressed in white. Prey waiting for predators.

The night wraps around Windward Estate like a cloak, fog curling between trees and slithering across the lawn. Perfect hunting weather. I breathe it in, tasting salt and pine and anticipation.

They’re out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

A breeze lifts my hair, sending dark strands dancing across my face. I push them back, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Nothing yet. Just shadows and silence.

Then I hear it.

The whistle.

Three notes carried on the wind, rising in pitch then falling. The signal. My pulse kicks up instantly, adrenaline flooding my system.

It comes again, closer this time. Not from the direction I expected—not from the forest, but from somewhere to the left, near the hedge maze.

I step off the porch, my bare feet sinking into dew-damp grass. The night air brushes against my skin, raising goosebumps across my arms, my legs, my neck. I pause, listening.

The whistle comes again. From a different direction.

They’ve split up.

Two hunters, one prey.

A laugh escapes me, something wild and unfamiliar. This is what I wanted. To be hunted by men who want to catch me, not kill me. Men who’ve seen the darkest parts of me and stayed anyway.

I run.

Not toward the maze—that would be too obvious. Instead, I head for the gardens, darting between sculpted hedges and stone pathways. The dewy grass muffles my footsteps, and the fog swallows my white-clad figure almost immediately.

Behind me, the whistle comes again. Closer. They’re tracking me.

Good.

My lungs burn already, my body’s weakness making itself known, but I push through it. Tonight isn’t about limitations; it’s about freedom, about choosing what scares you instead of letting it choose you.

I cut through the rose garden, wincing as thorns snag my nightgown, scratch my legs. Small sacrifices. The path curves ahead, leading toward a decorative fountain. The moonlight catches on the water, creating ghostly patterns that dance and swirl.

I stop, listening again. Nothing. The whistles have gone quiet, which means they’re close enough that sound would betray their positions.

My heartbeat seems too loud, my breathing too harsh. I glance around, trying to spot movement in the darkness. The statues scattered throughout the garden look too much like men in the fog, making me jump at shadows.

“Fuck,” I whisper as my toe catches on an uneven stone, sending pain shooting up my foot.

That’s when I see him.

A silhouette against the fog, tall and broad-shouldered. The antlers of his mask rise above his head like a crown. Damiano. It has to be—I recognize the way he moves, fluid and deliberate, even in the darkness.

I bolt, changing direction, heading now toward the maze. If I can reach it, I might be able to lose him in the twisting paths.

He whistles again, the sound sharper, more urgent. Signaling to Flint. Telling him I’m heading for the maze.

The entrance looms ahead, a dark mouth opening into deeper darkness. I plunge in without hesitation, immediately turning left, then right, navigating by memory and instinct.

The hedge walls rise around me, blocking out what little moonlight filters through the fog. I slow down, forced to feel my way forward, hands brushing against the dense foliage on either side. The scent of crushed leaves fills my nostrils as I push deeper into the labyrinth.

Right turn. Left turn. Straight ahead.

The slap of footsteps reaches me—not from behind, but from somewhere to my right. Through the hedge wall. Someone’s cutting through the maze, taking shortcuts I didn’t anticipate.

Flint. It has to be. Damiano would never damage his precious hedges.

I pick up speed, ignoring the way my lungs scream for more oxygen. Just a little farther. The center of the maze isn’t far now. If I can reach it first...

A figure steps out from a side path directly in front of me. The bone mask gleams in a flash of moonlight breaking through the fog. Flint. He stands there for a moment, head tilted, the stance somehow both threatening and enticing.

I skid to a stop, changing direction instantly, doubling back the way I came. But I’ve only gone a few steps when I hear movement ahead. Damiano, approaching from the direction I just fled.

Trapped.

I glance around frantically, looking for another path, another escape route. There—a narrow gap between two hedge sections, barely visible in the darkness. I squeeze through, branches scratching my arms, tugging at my nightgown, catching in my hair.

I stumble into another path, momentarily disoriented. Which way leads to the center? Which way takes me deeper into the maze?

A twig snaps behind me. I spin around to find Flint emerging from the same gap I just squeezed through, his mask pushed up to reveal his face, those eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

“Running’s only making this more fun, princess,” he says, tone low and rough with desire.

Behind him, another masked figure appears. Damiano, his mask also lifted, expression hungry.

“Caught you,” Flint says, stepping closer.

I press my back against the hedge wall, feeling it give slightly. “Not yet,” I breathe, then throw my weight backward, pushing through the foliage into the adjacent path.

Branches scrape my skin, leaving burning trails across my shoulders, my thighs. My nightgown tears, the sound sharp in the quiet of the maze. I break through to the other side, stumbling but staying upright.

Only to find myself in the center clearing.

The stone bench gleams dully in the moonlight. The ground beneath my feet is soft with fresh growth—Damiano’s special plants covering what lies beneath. I pause for an instant, feeling the weight of the past weeks pressing down on me.

The ghosts of three men haunt this place. The memory of blood and fear and desperate survival.

But not tonight.

Tonight we take back the maze. Make new memories to bury the old ones.

Movement to my left, then my right. They’ve found me. My hunters, closing in from both sides.

I don’t run. Not this time. I stand my ground as they approach, these two men who’ve somehow become everything to me.

Flint reaches me first, his hand closing around my wrist, firm but not painful. “Got you,” he says, pulling me against him, his body radiating heat in the cool night air.

“We both do,” Damiano adds, stepping behind me, caging me between them.

I let my head fall back against Damiano’s shoulder, excitement thrumming through me. “So what happens now that you’ve caught me?”

Flint traces his fingers along my collarbone, dipping beneath the torn neckline of my nightgown. “Now we claim our prize.”

Damiano grips my hips, pulling me back against him, letting me feel his hardness pressing into the small of my back. “You were never meant to be hunted by anyone but us,” he murmurs against my ear.

Damiano’s teeth graze my neck, the bite sharp and claiming.

A moan escapes me, primal and raw, and they respond with fierce intensity, hands and mouths and bodies demanding everything I have.

Flint shoves the fabric off my shoulders, exposing skin to the cold air, to their burning touch.

The nightgown falls away, forgotten, and I stand naked in their grasp, prey already consumed.

They move me, lowering me to the ground, to the soft plants and the memories buried there.

Flint finds my breasts with his lips, urgent and insistent, while Damiano kneels behind me, his hands spreading my legs open, his breath hot against my thighs.

I should feel vulnerable and exposed, but instead, I feel powerful, defiant. Alive.

Flint crashes his mouth against mine, fierce and demanding. I part my lips, letting his tongue in, tasting want and whiskey and something both of us need. His grip on my wrist loosens, slips down to my waist, pulling me tighter, making me gasp into his mouth.

Flint tears at his own clothes, fumbling with his zipper, freeing himself, and then his fingers are working me open, sliding inside, coaxing slick heat with every thrust.

Damiano’s tongue is there, moving in tandem, lapping greedily, and I come apart beneath their ruthless touch.

I arch, meeting them, demanding more. More.

A guttural sound vibrates through Flint’s chest as he pushes into me, filling me completely, and I cry out, more animal than human.

Damiano’s hands are everywhere, his mouth possessive against my skin, marking me as Flint fucks me hard and relentless.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” Flint praises as he thrusts even harder.

They’re wild, untamed, and I match them, taking everything they give, every bruising thrust, every harsh bite.

Flint’s breath comes ragged, mimicking mine, exhaling each moan as he pounds into me.

Damiano shifts, moving to straddle my face, and I taste his hard cock with greedy hunger, feel the weight and heat of him against my lips, as Flint moves faster, deeper, losing control and taking me with him.

Damiano growls, low and approving, tangling a hand in my hair, pushing and pulling and setting the rhythm, and I meet him as Flint’s pace turns desperate.

A cock in my mouth, and a cock in my pussy. Nothing has ever felt so right .

The soft earth shifts beneath me, all of us feral and consuming and alive. Pleasure builds, spiraling, everything blurring into a fevered haze.

Flint drives into me harder, faster, his taut body a reflection of my own undoing. He grabs my hips, pounding recklessly now, relentless, and my moans grow frantic, matching Damiano’s guttural sounds as he fucks my mouth, as he watches Flint take me.

I’m dizzy and breathless and so fucking close. Flint’s thrusts turn wild, like he’s breaking me apart and putting me back together, pushing us both over the edge.

“Come for us,” Damiano orders, voice tight, and I do, spiraling into oblivion as pleasure hits, raw and consuming.

A shaking groan tears through me, through Flint, and I feel him all the way inside as we go over together, body and mind and soul, as Damiano thrusts deep and I swallow him down, his fingers clenching in my hair.

Damiano growls, hot and primal, and I feel the jolt as he comes, the musky taste of him coating my tongue as Flint empties himself into me with a shuddering curse.

I am wrecked and wanted and consumed. Claimed a thousand ways.

They collapse against me, their bodies damp with sweat and fog. My pulse thunders in my ears, their harsh breathing mixing with mine. We lie tangled like that for long minutes, the night air cooling us, our hearts slowly finding their rhythm again.

Flint is the first to move, pulling out of me and rolling onto his back with a groan. He drags me over, a possessive arm slinging across my middle. “Damn,” he murmurs, full of awe and satisfaction.

Damiano chuckles low in his throat, shifting to my other side to claim the space there. His lips brush my temple, lingering and tender now. “Our girl,” he says, and there’s something like reverence in his tone.

I curl against them, surrounded by warmth and strength and everything I’ve ever wanted.

I’m finally warm. So fucking warm.

The dead bodies are beneath us… far away and forever covered.

There’s no fear here anymore. No scars we can’t heal. Just us, tangled together in a maze of our own making.

Would you like to meet The Godwins? They are the family that own Heathens Hollow . How does a family own this island… turn the pages to find out.

It starts with Villains Are Made .