Page 151 of Hunted By Fae

I swerve my wide gaze to him—just as the butt of the gun is coming down on my head.

I hear the crack before I feel it.

My boots slip over the road, once, twice, then the road is rushing up at me.

Hot blood runs down my face. A trail, tickling from my brow to my temple. I frown against it, the sluggish fog draping over me, and I try to get up from the road.

All I manage is to lift my head.

My chin digs into my clavicle, and I blink through the haze, the blood, as the fae returns to Tesni.

He crouches over her, grabbing at her pockets, digging through them as she flails and her face twists with screams.

A grunt catches in my chest.

I flop onto my side, hand slapping down on the road, as though I can drag myself to her.

But before my vision can clear, the dark male has drawn away from her, two red shells in his hand.

I watch, stunned, as he slips the shells into the chamber—then cocks the shotgun, like he knows how, like he’s seen it before, enough times to understand how to load the weapon, and clear used shells…

The stare I fix up at him is filled with horror.

His eyes flare, alight with intention, and slowly, he turns the barrel on me. “You must be the kinta,” he says, and my blood runs cold. “Bee.”

A breath escapes me.

He drifts the aim of the shotgun over Emily, snagged in the net, then to Tesni, quivering on the ground.

His words come in English, sheathed in a barbed accent, “So which one of you isTesni?”

THIRTY-THREE

BEE

Bloodshot eyes meet mine. Pale shavings of diamonds, reddened by the steady stream of tears.

I can’t look away from the terror in her gaze.

And I have no answer for that silent question.

How the fuck this fae knows my name, my blood, and her name—it scrambles my mind, a whisk battering my brains in a flurry.

The dark male looks down at Tess.

The barrel stays aimed at her, the length of the gun perched on just one muscular arm, as he considers her.

Still, I have no instruction for her.

Her lips quiver, slick with tears, as she lifts her hand—and points right at the net.

Emily is quick to thrash, a string of curses shrieking from the net. “You fucking bitch! She’s lying, she’s a lair!”

I have nothing.

No answers, no schemes, only dread running cold through me.

The male turns his ice gaze on Emily, and that look alone halts her.