Page 67 of Christmas With The Kings
And to think—I’d given Bash the nickname of the Torturer. Clearly, I’d underestimated the Blade.
The soft rumble of the engine cut through my thoughts, leaving only the ticking sound of the cooling metal. The silence hit harder than I expected.After the hum of the tires and the low vibration of the car for so long, it felt strange—almost too quiet.
My skin prickled beneath the blindfold, the thin strip of fabric still warm where it rested against my temples. A whimper escaped my throat as I tried and failed quite epically to uncurl myself from my reclined position. My entire body had turned to Jello.
You could say that I had a newfound respect for my not so gentle giant.
“Don’t move,” he hissed.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered, laying back.
My brain had been too befuddled to think about the card I pulled. But now that we were sitting at whatever destination he’d taken me to—it consumed me. So lost in the thought, I failed to even realize he’d gotten out of the car.
It was only when my door opened, and cold air rushed in that I returned to reality. I bit my bottom lip. Then there was warmth and his steady hands reaching for me. His movements were quiet.
Aside from the initial command he’d given, he remained quiet. He lifted me easily, my head resting against his shoulder. The world swayed as he walked, his boots crunching underfoot.
I could sense the shift in terrain as he left the gravel path. The smell of pine and damp earth hit. Somewhere nearby, water trickled—a stream maybe—and an owl hooted, low and haunting. He still hadn’t spoken, and I didn’t dare break the spell. The mystery hung thick between us—where were we? What was waiting in the dark ahead?
When he finally stopped, the air felt different—open, wider. A clearing? My pulse kicked harder.
He set me down. My boots brushed against packed earth and what sounded like brittle grass. I could hear his breathing behind me. It carried an intensity, and there was an energy to it, a charge that made the fine hairs on my arms lift.
Every sound felt amplified: the rustle of branches, the faint sounds of nature, even the beat of my own heart thudding in my ears. Then his hands were at the back of my neck, fingers finding the knot of the blindfold.
The fabric loosened, falling away, and the world rushed back in. Moonlight poured through the trees, silvering everything it touched. The clearing wasn’t large—maybe twenty feet across—but it looked almost enchanted. Frost glittered faintly on the grass. The dark silhouettes of pines ringed us, their tops swaying in the faintest wind.
I blinked against the dimness, trying to get my bearings, but my focus went straight to him. He stood a few feet away, with an unreadable look. He held a backpack in his hand. Where he’d gotten it, I had no idea.
The night made him look different—wilder, sharper, his breath visible in soft clouds.
“Ivan?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, not yet. But he tilted his head, like he was taking me in—every breath, every tremor, every piece of me that had no idea what came next. He slipped the backpack on and adjusted it.
A shiver ran through me, part chill, part something else entirely.
“Run,” he barked.
Kinsley
The sound of that little three letter word sliced through the night. Low, controlled, and threaded with something dark enough to make my knees weaken.
For half a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. My pulse stuttered, caught between disbelief and the spark of recognition that bloomed like fire in my chest. Then it hit me—what he meant, what he was doing—and the air rushed out of my lungs in a shaky exhale.
The Hunter card.
“Ivan?”
He didn’t answer.
“One hundred,” he began, his tone calm, deliberate. “Ninety-nine.”
Oh, God. He was serious.
I spun on my heel, the forest opening up before me in streaks of silver and shadow. My boots crunched against the frost-hardened ground as I bolted forward, branches whispering against my dress. The chill bit at my cheeks, but I didn’t care. My body moved on instinct, powered by adrenaline and something dangerously close to exhilaration.
Behind me, his voice carried through the trees—steady, unhurried.
