My whole body is on high alert, my muscles tightening, ready to give chase.
My twin and I have excellent night vision. It’s one of the reasons we’re so deadly in the dark. My gift allows me to pick out the details of the runner. She’s got a wealth of curly hair tumbling down her back, and her pale legs flash as she pelts across the lawn, away from the Lodge.
I track her until she disappears into the tree line, every instinct in me telling me to run after her.
St. James smokes his cigar, watching me with amusement. I’m gripping the railing hard enough to get splinters.
“Who is she?” I growl.
“A waitress. She typically works at Inferno, but I assigned her other duties tonight.” Godsdamn St. James. He noticed me watching the redhead and lured both of us here. He has something planned.
“What duties?”
“She’s yours for the night. If you can catch her.” His gray eyes glitter in the moonlight. St. James likes edge play. That’s why he owns multiple BDSM clubs, including the Lodge.
And if he knows everything, he knows there’s nothing I like better than a wild, primal hunt.
“She signed a contract and everything and is being well paid to run from you in the woods. She gets a bonus if she eludes youpast midnight. More if she makes it until dawn.” He gives me a satisfied look, the closest thing he has to a smile. “I doubt it’ll take you that long to hunt her down.”
“You mean…” The beast is roaring in my chest. My chest is swelling, my lungs preparing to pump like bellows and get me ready to run after her. My prey.
“Welcome to the Hunt. You have free rein of the property until dawn. And when you catch her, she’s all yours.” He pulls out a black mask—a simple hood with eye holes and a white skull painted on the front. It’s what I wear for ritual executions. He hands it to me and nods to the stairs to the left of us that lead down to the lawn. “I told her you’d give her a ten-minute head start.”
Elodie
I dash between the trees,racing with my arms outstretched to push through the branches, but briars scratch at my bare limbs and face.
A full moon shines brightly overhead, helping me see my way through this thicket, but I know it also illuminates the dress I’m wearing. The white is the opposite of camouflage. I might as well be spotlit on a stage.
The jerk who hired me made me put on this white dress. Luckily, it’s the end of summer, and the nights aren’t that cold. But I’m barefoot, too. It’s obvious I’m supposed to fulfill some specific fantasy. This is the Hunt, and I’m the poor, helpless prey. Half-naked, dressed like a virgin, and ready for sacrifice.
Whatever. As long as I get paid.
Waitressing isn’t enough to get me and my sister out of the mess her ex created. I need the thousand dollars Mr. St. James offered me to take this gig. He also dangled a bonus if I avoid getting caught before midnight. He wants me incentivized to give the patron a real hunt.
If I last until midnight, I get ten thousand dollars. But if I make it until morning, he’ll give me a hundred thousand in unmarked bills.
That’s the goal. A thousand dollars will help our problems. Ten thousand will fix them.
One hundred thousand will change our lives. I have to keep from getting caught.
I strip off the white dress as I run. I rip it into pieces and hang one strip on a low branch, where it hovers in the air, suspended like a ghost.
I weave through the towering oaks, leaving scraps of my dress on the branches of the smaller elms and holly trees. Red herrings to throw the hunter off my scent.
But now I’m naked. And my pale skin is a beacon in the night.
The woods end, and I race through the long grasses of the lawn. My feet slide into mud, and I flail to keep from falling. The black glimmer in front of me must be a small pond.
Behind me, back at the Lodge, there’s a blast of a horn. The long, low note sends chills up my arms. That must be the signal St. James told me about. He promised me that I’d know when the hunter headed out after me.
I’m running out of time.
The Hunt has begun.
Jaeger
I jog down the stairs and head for the forest. The only sign of St. James is the burning end of his cigar. I don’t give a damn that he’s watching. My whole focus is on the sweet scent hovering in the air—the scent of my prey.
