But then he yanks me closer until I lose my balance. He steals the apple, bites into the red flesh, and chews around his cheeky grin. “Better luck next time.”
My eyes lock on the three freckles. They’re darker now, weathered by sun and time and warped by the scars. Scars that came after his hand was crushed.
It can’t be him.
Impossible.
But my treacherous heart thunders against my ribs, recognizing something in his presence that my mind refuses to acknowledge. The way he moves, the subtle tilt of his head when he listens—echoes of a boy I once knew.
“Drayven?” I whisper.
“Who?” He glowers and lifts to stand, wipes the blood from the arrow, and returns it to the quiver at his hip. Drizzle pitter-patters on his hood. He sends a lingering stare my way, deepens his scowl, and prowls away along the wall.
My heart sinks. I was so sure… maybe the shadows are playing with my eyes, or?—
A beastly growl rumbles nearby.
What was that?
“Shit.” The Huntsman quickly nocks an arrow and jogs back toward me, scanning the surrounding darkness. “Go.”
His bowstring creaks as it’s pulled taut, and he aims behind me. “Don’t make me tell you twice,” he shouts. “Godsdammit, run!”
A nightmarish creature crawls over the opposite wall on disjointed legs. Its claws click against the masonry, making a rattling sound. Glowing red eyes lock on me and hold.
My heart leaps into my throat. My gaze darts left and right. Which way?
“Left!” the Huntsman barks.
The beast jumps off the wall to our right. The Huntsman leaps across the expanse to meet it, his bow twanging as he releases. A red eye blinks out. The monster’s screech is one of fury, not so much one of pain. That’s all I register, and then I’m pushing all my energy into my legs.
I run hard and don’t look back. I run until the torchlight disappears, and I am shrouded in black. Gods, I hope it’s this dark because my eyes are still adjusting. Who knows what Kasaros does with this maze?
I feel along the wall and keep going.
Don’t listen to the sounds. Don’t think about the guttural snarls and squelching thuds. Or the male grunts of pain growing smaller, softer the further I go.
He’s not Drayven. I owe him nothing.
Chapter 7
Florienne
The forgotten temples hold secrets best left buried beneath the roses.”
—WARNING CARVED AT AMARA’S RUINS
I’m unsure how long I stumble in the darkness, blindly tracing the wall for direction. Every sound makes my heart race. Rocks rattle when I trip. A creature howls in the distance. A woman’s agonized cry pierces the night—or was that a cry of abandon?
Just when I think I know the game, it shifts.
This is the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had, and that includes the night I spent at the bottom of a well.
I touch something sticky—a cobweb. Thunder claps, and I almost scream but bite my lip and force myself to breathe.
The spiders aren’t on me.
Are they?
