What. The. Fuck.
He’s wrong. I don’t want this. I’ve never wanted this. What happened before was a mistake. A product of grief and pain and manipulation.
But my body…my body is humming with a terrifying energy. The thrill of being hunted.
I hear him behind me.
At least…IthinkI do.
The rhythmic crash of boots through the undergrowth echoes in my ears, louder than my own breath. My vision blurs in the dark as moonlight filters through the thick canopy above, casting broken shadows across the forest floor.
A hollow log. A thicket of thorns. Somewhere—anywhere—to hide.
I dive behind a fallen tree, the bark scraping against my bare skin. Just as my feet brace against the mossy ground, something snaps beneath me.
A hiss of rope through air?—
And then I’m flying.
Pain sears up my leg as the snare yanks tight around my ankle, flipping me upside down. The world spins violently. My hair brushes the dirt. Blood rushes to my head in a dizzying pulse.
The knife clutched in my hand feels useless now. I writhe, trying to reach the knot, trying to breathe.
“Look at you,” a voice purrs from the dark.
My blood turns to ice.
Raze’s laughter rumbles from somewhere deeper in the trees. “Told you she wouldn’t make it far.”
They’re both here?
My stomach coils as Priest steps from the shadows, unhurried. He’s not winded. Not even breathing hard.
“Let me down, you son of a bitch,” I snarl, swinging hard, trying to build momentum, trying to aim the blade at the rope. But the motion sends a lightning bolt of pain through my ribs.
He circles me slowly, eyes dragging across every inch of my body.
“No. I like this view.”
His fingers skim up my inner thigh. I flinch, lashing out with the knife.
He catches my wrist mid-air, grip locking like steel. He squeezes and the blade slips from my fingers, falling to the forest floor with a dullthud.
“Tsk, tsk, kitten.”
He leans in, his face just inches from mine. The world’s upside down, but the menace in his eyes is perfectly clear.
“All that training from your father, andthisis the best you can do? Pathetic.”
“Go to hell.” I thrash, kicking at him—but the trap holds fast.
He crouches. “Igrew upin hell, Arlo. Fucked the devil. Stole his crown. And made hell my fucking home.”
His other hand slides along my torso, cups my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. It tightens instantly, a jolt of unwanted heat shooting through me.
Grabbing the back of my head, he yanks me towards him.
“Do you know what the most painful part of all this is? Your body. It knows it’s mine. It knows I’m the one who broke it. The only one who can put it back together. Even when you fight it, even when you scream, it still responds. It still sings for me.”
