Page 75 of Hollow

“At least a week. Maybe longer.” I slip my arms around his neck. “The house will be empty. Just me.”

He lowers his head, his mouth hovering just above mine. “That sounds... convenient.”

“I thought so, too,” I whisper against his lips.

When he kisses me, I taste the salt of his skin, the earthiness that clings to him. It’s different from last night’s desperate passion—slower, sweeter, but with the same underlying current of need.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. “I need to go deeper into the woods today. Got to gather some mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?” I raise an eyebrow.

“For the Heathens party this weekend.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve got a lot of people asking for my... island magic.”

“Your island magic,” I repeat, understanding dawning. “You mean?—”

“Makes the night more interesting.”

I think about the herbs he gave me that knocked me out for hours. “I bet they do.”

He steps back, sliding his hands from my waist. “Want to help me look? There’s a spot about a half mile in that grows the best ones this time of year.”

“Lead the way,” I say.

We head deeper into the forest, the light filtering through the canopy in dappled patterns. Damiano points out plants as we go, naming each one, explaining their properties—medicinal, poisonous, hallucinogenic. His knowledge is impressive, his passion for them evident in the way he touches each leaf or petal with reverence.

“So this Heathens party,” I say, stepping carefully over a fallen log. “What exactly is it?”

“It’s hosted by The Vault.” He glances back at me. “Kicks off The Hunt season.”

“So they’re really going through with it early this year,” I say.

He kneels, examining the mushrooms before carefully harvesting them, placing each one in a small cloth bag. “The Hunt brings in a lot of money. Rich people pay serious cash to participate. The masks, the contracts, the luxury baskets afterward.”

“And The Vault organizes all of it?”

“Yeah.” He hands me a bag. “Look for ones like this—cap’s got to be this specific color. If it’s any darker, it’s the poisonous variety.”

I kneel beside him, studying the mushroom he shows me. “So the party is what, some kind of pre-game for The Hunt?”

“More like a rite of passage.” His voice lowers, even though we’re alone in the woods. “Everyone wears masks. Tribal drums, bonfires, dancing. The potential hunters and prey size each other up. By midnight, the red bulbs are distributed, and The Hunt soon follows.”

“And you provide the mushrooms to make it all more... intense.”

He nods, not looking up from his work. “For those who want it.”

We work in silence for a while, the forest quiet around us except for the occasional bird call or rustling in the underbrush. “Will you be there?” I ask. “At the party?”

“Have to be. I provide the goods.” His eyes meet mine, serious now. “But you shouldn’t go anywhere near it, Briar. Not with Viktor still looking for Liam.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say, though part of me wonders what it would be like to see this island ritual up close.

“Good.” He places another mushroom in his bag. “Because The Hunt this year... something feels off about it. They’re changing the rules, opening it up to non-members. It’s unpredictable.”

“And that’s bad?”

“The Hunt needs rules.” He sits back on his heels, pushing hair away from his face with the back of his hand. “Without boundaries...” He focuses on the mushrooms again.

I hold up one I’ve found. “Is this the right kind?”

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