Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
My heart starts hammering against my ribs. I turn and start walking faster, taking turns at random, no longer caring if I get more lost. Distance from whoever’s following me seems more important.
I round a corner and find myself in a small circular clearing I don’t recognize. Multiple paths branch off from it like spokes on a wheel. I pick one without hesitation, moving as quickly as I can without running.
The footsteps speed up, too. The whistle sounds again, almost playful.
Oh fuck this.
I start running, no longer caring about the noise I’m making. My lungs burn almost immediately, my crappy body reminding me it’s not built for running anymore. Fear is a powerful motivator.
I take another turn, and another. The fog gets thicker with each step, or maybe that’s my vision going dark as my lungs fail to get enough oxygen.
Something moves through the hedge to my right, someone taking a shortcut through the plants themselves, branches snapping as they force their way through.
I must stop, for a second. Just to catch my breath. I lean against the hedge wall, trying to be quiet despite the desperate heaving of my chest.
The footsteps and breaking branches stop, too.
Then a figure steps out of the fog ahead of me. The bone-white mask of a stag skull covers his face, antlers rising above his head like a crown. The Hunt mask. I freeze, terror washing through me.
The whistle comes again, this time from the masked figure. He tilts his head, studying me.
I try to run, but he’s too fast. He closes his hand around my arm, above the elbow, yanking me back.
Chapter 7
Briar
“Whoa, hey, relax.” The mask muffles his voice, and he pulls it off with his free hand to reveal Liam Bastian’s face. His smile looks almost friendly. “Sorry if I scared you. Just having a little fun with the whole Hunt theme.”
“What do you want?” I try to sound confident, but I sound breathless and weak.
“Nothing bad,” he says, releasing my arm but staying close. “Just saw you slip away from the party. Thought you might need company.” His tone is casual now, like we’re just two people who ran into each other. “I brought this for the party,” he adds, gesturing at the mask. “Pretty authentic, right?”
“I’m fine.” I straighten, trying to look stronger than I feel. “I just needed some air.”
“In the maze? At night?” He takes another step closer. I can smell alcohol on him. Way too strong, meaning he’s been doing more than only drinking. “That seems dangerous for someone in your... condition.”
The way he says “condition” makes my skin crawl. Like I’m dirty somehow because of it. I also hate that clearly the people of the island are talking about me. Everyone seems to know of my “condition”.
“I’m heading back now.” I try to move past him, but he shifts, blocking my path completely. “Excuse me.”
He shoots his hand out and grabs my arm just above the elbow. “Don’t be in such a hurry. The party’s not going anywhere.”
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Let go of me.”
“Or what?” His smile widens, showing too many teeth like a predator. “You’ll run? We both know you can’t get very far. Not with those fucked-up lungs of yours.”
Fear turns my blood to ice. This isn’t merely some drunk guy being creepy. This is deliberate. Planned.
“People know I’m out here. They’ll come looking for me.”
He laughs. “No, they won’t. Everyone’s too wasted to notice you’re gone. And I saw how Damiano and Flint were watching you. But your two guard dogs are busy fucking each other somewhere else in this maze. I saw them go in earlier.”
So I was right about Damiano and Flint, but that doesn’t help me now.
I try again to wrench my arm free. This time, he releases me, but only to slam me hard against the hedge wall. The branches stab into my back through my thin dress. Before I can recover, he’s pressed against me, one hand gripping my throat, the other fumbling with the hem of my dress.
“I wanted to play a little Hunt game since I first saw you at the dock,” he growls, his breath hot and sour against my face. “All fragile and breakable looking. The whistle, the chase, the catch. That’s why I brought the mask. You’d make perfect prey.”
Panic floods my system, and I struggle against him, but he’s too strong, too solid. His hand tightens around my throat, enough to make spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“Stop fighting,” he says, managing to get my button undone. “Prey always says no at first. But we both know girls like you don’t get a lot of action.”
He slides his hand under my dress, rough and invasive. I try to scream, but his grip on my throat tightens, cutting it off. Tears spring to my eyes, partly from lack of oxygen, partly from rage and helplessness.