Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I take deliberate steps, but the crunch under my feet is barely a whisper, despite the woods being so quiet. The scent of pine is the gentle background to this age-old pursuit, but I keep being distracted by the phantom of sweet jasmine perfume. I remember how Kill looked last night when he laughed at my jokes with a glass of champagne against his lips, how tightly he clung to me when I kissed his throat.
A fresh trail farther to my right brings me back to reality. The person who left it has tripped here. There’s a hint of blood in the snow. I hope they feel like prey, that they can sense death breathing down their neck. Even the cold can’t dampen my excitement, because the blood still flowing through my future victim’s veins will be as hot as my own.
Something rustles in the snow-covered bushes ahead, and I sink to my haunches, ready to approach in a lowered stance when my smartwatch buzzes in a pattern announcing an upcoming text message. I stall, because this could be something trivial, like holiday wishes from my network provider, or spam, but curiosity wins as I kneel in the snow, and I pull up my sleeve to read the short bit of text.
Corvus’s name makes me stall, because spam it is not. My cousin wouldn’t bother me with memes about serial killers during my first hunt, so I read on, and a cold sensation spreads in my stomach.
[Something’s off. Your husband isn’t with everyone else], is all the message reads, but the few words make my thoughts desert the hunt, because what the fuck does that mean? Corvus wouldn’t message me like this if he wasn’t considering it a life-or-death situation. Since yesterday, he hasn’t even looked into my eyes.
I switch to the app I’m using to track the whereabouts of the golden choker I put on Killian, and my mouth dries when the map takes me out of the mansion and reveals his location in the big greenhouse. That initially calms me down, because perhaps he just fled there to escape awkward interactions with my family.
I’m tempted to pull my sleeve back over the watch and continue tracking my first prey of the day, but I remain unsettled about the way Corvus worded his message. He mentioned there being something off about the atmosphere, and out of all people I do trust him with the assessment of such things.
My gaze once again settles on the bushes, where a man whose head I was about to take is surely hiding. I have dreamed of this day for so long, but the truth is there will be another hunt next year, and if Killian is in some sort of danger, I will never forgive myself for ignoring my cousin’s message.
With a raspy sigh, I rise to my feet and run back over my own tracks through the deep snow. I no longer attempt to move quietly, to avoid alarming prey, because the hunt is over for me, and if Titus once again reigns supreme and holds it over my head, he better enjoy it, because it’s going to be the last time it happens.
I change direction upon reaching the tree line, and now that I’m moving through untouched snow, my pace slows. The frozen layer keeps breaking under my weight with a loud crunch, but I trudge on, sweating inside my camo outfit, because for all intents and purposes Killian is my husband. He killed a man for me today, and I wouldn’t selfishly neglect his safety when it’s in any doubt.
I’m closing in on my destination when I pick up a shadowy pattern in the sunlit snow to my right. My mind suggests it must be the tracks of some animal, but as my path and the other converge, heading in the same direction, cold sweat covers my back, because the tracks were left by a human.
The greenhouse looms over the hill I’m climbing, and the closer I am, vapor escaping my mouth with each hurried step, the more imposing it seems with its large domed roof and sprawling facade. The window panes reflect the gray sky, making it look like more of a mausoleum than a place where fruit trees and exotic plants thrive even in winter.
I don’t pay any attention to the manicured hedges, speeding up now that I’ve reached a path and am no longer sinking into the snow. I shouldn’t be so nervous. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. And the quiet is in no way surprising either since Killian doesn’t have a tendency to talk to himself.
And yet the hairs on my nape bristle.
Someone better not be fucking with what’s mine, because I’m already in the mood to kill.
I speed up when I spot movement behind the frosted glass, but then Kill screams, and my feet fly through the air.