My head throbbedas I tried to focus, my fingers fumbling uselessly with the edge of the bedcover in the lavish guest room cum prison cell I’d been given. What was I supposed to do? I wished I had my phone, but of course they weren’t about to give me that. Speaking ofthey, it had been eerily quiet for the last few hours. I was brought some food—a cheese sandwich, muffin and juice, along with plenty of bottled water—then nothing.
Thoughts of Alexander swirled in my mind. I hadn't counted on the attraction resurfacing, on the way his touch had ignited something in me I had long thought dead. It had been a mistake, coming here alone, thinking I could pull this off. But now, I was in deep trouble...
The door crashed open, and two masked men surged into the room. I reacted instinctively, grabbing the heavy bedside lamp and swinging it at the first attacker. He dodged with practiced ease, catching my wrist and twisting until I dropped my makeshift weapon.
"Don't fight, bitch," he growled through his mask. "We've got orders to bring you out intact, but intact doesn't mean unharmed."
I spat in the eyehole of his mask. "Fuck you. Who are you even?"
The second man laughed, the sound muffled but unmistakably amused as they dragged me from the room. I catalogued everything—their height, build, the way they moved. Not men I recognised. They looked … different. More like independent professionals, brought in for whatever this was.
They hustled me through the house, avoiding the main areas where staff might have been present, using service corridors I hadn't known existed, even though the place seemed desolate. How odd.
The estate was a maze, and I quickly lost track of our route until suddenly, we were outside, the cool night air hitting my face.
They dragged me into a clearing at the edge of a thick copse of trees. One of the men checked his watch, then shoved me forward with unexpected force.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the night.
I stood frozen, mind racing as I assessed the situation. The two men, the isolated location, the command—a setup, obviously, but for what?
"Are you deaf?" the man snarled, pulling a handgun from his waistband and firing a shot into the air. The crack of the bullet made me flinch. "I said RUN!"
Self-preservation kicked in, and I sprinted into the trees, my mind working furiously. This was no simple abduction. There was a greater purpose, a game being played with rules I didn't yet understand.
I ran for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, pushing through the dense undergrowth, searching forany sign of the estate's boundaries. But each time I thought I had found an exit—a gate, a break in the trees, a service road—I encountered men in tactical gear, their faces hidden behind masks, silently redirecting me back into the hunting grounds with raised weapons.
The entire perimeter was locked down. I was trapped.
A familiar laugh floated through the trees, carried on the night breeze. I stopped, my pulse pounding in my ears as I strained to listen.
What— Did I hear that right? Beatrice?
Before I could process the implications, speakers hidden among the trees crackled to life.
"Good evening, my darlings." Beatrice's voice purred through the night, dripping with malice disguised as honey. "Welcome to tonight's entertainment."
I pressed myself against a tree trunk, scanning the darkness for cameras, for any sign of observation.
"You're wondering what this is all about," Beatrice continued. "It's quite simple, really. This is a hunt, and you, my dears, are the prey."
The words sent ice through my veins. The Hunt was legend spoken of in hushed whispers in our world, a practice so brutal that even my father—a man who had ordered executions without blinking—spoke of it with disgust.
"When the sun rises, if you're still breathing—which I doubt—Ronan Moore will sign over control of Ashford Estate to me in exchange for his precious fakebrother'slife. And the O'Malleys? Well, they'll be easy pickings. My husband might be a fool, but he knows which side his bread will be buttered once I’m through with this."
Beatrice's laugh echoed through the trees again. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice your little scheme, Aoife? Seducing Alexander to manipulate your way into the Flanagan family? Is itreally revenge you want, or more gain? Amateur move, darling. You should have taken me more seriously—we could have been partners instead of... this."
Anger flared hot in my chest. I had underestimated Beatrice, dismissed her as Patrick O'Brien's trophy wife rather than the calculating viper she clearly was.
"So run, my pretty little foxes," Beatrice's voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "Run while you can. My hunters are eager to begin, and I've promised them quite the bonus for making this entertaining."
The speakers went silent, leaving only the sounds of my ragged breathing and the distant rustling of leaves.
A scream shattered the night—male, agonized, cut short with terrifying suddenness. Then another, different voice. Closer.
The hunt had begun.
I pushed away from the tree and ran, no longer searching for an exit but for a weapon, shelter, or anything that might give me a chance to survive until dawn. I had no illusions about Beatrice's intentions—even if Alexander and I lasted until sunrise, Beatrice had no reason to keep us alive once she had what she wanted.
