Chapter 36
T he earth crunches softly beneath my thin sandals as I walk the short distance to the forest. My sisters and Ileana followed me out of the carriage, Zorina insisting it was tradition for friends and family to bid the couple their blessings before the Hunt commences. The driver parked the coach on a shoulder of road just over the bridge, a few segments away from the Spiritwood perimeter.
We catch up with Eldridge, Theon, Cornelius, and Aldred in a small copse of trees just within the forest, sitting around a spitting fire that casts the entire clearing in a hazy orange shadow, surrounded by deep, booming drumbeats from players dotting the perimeter. If their carriage already arrived, that must mean he is already here. Somewhere .
Ileana moves to sit next to Eldridge, and Cornelius motions for Zorina to join him, but she turns to me first, placing both hands on my shoulders.
“Any final questions?” she asks.
I chew on my lip. “Do you know where he is? Can you hear him?”
She strains to listen for a moment, then shakes her head. “No, he’s too far away, but with his senses heightened from the tonic, he’ll surely have heard you the moment you stepped out of the carriage. He’s keeping his distance, giving you time,” she explains, “because as soon as he scents you, the Hunt will begin. He will have very little agency in it.”
The three of us join the others around the fire, but I remain quiet as they chit-chat and share laughs, the nerves in my gut twisted too tight for me to be much for conversation. Only a few minutes endure when I notice movement in the shadows ahead.
The priestess from the ceremony steps forward, the firelight reflecting off her dark blonde strands. I rise and meet her halfway, fidgeting with the hem of my dress. More of a slip, really. The deep jade of the silky material is accented with a scallop of black lace along the neckline, and again along the length that brushes the center of my thighs. The slip isn’t long enough to conceal the iron dagger I wear strapped to my thigh, fulfilling my promise to Sin. My hair is worn loose down my back, as Zorina explained was tradition as it helps to mask the hunted’s scent, giving them a slight advantage when the odds are already stacked against them. I had rolled my eyes, knowing my hair being worn down was going to do very, very little to keep Sin off my trail, but I brushed it out regardless.
Everyone’s attention turns towards the priestess who addresses us, but I don’t decipher what she says. Because behind her… I sense him before I see him. A tug low in my belly, reminiscent of the tether that once preternaturally linked us together.
Sin steps out of the trees and into the copse, and my heartbeat quickens in time with the drums. If I looked ethereal earlier, Sin looks downright infernal .
“The rules of the Hunt are simple,” begins the priestess, but I don’t look away from Sin as she explains. His eyes are gilded, the magic having choked out the final traces of green, and his pupils have shifted into vertical slits. The long mane of black hair that falls over his shoulders is now tousled, hints of forest debris already woven into his strands. He’s been pacing the woods . Giving me space and keeping his distance, just as Zorina said.
“Wren, you will be given a three-minute head start, and at the end of those three minutes, Singard will begin his pursuit. You two are now oath-bound, married under the stature of kingdom law, but to be Bonded before the eyes of Slaine, you must be caught, but you mustn’t allow yourself to be caught. Slaine only blesses those worthy of one another, and to surrender yourself without first honoring your autonomy will dishonor the shifter god. Forfeit the rules of his ritual, and he will in turn forfeit Singard’s right to Mark.
“Your objection is to reach the Malachite. A torch will serve as a beacon at the river’s edge. If you manage to submerge yourself into the river before Singard catches you, then the match is not worthy of Mating. In turn, if Singard does catch and restrain you before you reach the river, the Bonding will ensue.”
My eyes rake over Sin’s bare chest, over his perfectly sculpted pectorals, and the dark valleys that clearly define his abdominals. The V-shaped lines of his obliques that rise from the pants slung low on his waist, to the hard curves of his hips. It is laughable to so much as entertain the thought that I could overpower him physically.
And he knows it. Hence the iron tightly strapped to my thigh.
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to use my magic as a means of defense or not, but if Sin’s instincts are primed from a god-blessed tonic, then it’s only fair I call forth my own power. If it’s a fight he wants, fine. I’ll give him a fight worth a hundred Marks.
“One final vow before we begin,” the priestess speaks, and I snap back to the present, half forgetting she was here with us at all. “Wren, do you stand here of your own volition and consent to your fate once the Hunt begins?”
My breath stutters, and Sin’s eyes snap to my mouth, his head canting slightly and his lips parting, those lengthened canines now on full display. He’s absolutely ravenous , and a desire as black and sinful as my husband’s heart pangs low in my belly. “Yes.”
The priestess angles herself towards Sin then. “Singard, do you stand here of your own volition and consent to your fate once the Hunt begins?”
A deep, guttural growl is his only answer, the sound so primal it dampens my thighs with the slick it coaxes from my center. His head lowers further, those golden, feline eyes slicing into mine as he forces one rough word from his throat.
“ Run .”