Page 4 of They Call Me Blue

Breed her.

Make her a showpiece in his collection.

His instructions were very clear. No one eats the girl, but I lick my lips regardless. Everyone knows blue elves taste the sweetest.

A twig snaps underfoot as I move to get a better look at her. Cursing under my breath, I duck behind the fallen trees as she scans the forest and grasslands.

“Is everything alright?” another voice whispers. Her words are slurry, sleepy, and childlike.

“It’s fine, bug. Just an animal.”

My heart races. My limbs twitch with the need to give chase. Still, I wait several minutes before taking another peek.

Blue’s skin is a lighter shade than I imagined, but her hair is as dark as azurite, and it glimmers in the midday sun. I’m too far away to see her eyes, but I know they’ll match the hair, the nails, maybe even the blood that pours from her scraped arm.

Tiptoeing closer, I keep my mouth closed, my eyes lowered.

Maybe she’ll recognize me for what I am, or maybe, just maybe, she’ll let me get close enough to take her down.

I’m not like the other elgrew. I won’t torture her, or breed her, or add her to the games.

I’ll make it quick and then I’ll make it slow, savoring the taste of her long after her soul has left this world.

“We have to go,” Blue says, turning to the smaller, grayer elf sitting beside her. “We need to find shelter.”

Her voice quivers as I come into view.

That’s right, little elf. Run from me. I’d love to give myself another workout.

“Stay back,” she says.

I don’t.

I reach behind my back, angling for the knife strapped to my belt.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Very clever.

My fingers tighten around the hilt. I lift my eyes and smile, flashing a mouthful of pointed teeth.

I’m close enough now to see the deep gashes in her companion’s thigh and the dark scorch marks on Blue’s skin.

The pair of them smell like smoke, tangy blood, and sweat.

I can’t stop salivating. When I speak, it’s in Elvish, to ensure she’ll understand.

“Would you like to run now, or are you content with lying there and taking it?”

Her blue irises home in on me, her chin rising ever so slightly.

Brave little elf.

Little elf .

I freeze in my tracks, giving her a double take.

The creature is no older than my youngest brother, still a child in many regards.

No breasts to speak of. No muscle mass or height.

I’ve never paid much attention to what elves look like, but I know enough about them to know this one should be well over six feet tall if she’s reached her Age of Majority .

She hasn’t.

The gray creature beside her is considerably smaller. Even from this distance, I can tell it would only reach my thigh.

Most Hunters kill, capture, and maim their prey indiscriminately, but not me.

I like my prey to fight back. I like to chase them until their lungs heave for breath and their eyes glaze over in that final glint of acceptance.

What I don’t like is chasing children. It’s not sporting or fun.

It’s pathetic, cruel, and way too fucking easy.

It also goes against everything that I believe in.

My lips purse as I near the creatures, considering my options.

The blue elf jumps in front of her companion as if to ward me away, and I let loose a throaty chuckle. “You think you can protect her? A smart elf would run.”

Unhooking my knife, I flash the weapon in front of her. The metal blade gleams in the sunlight, blindingly bright.

Blue stands up straighter, squaring her shoulders as I close the last few steps between us.

“I won’t leave my sister,” she says.

“So you’d rather die with her?”

The creature doesn’t move even when I’m a hair's breadth away and the knife is at her throat. She narrows her gaze at me instead, in a way prey never has before, like she’s imagining our situation in reverse—me at her mercy, her holding the blade.

My heart skips. My thoughts spiral as I envision the same.

What would it look like to hunt this creature when she’s no longer slicked in blood or charred to a near crisp? Oh, she would fight back. Of that, I’m absolutely certain. As an adult in her prime, this elf would pose a very real threat, too.

The idea is more thrilling than it should be.

“Give me your palm,” I growl, my eyes never leaving hers.

She clenches her jaw, and the tip of my blade digs in deeper until silvery-blue blood beads to the surface.

“I said give me your hand.”

“Why?” she asks.

The blood seeps down her throat slowly.

So . . . fucking . . . slowly . . .

I swallow, and it’s like swallowing tree bark.

Snapping forward, I grab Blue’s wrist and yank, lurching her into my chest. She squirms against me as I bend, sinking my teeth into her little palm, injecting my venom deep beneath the skin, into muscle and vein.

Warm blood gushes into my mouth as she yelps and twists, but I drop her long before the bloodlust kicks in.

Her hands will make beautiful gloves one day. But not today.

“That marks you as mine,” I tell her, sheathing my blade. “If another Hunter finds you, tell him your master is Lyrick.”

“No.”

The hackles rise on the back of my neck, but I smile down at her. “Do you know what my people want to do to you, Blue? Are you old enough to have been told?”

She shivers and covers her nonexistent breasts.

“Good. Then you already know what will happen if you don’t have a master when they come.” I pat the top of her pretty head. “I have no interest in that. I want to eat you, and I want you strong enough and old enough to fight back.”

Terror flits across her expression, and without thinking, I riffle through my leather breeches and withdraw the pouch of ossi dust, a needle, and thread. “For your sister.”

I grab Blue’s palm, slowly dragging my tongue along the dotted flesh.

The pain in my stomach is almost unbearable.

My jaw widens involuntarily, my teeth grazing over the sensitive skin one more time.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and pull away.

Dropping the tools inside her palm, I take one step back, then another.

It’s time to go before I do something I’ll regret.

“See you around, Blue.” Spinning on my heels, I wave over my shoulder and disappear behind the foliage. Her angry voice cuts through it.

“My name isn’t Blue!” she spits. “It’s Arden.”

Arden.

“I’ll remember that when I’m tearing through your throat.”