Chapter 23
Damen
The snow is still fresh beneath my boots, barely marked but for a trail of staggered footprints I’ve been following for ten minutes now.
Whoever they belong to is injured or stupid—either way, they’ll be mine soon.
My lungs are full of frost-tinged air, my hands steady on the crossbow slung low at my side.
The thrill is hot in my veins. This is what I was made for, what I’ve been brought up to do.
Unlike my jobs, which involve a lot of intel-gathering and waiting, this is pure hunting.
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.
With my crossbow raised and ready to shoot, I dash in through an open door on one end of the structure. My outfit is designed to make little noise, so when I enter the damp warmth of the greenhouse, I can hear a male voice with frightening clarity.
“I told you I will hunt you down once I’m out of my cage. Happy to see me?”
I recognize that voice. Daryl. The fucking bastard.
Killian gives a soft cry, and I hear shuffling as I dash past the palm trees with my heart in my throat.
Kill is on the floor, a crossbow bolt protruding from his shoulder as he crawls, leaving a trail of blood.
I’m about to shoot the man headed his way without thinking about it, but then he kneels on top of Kill.
He tries to punch my baby in the face, but Kill raises his arm in time to shield himself.
The blow to his arm must hurt like fuck anyway.
No matter how it boils my blood, I can’t pull the trigger while they’re scuffling. It’s too risky.
I move like a ghost, with a hunting knife in my hand. Fast, silent, and filled with so much rage I enter the realm of the living.
His dirty fist is about to strike my husband again when I sink in my blade between his ribs, then smash the grip of the crossbow against the back of his head.
Daryl howls, sliding off Killian like an injured pig.
He reaches for his own crossbow, but I punch him so hard he loses it for a moment.
My instinct is to sink my canines into his throat and let blood flow, but his presence here cannot be accidental.
He came armed, which means he’s either killed one of the hunters and stumbled on Killian by accident or was told where to find his victim.
My gaze captures the colorful lights draped over a bush growing in a pot next to us, and I hold the bastard down while tugging on the cable. I’d put the knife against his neck for the interrogation, but it’s stuck in his damn back.
I rip the cable out of the bush and wrap it around his neck, then tug on it hard, dragging Daryl over the floor as he chokes.
He leaves a trail of blood, struggling against me weakly despite his size, but he’s also losing lots of blood.
I don’t know how much time I have. My blade might have hit a vital organ.
It must have ripped out of him at some point, because I find it in a pool of blood right next to the bastard’s arm. As soon as the knife is in my hand, I let him breathe but keep my weapon at his throat.
Now that I have him secured, I allow myself a brief glance Killian’s way. He’s obviously in pain but can still move and nods at me in reassurance. Good.
I bare my teeth and lean over Daryl, forcing myself to not stab him to death right away. “Whoever set you up to this lied. You were all poisoned before we let you out, and you will die whether you fulfill this last-minute hit or not. Your employer is laughing at you as we speak!”
Daryl squints at me as realization stabs through his dumb fucking face. “He promised me freedom…” he utters between one gasp and another.
“Well, he lied. I promise you a quick death instead of hours of suffering in your own shit and vomit.”
He takes his time chewing through all this, but when I hear Killian stifling a sob, his time is up. I press the knife against Daryl’s throat.
“So what will it be?”
“…Titus. He gave me the crossbow. Told me where to go.”
A part of me already knew this, but it’s a level of betrayal I did not want to believe. Yet here it is, delivered from the horse’s mouth.
Furious, I grab the knife and stab Daryl’s temple with the force of my anger. He shudders, stirs, and finally stills.
I feel dirty.
“Kill,” I mumble, crawling off the dead bastard and hurrying to my husband’s side. “Come. You need the doctor.”
“What… happened? He… he shot me,” he utters as I try to remain calm at the sight of a bolt sticking out of his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
I pick him up, bracing my heart for the cry of pain that’s about to come out of that sweet mouth, but we need to go.
Killian whimpers, and I allow myself a little peck on his cheek as I drag myself to my feet. “We were betrayed. But you’ll be fine. The doctor is ready in case something goes wrong during the hunt. I’m so sorry, my darling,” I add breathlessly, stumbling toward the open doors.
I can’t believe this happened.
Titus has always been a prideful piece of shit, but I never thought he’d play this dirty.
It goes against all Van der Horn principles. Killian is family. He even proved himself today so bravely. But no, it wasn’t enough.
Sure, I wanted to win the hunt, to show Titus how it’s done, but for him to lose his mind over it to the point of assassination attempts on my spouse? Just to… what? Distract me so he can win?
When I get my hands on him, he will regret the day he was born. I will ask Corvus about flaying techniques so I can take my sweet time ripping Titus’s skin off inch by agonizing inch.
“It’s okay, baby. Breathe for me, okay?” I whisper to Kill who lets out little cries of pain. I can only hope the fucking bolt didn’t hit some important nerve in his shoulder.
Killian looks around, dazed. “But… but what about your trophy?”
Be still, my heart. I never thought of myself as a romantic, but right now I want to carve out a piece of my own flesh and serve it to him on a platter.
“You are the only trophy that matters,” I whisper and watch his eyes shut.
I dash out into the cold, and at least now I can easily follow the path to the mansion, without sinking deep into the snow. My heart is beating like a war drum, but this is a rescue mission, and I will make sure my man is safe before worrying about justice.
It’s all a blur until I open the main doors with my elbow and barge in, almost clashing with poor Colin, who raises his hands, clearly worried I might hand him a bloodied Killian and therefore stain his pristine uniform.
“Doctor,” I call out as familiar faces appear in the doorway. “He needs the doctor!”
I know where to go but still make a fuss because I don’t know how much blood Kill might have lost. I’m frantic and curse the size of this house by the time I get to the room set up for emergencies. The doctor didn’t expect one so soon, since she’s sitting in the windowsill with her phone in hand.
She’s a professional, though, and points to a padded table as soon as she spots me. It’s covered in a plastic sheet and ready for whatever might happen today.
“Get Maisy! She’s in the kitchen,” she yells to Colin who followed me here, and puts on latex gloves. “How long has it been since he was shot? Did he lay in the snow?”
I answer all her questions, and even help cut away the clothes around Kill’s wound before her assistant arrives.
Everything seems to be taking terribly long, but I know what it’s like to be shot with a bullet and survive, and I’m embarrassed that the doctor has to assure me that Killian will be fine.
Despite the pain killers given to him, my poor sweet boy screams out when they pull out the bolt. I hold his hand and whisper to him as my mind comes up with vicious fantasies of Titus’s painful death.
More people fill the room, but I keep my information to myself. I can’t have anyone alerting Titus that I know. Father arrives with his phone to his ear.
“I alerted the other hunters,” he informs me, without a snarky comment about Killian in sight. Good. He’s getting with the program at last.
Mother tries to console me in her own way, and places some crystal in Kill’s pocket, but it’s all a blur. All I care about is him. When the wound is dressed, and the doctor has given my man several different shots, I can finally calm down.
What felt like forever was maybe ten minutes, but time has no meaning when a man’s watching his beloved bleed.
As if the crowd in here wasn’t already reminiscent of a bunch of students at a medical exam, my sister barges in. She’s in her hunting gear, huffing and puffing, but still holds a folder in her hand and waves it around the room. Did she make a pit stop to do some work? What the actual fuck?
“They’re not even married!” she yells.