Something is about to be.
The five-minute gap between horns feels like an eternity. Around me, the other hunters are laughing, joking, making bets on who they'll catch first. Dmitri is eyeing number seven, ablonde who went left toward the fountain. Anatoly is watching number two disappear into the hedge maze.
I'm watching the tree line where she vanished, counting seconds.
The second horn sounds.
I move.
The other hunters scatter in different directions, their red masks bobbing through the darkness. I ignore them. My focus has narrowed to a single point: the space between trees where I last saw midnight blue and shimmering gold.
The grass is damp beneath my shoes, soaking through expensive leather. I don't care. The grounds blur past, gardens giving way to wild grass, wild grass giving way to forest floor. My eyes adjust to the darkness, picking out shapes and movement.
There.
A flash of gold, the accent on her dress catching moonlight.
She's fast, I'll give her that. And smart enough to stay off the paths, where her footprints would be obvious. She's moving through the underbrush parallel to a trail, using the trees for cover.
But she's leaving a trail anyway. Broken branches. Disturbed leaves. The faint impression of bare feet in soft earth.
And something else.
I stop, crouch down, touch my fingers to the ground.
Blood.
Just a few drops, but enough. She cut her foot on something. A rock, a root, doesn't matter. Now I don't need to track her movements. I just need to follow the blood.
In the distance, I hear sounds that confirm what I already know about The Hunt. Laughter. Moans. The soft cries ofwomen who ran just far enough to make the capture feel earned before surrendering to eager hands.
My cock stirs at the thought, but I push the arousal aside.
Not yet.
First, I need answers. I need to know who she is, why she wants Troskoy dead, and what the hell she thought was going to happen after she poisoned one of the Bratva's most connected bosses.
Then, maybe, I'll let myself want her the way my body is demanding.
The blood trail leads deeper into the forest, away from the sounds of other couples. She's putting distance between herself and the Hunt, probably hoping she can hide until the bell and then slip away to claim her prize.
She doesn't understand that I'm not like the other hunters.
I don't give up.
I don't get distracted.
And I never, ever lose my prey.
The trail ends at an old gazebo, half-hidden by overgrown vines and flowering bushes. It's a remnant from when the hotel was first built, decades ago. Most people have forgotten it exists.
But she found it.
I can see her through the gaps in the vines, pressed against the far railing, her back to me. Her shoulders are heaving from exertion. One hand grips the wooden rail. The other is pressed against her chest, right where her dress dips low.
Right where I'd bet money there's a scar.
I step onto the gazebo floor.
