Page 17 of His to Hunt

I don't scream. I don't cry. I don't look back.

I keep running.

Because if I stop, even for a second, I know what I'll hear.

The sound of footsteps that don't belong to me.

The forest grows denser as I push deeper into its blackness. The fabric of my dress catches on low-hanging branches, each snag threatening to slow me down. I don't hesitate—I reach down and tear the fabric higher, the expensive material giving way with a satisfying rip.

My thighs are exposed now, but modesty is a luxury I can't afford. Not that this dress offered any in the first place.

Speed is all that matters.

My discarded heels are long behind me, abandoned in those first crucial moments of flight. The earth feels alive beneath my bare feet—cold, damp, uneven. Each step sends shocks of sensation up my legs, awakening instincts I didn't know I possessed. My toes grip roots and soil, finding purchase where polished shoes would have failed me.

Moonlight filters weakly through the canopy, breaking across the forest floor in uneven streaks of silver. I stay low, slipping between pockets of darkness, shrinking myself into the landscape. The torn hem of my dress flutters around my thighs as I move, no longer restricting my stride.

My breath comes in controlled bursts now. The panic has dulled, replaced by something steadier. Sharper. My lungs burn with every breath, my calves scream with each step, and the collar at my throat never lets me forget what's waiting at the end of this run. It pulses against my skin, synced with the beat of something I'm not ready to name.

I adjust my path, veering away from the obvious trail. The beaten track is a trap, too easily followed. Instead, I forge my way through underbrush and between tightly clustered trunks, leaving as little trace as possible.

The forest floor begins to slope upward. I push harder, using my hands to pull myself higher when the incline steepens. Elevation means advantage with the ability to see what pursues me, to plan my next move rather than simply react.

But the higher ground offers no comfort. In the distance, through gaps in the trees, I catch glimpses of other women. Some running, some already caught. Their fear isn't like mine.There's a rhythm to it, a choreography they understand. They know the steps to this dance.

I don't.

The only certainty I have is movement. As long as I keep moving, I'm still free. As long as I don't stop, I still have choices.

So I run. Through the moonlight. Over stone and root. Past ancient trees that have witnessed a hundred Hunts before mine and will stand sentinel for a hundred more after I'm gone.

I don't look back. Don't waste breath on prayers or pleas. I simply run, my bare feet finding their own wisdom in the dark.

But deep down, beneath the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears, I know the truth. No matter how fast I run, no matter how clever my path, the forest has already chosen its victor. And it isn't me.

Nine

BECKETT

The woods are silent tonight.

Not the usual silence of forest and night—the distant calls of nocturnal birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, the soft whisper of wind through leaves.

This is a waiting silence. A hunting silence. The kind that settles when predators move through the trees.

I adjust the mask against my face, the bone-white ceramic cool against my skin. The skull's empty eyes limit my peripheral vision, forcing me to turn my head more deliberately, to be more conscious of my movements.

It's intentional—part of the ritual. The Hunt isn't just about catching; it's about transformation.

Once the mask is on, we're no longer men with names and reputations and responsibilities. We're hunters. Pure. Primal. Free from the constraints of society and its endless rules.

Except I've never been that simple. Not even in the Hunt.

Sebastian appears at my side, his own mask gleaming dullyin the moonlight. "You're actually going through with it," he observes, voice muffled slightly by the carved bone covering his face.

I don't answer.

"You know what they're saying, right? That you've finally lost your edge. That you've let a girl get under your skin."

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