Chapter 22 Sacred Vows #2
Hunter’s dark eyes narrowed on her in that way that made her skin tingle as if he were already touching her. But he hadn’t moved an inch. He just stared at her, dominating that leather wingback chair as if it were a throne.
“Good, because you’ll be in your room,” Ash said.
“With the doors locked,” Stone added.
“And this time, Cole will keep you there.”
“Speaking of Cole, how’s he enjoying his vacation?”
“He’s not on vacation. He’s working a job. We sent him with Katya for protection.”
Marigold smirked. “And, by the looks of that string bikini, he must really have his work cut out for him.”
The three of them grumbled various words of disapproval in Russian.
“We’re done here,” Stone announced, rising from his seat. “You’re coming with me.”
“Not so fast.” Hunter’s voice cut through the library like a blade through silk. He remained in his chair, sprawled with deliberate casualness, but his onyx eyes tracked Marigold with predatory focus that made her stomach drop.
Stone paused, one hand still wrapped around Marigold’s wrist. “Problem?”
“Yes. Our little fox needs to understand why women might volunteer to be hunted.”
Marigold drew back. “No, I think I’m set—”
Hunter held up a silencing hand. “Our clients come to The Preserve with a certain expectation. Our exclusivity and impeccable standards maintains an elite clientele. Beyond absolute discretion, we provide a judgement free space for them to explore their darker…proclivities. We do not judge that which is done with safe and sane consent.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.” He glanced briefly at his brothers then back to her with dark promise in his eyes. “Now, you need a lesson.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Wh—what kind of lesson?”
Hunter rose slowly, unfolding from the leather chair with the lethal grace of something wild barely contained in human skin. Each movement was calculated, deliberate, a predator preparing to strike. “If you can’t comprehend the appeal of a hunt, I think it’s time for a demonstration.”
Marigold’s pulse kicked against her throat like a trapped bird throwing itself against cage bars. “What are you talking about?”
“You sat there, so fucking judgmental, questioning why anyone would enjoy being hunted.” Hunter’s voice dropped to a growl.
The threatening implication of his words vibrated through her chest, settling low in her belly where it bloomed into liquid heat.
“That’s an arrogant position for a trembling little fox to hold. ”
“Hunter—” Ash started, but the warning died when Hunter’s gaze cut to him.
“She needs to understand what we offer. What we protect her from.” He turned back to Marigold, and her breath caught at the dangerous glint in his eyes.
Every instinct screamed run even as her body softened in refusal to move. “You won’t hurt me,” she said, reminding herself as much as the others.
“Are you sure?” He took a step and she immediately mirrored it with a backstep of her own.
“Out there,” he pointed to the tall window, “at the Feast, women are prey. They beg for the opportunity.”
She shook her head, finding his claim impossible to imagine.
“You don’t believe me?” He looked at his brother. “Tell her, Stone.”
Stone shrugged with zero misgivings to such claims. “Our office is littered with applications. Essays from women all over the world pleading to attend the next feast.”
“You see, Lisichka, they want to be one of the fallen.”
“Why?”
Ash’s low chuckle distracted her, but she quickly returned her focus to Hunter. In the split second she took her eyes off him, he moved closer without making a sound.
“They’re chased by men who paid millions for the privilege, men who don’t know them, don’t care about anything beyond the thrill of a catch.
Here?” He stepped closer, and she felt the heat radiating off his massive frame, smelled the masculine scent of cedar and something darker, something that whispered of violence barely leashed.
“Here, you’re mine to hunt. Mine to catch.
Mine to claim. And, like them, you’re going to love every fucking second of it. ”
Stone released her wrist, stepping back with a dark smile that sent electricity crackling across her skin. “You better get going, Goldilocks.”
“Going where?” Her eyes widened as all three men began rolling up their sleeves and loosening their collars.
“Thirty seconds.” Hunter cracked his neck, the sound sharp as breaking branches. “That’s all the head start you get.”
“To do what?” Marigold staggered back, her head shaking in protest, but arousal already pooled low in her belly, mixing with genuine fear in a cocktail that made her dizzy, made her thighs clench.
“Run.”
Her wide eyed stare turned to Ash, but there was no sign of teasing in his eyes. Only raw hunger.
She backed into the door, her hand fumbling behind her back for the brass knob.
“Tick-tock, Lisichka. That’s the sound of time running out.” Hunter’s smile was all teeth, all threat, all promise. “Because when I catch you—and I will catch you—I’m going to fuck that pretty little ass until you scream my name loud enough that even the servants will hear.”
Heat flooded her face, her chest, between her legs—everywhere at once. Her mouth went dry while other parts of her grew wet with twisted curiosity. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He tilted his head, studying her like a wolf studies a rabbit, calculating which way she’ll bolt, how fast she’ll run, exactly how she’ll taste when he tears into her soft flesh. “Clock’s started.”
Frozen between arousal and disbelief, between the urge to run and the equally strong urge to surrender right here, she couldn’t move.
“Twenty-nine.”
“Hunter, this is insane—”
“Twenty-eight.”
Ash stood, moving to block the other exit with his considerable frame. “You’ll want to get moving, printsessa. Unless you’re trying to make this easy for him.”
“Twenty-four.”
Marigold’s survival instincts finally detonated. She bolted, her bare feet slapping against cold marble, the sound echoing through the corridors as loud as her panicked heartbeats.
Blood roared in her ears, drowning out everything except Hunter’s distant voice—steady, relentless, counting down her freedom like an executioner marking time until the blade falls.
“Nineteen.”
She’d barely started running and already her breath came in ragged gasps, harsh pants that tasted of fear-sweat and adrenaline, burning her lungs.
Her hand caught the banister as she made a sharp turn down the east corridor.
She could no longer hear Hunter’s voice, which should have comforted her, but it only made her situation more terrifying.
She’d been living at the lodge for over a month, but she still didn’t know all the hidden passageways. He could be anywhere. And, he had steady access to every motion sensor camera on the premises.
Her gaze darted to the small bear head on the wall as she panted. Stepping back, hand on her racing heart, she turned and continued to run.
This was crazy. This was dangerous. This was, God help her, exhilarating.
She’d been hunted before. By orderlies at Whitmore, their meaty hands grabbing at her hospital gown.
By her family’s security, cold professionals with dead eyes.
By the cold itself on her journey here, death’s icy fingers reaching for her throat.
But this was different. This wasn’t escape.
It was play. Dark, twisted, primal play that made every nerve ending in her body sing with anticipation, every cell vibrate with the certainty that being caught might be better than getting away.
A slow whistle carried from the west corridor and she stilled. That taunting melody triggered fear in her as much as a speeding bullet might, and she doubled her speed.
“Little fox…” His voice carried through the corridors like smoke, curling around corners, finding her even as she fled.
She realized with a thrill of terror that he wasn’t even chasing her yet.
He was giving her time, letting the anticipation build.
Like a lion with a playful mouse under its shadow, he let her believe she was free, but he already had her in his sights and she was as good as done.
Any second now, he’d have her under his paw.
She rushed down a darkened hall as he strolled after her. The madness he triggered with his slow pace only emphasized his confident hunger. Like the men coming in the spring, he was set on a feast and she was to be the meal.
She flew through the great hall, her feet barely touching ground.
Past the enormous fireplace where she’d nearly died that first night.
The memory felt like a lifetime ago, belonged to a different girl entirely.
That girl who’d stumbled in from the cold had been determined to escape.
Hunted and scared at the time, she never would have believed she’d one day be running through these halls because she wanted to be caught.
Voluntarily choosing to get hunted again.
Though, she hadn’t volunteered for this.
Another slow, taunting whistle echoed through the cavernous halls. “Marigold…I can smell your perfume in the halls.”
She dove into the shadows of an alcove, heart pounding as she caught her breath.
“I can smell your sweat.” The lanterns turned on, exposing her hiding spot. “Your fear.”
She bolted from the shadows, rushing away from his approaching voice and into the next dark hall.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a rabbit’s—rapid, frantic, impossibly fast. She could feel it in her throat, her wrists, behind her eyes. Every pulse point in her body throbbed with awareness, with fear that tasted like copper and felt like lightning.