Page 42 of Huntsman
Easing his deadweight against my body, I carry him out of the main room and down the dark hallway leading to the bathrooms. I quickly move to the storage closet at the far end and shove him in. I use his sweatshirt to wipe off the blood on my knife. Shit. Not like he minds. Straightening, I slide the dagger back in the sheath and exit the closet, scanning the shadows, ensuring no one’s giving me any attention before I return to the main part of the warehouse. He should stay hidden until they clear this place out in the morning. And by then, I’ll be long gone.
Turning around, I thread back through the screaming, adrenaline-pumped throng of people, and for a moment, I allow their bloodlust to fuel my own. That kill right there… it wasn’t enough. Barely scratched the surface of the itch, the fucking hunger that gnaws at me. It’s been three days since I popped those two soldiers at my house, and that barely satisfied the need that never fully slept. Even now the sibilant crackle in my blood slowly evaporates, but the residue lingers, demanding another fix, another hit.
As if of its own volition, my gaze darts back to that railed-in platform.
“Fuck.”
It’s empty.
Quickening my stride and using my width and strength, I shove through the mass, scanning the bodies for Eshe.Shit.For someonewho is a fucking princess of the underworld, she moves reckless as fuck—
“Goddamn, bruh. Watch where the fuck you’re goin’. These shoes cost more than your fucking life…”
I jerk my head toward the tall man with short, perfectly styled hair, his slender frame clothed in an expensive, tailored pin-striped suit. The one his parents will be burying him in.
Maybe he reads his death in my eyes because he recoils, the color leaching from his skin.
“Listen, I—I didn’t… I mean, I’m sor—”
“The fuck outta here,” I growl.
He whips around, bumping into several people before disappearing from my sight.
“Damn, that’s impressive. I can’t be a hundred percent certain, but I think ol’ boy just pissed on himself. And all from a look.” Fingers dance down my spine, and I stiffen, both repelled and… and…Fuck.
“Don’t,” I grind out as Eshe comes to stand in front of me, her bright eyes too seeing, too assessing.
I don’t have a memory of fearing much. Not since Miriam died. It’s like seeing her doll-like, crumpled body on that stained floor tore all emotion out of me, including the capacity to be afraid of anything.
But staring down into this woman’s gaze, I have the unprecedented need to glance away.
To… run.
She tsk-tsks, those same thin, elegant fingers that inflicted such sweet agony on my body hovering over my chest—directly above my pierced nipple. “Don’t what?”
She shifts closer to me, her earthy scent wrapping its steely grip around my neck, tightening until I can barely breathe. I’m not here for this. Yet, with just the barest brush of that handful of firm titties against my chest, of those lush thighs against mine, my focus, my fucking purpose, stutters, goes staticky and offline.Suddenly, I’m not in the middle of a warehouse full of death and violence but hurled into a realm out of time and space, where only she and I exist. Where only her spiked, razor-sharp knowledge and my desperation exist.
“Don’t what, Huntsman?” she repeats, tipping her head back. Those disobedient fingers move under my hoodie, and the threat of their touch warms my skin, but they don’t press against my flesh. I’m caught somewhere between thankful and ravenous, and I clench my teeth, locking down the rumble of sound that would reflect that confusion. “Don’t run my fingers over this beautiful skin again? Don’t think about how it felt to watch it split open under my knife?”
She surges to the balls of her feet, dragging her nose up the middle of my chest to the base of my throat, sniffing me like a beast just before it goes for the kill—or the fuck.
My dick jerks against the zipper of my jeans, pressing hard as if trying to get at her. Electric pulses race from my balls up my spine to sizzle in the back of my neck before tracking a return trip down to my throbbing length. It takes every scrap of self-control I possess not to thrust a hand through that mass of dark auburn curls, shove her to the ground, and make her mouth do something about my hard-as-fuck cock.
“Don’t get under this same skin?” she continues in that low, almost-contemplative voice that probes too deep, seeks too far. A voice that vibrates through my clothes to my skin beneath like the touch I’m denying both of us. “Don’t see what you try to hide from me like I’m everyone else?”
Slowly, she sinks back to her feet and tips her head to the side. I expect that dick tease of a mouth to curl into her usual smirk or taunting grin. But her lips are curved into a dark snarl. A light that’s damn maniacal gleams in those gold-and-green eyes.
“You made the mistake of coming for me, Malachi Bowden,” she whispers, but I hear her warning with crystal clear clarity. “And now those consequences are your bad. I warned you about who you are to me, and you chose to follow me anyway, so nowhere we are. Two years. Two fucking years,” she hisses, and I frown at the cryptic words and the narrow-eyed fury twisting her face. But like a switch, in the next moment, her expression clears, and it’s smooth as glass. Almost… pleasant. “Malachi. The Huntsman. The man. The bogeyman. You’re both mine. And I’ll cut the throat of anyone who even looks like they’re thinking of fucking you.” A sigh escapes her, and she slowly shakes her head before rolling upward again and pressing an oddly tender kiss to the underside of my jaw. “You should’ve stayed away.”
Malachi. The Huntsman… You’re both mine.
You should’ve stayed away.
Rage. That’s what should be pouring through me like fire-licked gasoline. Not a fierce need. Not a roaring hunger that screams so loud, she should be reeling back and staring at me in horror, in fear.
Not a yearning so soft, so fragile, it trembles against my sternum with butter-soft wings.
A faint metallic flavor hits my tongue. Blood. I’ve bitten my tongue. The cost of holding back the howl of pain, the snarl of lust, the whimper of need that has nothing to do with an aching dick. My lungs seize, and when they stutter to working order again, she’s gone, melted into the thick masses surrounding us once more. The vacuum we disappeared into for those few precious seconds dissolved, and we’re once again among the living, the real world where she’s my prey, a moving target with my sight dead set in the middle of her chest.
