Page 4 of The Hunt
“So bratty.” I stalk forward, my bare feet silent against the cold ground. The tension coils tighter as she sprints toward another tree, hiding behind the thick trunk. Her head peeks out from around it a second later, gasping when her red eyes land on my cock. Immediately, her hands grip the bark, sharp nails digging in, and I use her distraction to my advantage.
On her next blink, I’m close enough to skim fingers across her plump mouth. Warm. Soft.
My pretty girl trembles, yet her expression is defiant. “You’re making this too easy, my love. Lost your nerve?”
Her laughter rings out, faint and wicked. “Or maybe I’m letting you think you're winning.”
“Then prove it.”
“As you wish, My Lord.” Stepping forward, Gabriella opens her mouth and pulls my fingers into her mouth, my nails drawing blood on her bottom lip. The sight is obscenely beautiful. My wife is my perfect match in every single way. “Now make it hurt.”
She steps back, and my fingers drop, dragging down her chin and to the edge of her slip before she turns and runs away again. This time, though, my pretty girl doesn’t look back.
Her low giggles fade into the rain, but the echo that answers is mine.
Low. Certain. Feral.
“Always, my pretty girl.”
2
GABRIELLA
TWENTY FOUR HOURS AGO…
The air inside my sanctum hums. It’s thick with incense, candle smoke, and memories—knowledge passed down from generations and life experiences that carved different paths for the three Wiccan royals. I mated a vampire, my twin an alpha wolf, and our brother—the warlock king—he’s tied to his beautiful fae in every way a man loves a woman.
We’re happy. The universe blessed us, and yet no amount of time will ever fill the hole our parents’ death left behind. There’s no surpassing or healing that, but every small contact with their spirits temporarily soothes the dull ache.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply as my mother’s favorite scent fills the space.
Patchouli and lavender; it wraps around me like her arms once did. A sense of warmth and comfort that takes me back to my youth and all the hours we spent learning from her. Lessons on growing herbs and creating healing tonics— learning to protect our lands with perimeter wards.
Baking and talking…daydreaming of the future.
Dozens of candles burn low, wax pooling over black glass holders. Their flames sway, bending toward the circle carved into the stone floor. Salt, ash, and two identical drops of blood bind the space: Isabella’s and mine.
Across from me, Isa sits on a cushion, draped in white, her fingers poised above our father’s grimoire. She’s a bit distracted, but with Isa, it’s best not to ask. Instead, you let her think and see without interruptions.
Three stones sit within the circle, while the altar is overflowing with offerings. There’s an old record player crooning father’s favorite songs, while a tray of my mother’s beloved sweets sits beside large flower arrangements with her preferred blossoms.
The sudden breeze inside closed quarters makes me smile. I feel them.
They’ve never crossed. Our parents chose to remain in limbo, forever a part of our lives.
Isa looks up then, the glow from the candles making her look almost holy. She loves that. “Well, this is interesting.”
“What is?” The lightest touch flutters through my hair, as if fingers were running through the strands, and it reminds me of Mom weaving daisies in my hair. Always so gentle, you barely felt it.
My sister doesn’t answer. Instead, her eyes get glassy, gold bleeding through her blue irises, bright and burning, while her lips whisper something low. She also opens the grimoire, fingers running through pages until landing on a specific one.
The Blessing Of First Light
By first light and last breath, we welcome thee.
May your heart burn true, your blood run strong, and love guard your path until the stars forget our names.
The words shimmer faintly on the page, as if the ink remembers every time it’s been read aloud.
