Chapter 16 Lost Boy
Chapter Sixteen
Lost Boy
“Found you!”
Daisy threw her elbow back without thinking and spun with her fists in the air.
The hunter doubled forward and laughed. His haphazard, blond hair stuck out from his golden stag mask in all directions.
“You were much more docile on the dance floor,” he grunted, then slowly unfolded, his face contorted with pain.
She frowned as she recognized him from the ballroom. “Peter?”
His mouth shifted into a smile. “You remember me! Well done.” He pranced out from behind the statue, spinning dramatically, green eyes glinting beneath his golden mask. Bowing with flourish, he asked, “Now, my lady, what game shall we play?”
Was he joking?
His bow tie hung loose around his neck, both ends dangling against his chest like ribbons on a present that had already been opened.
The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms dusted with fine blond hair.
He looked like a man at the tail end of a very good party, not the beginning of a hunt.
Daisy took a step back, and he mirrored her like a shadow.
“Don’t run,” he warned, grinning. “Running’s no fun.
Actually, that’s a lie. Running’s the fun part.
It’s the catching that’s tedious. Over so quickly, and then the messiness of all that talking that has to follow.
” He stopped and waved her off. “Carry on, then, but make a good effort. Scream and cry if you like. I’ll give you a head start so you have plenty of time to make it fun. ”
Daisy’s legs tensed, ready to bolt—but instinct stopped her.
Champagne-drunk and grinning like a boy wishing to play tag at recess, he didn’t want to catch her. He wanted to chase her.
So she refused to run.
Peter’s grin faltered. “What are you doing?”
Daisy crossed her arms, ignoring the way her heart hammered against her ribs. “Nothing.”
He blinked, thrown. “That’s not… You’re supposed to run.”
“Why? So you can chase me until we’re both exhausted? No thanks.”
He scowled. “But you have to run. Those are the rules.”
“Actually, they’re not.” But she did have to get out of this clearing, so she casually moved on, traveling slowly through the narrow path of the hedges where stone bridges and shallow walls curved ahead. Peter followed, but the way a child follows a butterfly.
His presence actually helped her. As long as he—a hunter—was with her, others were less likely to bother her. She feigned interest so he’d keep escorting her.
“How many tributes have you caught so far?”
“Three.”
“Three?”
He let out a cocky grin. “I’m the catch.”
She rolled her eyes at his arrogance.
“You’ll need to go a little faster to get the blood pumping,” he said, twirling and skipping every few steps.
“I’m not going to run from you.”
“Why not? If I catch you, we get to fuck.”
Stunned by his indifference, she turned on him. “Do you think every tribute here is dying to sleep with you?”
He staggered to a stop and cocked his head. “Me personally?”
“Any one of you. You’re literally hunting us.”
He grinned. “I know.”
Her expression fell. “You’re completely deranged.”
“Well, that’s rather hurtful. A man isn’t deranged just because he likes playing with pretty things.”
“We’re not things.”
“You’re getting paid to be here. Technically, you’re whatever I want you to be.”
She scowled at his entitlement. “Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance. I like you. You’re feisty.” His footsteps kept a leisurely pace behind her, never quite closing the distance, but never letting it grow.
“You know, most of them want to be caught,” he said, voice casual and friendly. “Two million pounds is better than one.”
She ignored him.
“It’s bad form not to run.”
“I’m not going to run from you.” The moment she did, he’d catch her.
The only way to avoid being caught by a man-child like Peter was to act disinterested.
“I’m a rather good lover.”
“Then why are you walking around alone like a lost boy?”
He laughed. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
“No, you’re not. Leave me alone.”
“Not until you fuck me.”
“Go away.”
“Can’t, I’m afraid. Rules of the game.”
“There is no rule that says you have to follow me.”
“One quick blowjob and I’ll leave you alone. But put up a little struggle to make it fun.”
A trellis of wisteria loomed overhead. She ducked beneath the purple blooms, swatting them away from her ruined hair, then turned and glared at him.
Something small with many legs scuttled across her shoulder, and she bit back a scream, flicking it to the ground. He laughed at her, hopping onto the stone wall with athletic ease, wandering alongside her from the elevated vantage.
They rounded a corner, and Daisy staggered to a halt. Cabanas, draped in silk curtains, loomed ahead.
“Ah, here we go.” Peter leapt off the stone wall and pranced closer to one of the beds, clutching a post and swinging around to face her. The sheer panels wafted in the breeze. “Shall we?”
Another cabana stood in the distance. From inside, wet rhythmic moans accompanied the steady creak of wood. A grunt. A gasp. The structures weren’t incredibly stable, and they rocked as a couple rolled from within.
The postmodern jazz continued to play. Daisy marched toward the empty cabana, and Peter grinned, but then frowned when she grabbed a fistful of silk curtain and yanked downward.
“You’re a destructive little thing.”
The thin fabric tore with ease. She ripped several thin strips and dropped to the ground, carefully wrapping her battered feet.
“Perfect. Stay just like that.” He unzipped his pants and stepped closer.
She looked up at him with such staunch disapproval that he stilled. She didn’t know what possessed her to stare at him so, but her instincts were spot on.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” She scowled, voice firm and maternal.
He slowly pulled up his zipper. “Why?”
“Can’t you see my feet are hurt and I just want to find the damn safe zone?”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, please,” she snapped, rising to stand. “You’re only sorry I won’t have sex with you.”
“Very true.”
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, rubbing her neck. “My throat is killing me.”
“I have something for that.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Shut. Up.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “A flask!” Slowly, he reached into his pocket and produced a thin, silver canister. “Here.”
She stared at the offering suspiciously. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “Pixie dust.”
“What the hell is pixie dust?”
“A punch—of sorts.”
She drew back and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t trust you.”
“That’s smart.”
It killed her to turn down the offer, but her first rule remained: trust no one. She shook her head.
“Your loss.” He slipped the flask back in his pocket.
The moans from the nearby cabana reached a crescendo.
Peter looked at the other cabana longingly, then hopped off the bed. “I’ll tell you what. You kiss me for five minutes, and I’ll show you where the closest safe zone is.”
“Or, you could just tell me.”
“No way. I’m not that nice of a guy.”
He also wasn’t entirely horrible. As she debated, he removed his mask.
“One kiss. Five minutes.” He stepped closer.
When she stepped back, he captured her wrist. This time, when she tried to pull away, his grip tightened.
“Gotchya.”
What an utter fool she was for allowing him this close. She met his stare with pleading eyes. “Peter…”
The side of his mouth kicked up, curving with dark satisfaction. “Yes?”
“Please.”
He tugged her closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Please, what?”
“Please don’t do this.”
He tipped his head and pushed the beaded strap of her gown down her shoulder. “Time to lie down, little doe.”
“You said a kiss.”
“I’m a hunter. I can say whatever I want.” He waved a hand to the cabana, not releasing his hold on her arm. “Go on.”
The playful, childlike glint in his eye was gone, now replaced with predatory intent. He nudged her toward the bed, guiding her to the cushion.
“Lie back. Arms over your head.” He said, climbing over her.
The cushion was damp with dew. The moment her skin touched its cold surface, she shivered. Slowly, she lifted her arms over her head.
He leaned lower, but paused, cocking his head curiously to one side. “What’s this?” He pulled something from her hair, and her heart stopped.
Her locket. She feigned indifference. “I don’t know.”
Then he lost interest and tossed it aside. He pushed up her mask and smiled. “Found you.”
Her lips trembled. It had been years since anyone kissed her.
Sliding a hand down her hip, he gathered her dress in his fist, tugging it up as he settled his weight between her legs.
A jagged breath trembled from her lips. He was hard. “Peter—”
He grinned. “Yeah?”
She didn’t know what to say. If she told him she was a virgin, he might want her more. “Nothing.”
He dragged his nose along her ear and breathed in. “You smell like flowers and honey.”
Her heart raced as his mouth trailed along her jaw. A trail of goosebumps scattered in the wake of his soft lips. When he nibbled her earlobe, her breath caught.
He groaned, rolling his hips. “Told you I was good at this.”
His hands roamed over her body, sending chills down her arms. She couldn’t help it, she closed her eyes.
His lips trailed slowly toward her mouth, then he was teasing her, dragging his soft lips side to side, barely touching, only tickling. He laughed quietly. Their breath mingled as he licked past her lips.
“Taste like honey, too.”
She whimpered, hating her body’s response to him. But it had been so long since anyone had touched her.
“Relax.”
He closed his lips over hers, teasing and tempting. She remembered why people enjoyed this. His hips rolled in a slow, rocking rhythm, and she adjusted to his weight, quickly becoming addicted to the steady friction.
Warm fingers tugged at her dress. “Let’s take this off.”
“It’s been five minutes.”
He laughed. “I don’t care.”
“Peter—”
He covered her mouth. “I’m in charge.”
Her hands balled into fists as he pushed her gown up to her hips. All she had to do was move her thumb or say timber. But then the game would be over.
He scooted lower. “Will you look at that? What do you say we slide these little silk shorts out of the way?”
While he distracted himself with her panties, she slid her hand to the right. Cold metal tangled with her fingers, and she pulled the locket back into her fist. As he dragged his hands up her legs, Daisy arched, stretching her arms slowly overhead.
As he pressed kisses on the inside of her knee, she wound the curtain around her fist. Higher and higher he kissed until his mouth pressed over the hot silk between her thighs.
She tugged the curtain with all her might and kneed him in the side.
“Umph!” The canopy collapsed spectacularly. Poles clattered over them as fabric billowed in a cloud.
Daisy twisted and sprang off the cushion, bolting out of the crossing and into the night. She didn’t know if he followed her, and she was too terrified to stop. Her body was a mess of emotion that went far beyond fear. In a way, she might have been running from herself.
Fog wove through the trees, eerie and lifelike. Daisy darted through shortcuts that took her from one area to the next without leaving her in the open.
Branches closed overhead like clasped hands. Pulling out her hair and scratching her exposed skin. She ran until she was chilled with sweat, her lungs panting so hard and fast she couldn’t take another step.
Staggering to a halt, she bent and clutched her knees. When she looked up, she stilled.
“What the…” Daisy turned in a circle, confused by the familiar crossing, certain she’d been there before.
“No.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Impossible.”
Her brow pinched with the sudden urge to cry. How was she back here? She’d been going east. Or so she thought.
Daisy stumbled forward in disbelief and cursed when the bell tolled again. Too close.
Shoving through a row of privets, she rushed from shadow to shadow until—
“Damn it!” She was back at the veranda where they started.
The bells tolled three more times. They were ringing more frequently now. That meant the hunters were getting more aggressive as the tributes got weaker.
Aunt Vanessa had mentioned a safe zone at the house, but there were too many hunters lingering about, shadows moving casually across the veranda as they congratulated each other over their recent conquest. The house was too dangerous. She had to keep moving.
But where? What direction? Did it even matter? This place was a maze of madness meant to exhaust her.
Pushing off the wall, she stared at the distant ballroom. Its windows blazed against the black sky like the eyes of some great beast watching over its domain.
Masculine voices carried, rambunctious and cheerful. So casual. So indifferent to what the tributes were actually sacrificing. If she had a rock, she’d throw it at them.
Daisy recalculated her steps as she drifted along the shadows of a hedgerow. If the main lodge was here and—
Her breath caught, and she stilled, sensing danger before her eyes could make sense of the warning. She looked back at the lodge, its Gothic towers stabbing into the clouds as the world fell to pieces below.
There.
A chill raced up her spine as a figure appeared on a balcony, separate from the revelry below. The glow of the torchlights didn’t reach that high, and the windows were dark. But the moonlight revealed the broad silhouette of a man.
He stood utterly still, a statue carved from flesh and silk, a face obscured by distance and darkness, watching—not the grounds, or the hunters below. But her.
His gaze enclosed around her like a physical weight, like a hand reaching out.
Spotted.
She couldn’t look away. He held her under some paralyzing command.
When he inclined his head ever so slightly, she knew exactly who he was.
R.A.
She recognized his stance, his silent acknowledgement. That same subtle nod from the ball. A gesture between strangers who weren’t quite strangers anymore.
There was something different and reserved, something that kept him apart from the rest.
What was he doing up there, alone, while everyone else hunted below?
Being spotted out in the open should have terrified her. Another predator marking his target. A lamb in a garden of wolves. Alone. Yet…
Her breath caught as he stepped back from the railing, disappearing into the darkness, as if he were the one who needed to hide.
“That was my move,” she muttered, dropping her gaze, then looking back one last time.
Gone, as if he never existed at all.
A branch snapped behind her, and she whirled, hands up, heart pounding, but the path was empty. The fog curled and shifted, hiding whatever had made the sound.