“Ah the love sick couple is reunited,” the ringleader mutters as he raises a device into the air.
Harsh lights flicker on, blinding me until I blink away the spots.
Everything is worse.
The blood running on the floor from Ryker’s wrists makes my heart leap up into my throat. It’s pooling. A river of red.
“Stop,” I beg him. “You’re bleeding.”
It’s almost like he’s in a trance. His shoulders shifting against the restraints, his legs flexing and relaxing as he works the ankle restraints too.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man says looking toward the corner. “I’m Vesuvius and I present you with tonight’s contestants.”
When he sweeps his arms toward us, I turn to solid ice in the chair.
“Behold, the flower and the dragon,” he says, voice almost giddy, his sickness even more glaring.
“Betting is now open. But we’ve got something special for you tonight. A little treat before the hunt.”
Bile climbs my throat as my mind races. Hunt. Betting. He’s clearly talking to an audience. Or pre-recording something.
Ryker clears his throat, drawing my attention. He narrows his lashes then glances to his left. That’s when I see the men with weapons.
Oh my god.Hunt. Hunters. Hunting.
Huntinghumans.
There are six men assembling guns, hunting bows, checking ammunition and arrows, loading packs. They are all wearing matching gray gear, with a single reflective slash on one sleeve.
Terror pours through me, rendering my heart useless.
My head swims, blackness fuzzing my vision as my head lolls forward. All the muscles in my neck are suddenly useless.
“No way,” the man says, slithering back toward me. “You need a little more pain to keep you conscious, my dandelion.”
“I’m not your stupiddandelion.”
“I don’t know,” he sucks his teeth and I have to actively suppress the urge to vomit.
“That yellow dress, those freckles, you make me think of summer fucks in the grass.”
I hiss at him, bared teeth and all.
Not sure who I am any more, but I know I’m not the woman they drugged in that wreck. She’s gone forever.
He snatches my hair, wrenching my neck. “Let’s see what your man is made of.”
One of his assistants appears when he motions toward my wrists.
The man emerges from the shadows, his eyes amused inside the opening in his mask. But unlike the ringleader’s eyes, these are water hazel and I recognize them instantly.
“Trevor!” I gasp.
He clamps a hand over my mouth. “Shutup.”
Seconds later I’m free, ankles and hands, and I’m yanked to my feet by a fistful of hair.
A squeak rips from my throat.
