23. Not the Only Predator
T wo things survived my car being scorched. Crossbow bolts I’d stuck underneath the driver’s seat, and the blush rose, wildflower, and feather bouquet I gave Luna. The rest? Melted tires, frame twisted like ribs of an animal picked clean, and windshield a spiderweb of fractures.
I should’ve known what I’d find as soon as I saw smoke mixing with clouds over the treetops.
The acrid stench of burning rubber was my second clue.
And yet, here I am, a pathetic fool standing by a metal husk, like if I stare long enough, I’ll figure out how to bend everything back into the shape it once was.
I keep fucking things up. Reaching the car too late, being unable to find a way out for days, the way I spoke to Luna…
The way I threatened my future wife into submission.
My momma would be ashamed. I know I am. I have half a mind to bring this bouquet back to Luna as the start of my apology tour, not that I deserve forgiveness.
The flowers do remind me of her, though. When I found them half-buried under one of my old, burnt-to-a-crisp leather jackets, I was entranced by its singed petals, ash-dusted feathers, and brittle stems held together by a black-streaked white ribbon.
How could something so delicate survive such chaos?
My Luna could. She’d stand toe-to-toe with me and we’d both come out stronger, so long as I don’t break her wings. Helping her soar has always been the goal.
So why am I failing her every chance I?—
Wait.
My car is torched. Someone knows we’re here.
And I left Luna alone.
Fuck!
Everything comes back into focus, and for the first time, I see what might be the most chilling sign of all, high up on the closest tree by the smoldering skeleton of my car.
One swipe of fresh, dripping white paint streaks over the red underneath.
The Wildes.
I snatch my bolts, slotting one and filling my quiver with the rest, then take the most direct route I found while canvassing the area.
It’s a straight shot descending the steepest slope, and I half-tumble, half-skate down the rain-slicked ridge, the grade so sheer I might as well be falling.
My boots skid through wet dirt and moss, and my scarred hands tear as I catch myself on bark and branches to stay upright.
Rain peppers my eyes, weighs down my jacket, and slips cold fingers down my spine, but I ignore it all because I’m this close to making sure Luna is?—
Bang— I snag a heavy branch, wrenching myself to a stop.
Another shot cracks the air.
My lungs seize before my adrenaline kicks into overdrive. I take deep breaths while molding the fear and terror into something useful, focusing on what I need to do to make sure Luna is safe, and leashing the predator within me so I don’t lose myself to wrath.
A desperate, heartbroken scream shatters me from the inside out. I’ve heard one like it a thousand times in my nightmares.
No!
It takes everything in me not to call out for her. The “name in the woods” lore is partly bullshit, but regardless, it’s dangerous to reveal yourself without knowing who’s around. A mistake like that could get me killed before I can save her.
I move silently, clinging to the forest’s shadows until the cabin peeks through the leaves. Then I drop into a crouch, crossbow at the ready. I only have so many bolts, so as much as I want to run in, crossbow blazing, I have to be smart about this and make every bolt count.
My breaths push against my sternum, wanting to escape, but I control them as best I can with my crazed heartbeat. When I finally manage to get feet from the mist-coated, warped window, my soul aches at the visual inside.
Blood smears Luna’s cheek and stains her feather bodice and tutu, nearly driving me feral over the thought that it’s hers.
But she cradles someone in her arms, rocking them.
Shit.
It’s Benoit.
He’s still as a corpse, sprawled over her and across the floorboards. Luna’s shoulders curl protectively over him, and tears trail in cleansing streaks down crimson-splattered cheeks.
This will ruin her, and there won’t be a damn thing I can do to help her.
Don’t think about that. Help her now .
Luna’s head lifts, and her eyes narrow as she drags them toward a man I didn’t see at first. His blond hair is a mess on his head, and he’s got a beard as thick as my father’s.
His camo is a durable brand, but worn from obvious use.
Like mine is back home. He’s not just from the land like I am. He’s a Wilde.
And he’s pointing his goddamn gun at my girl.
“Did I hear you right?” the Wilde chuckles. “Did that Fury scum fuck a baby into you? Maybe I should end it before it begins.” He drops the gun down to her belly. “Sure would hate for you to be pregnant with another man’s baby at your wedding.”
Luna scowls. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Pride and terror consume me as she boldly takes her eyes off the man threatening to kill her, shocking electric fear down my spine.
But she’s turned my way now, and her eyes flash as they meet mine, barely noticeable even if you’re looking straight on. Unless you stalked her for years and can read every twitch of muscle in her facial expressions.
She sneers at the Wilde. “You know what? I don’t know, and I don’t care . Fuck the Wildes!”
What is she doing ?
The Wilde barrels toward her. “You little?—”
Crack.
It happens so fast, the sound of her whimper registers before the slap against skin. Her head jerks to the side under his palm, and red-hot fury filters over my vision as he lords over her.
But she’s given me the opening I need.
I grab a rock and hurl it at the window, breaking the glass and tripping the wire attached to the frame. And because Luna lured the fool into coming farther into the cabin to strike her, the rock trap I positioned on a ceiling rafter slams into the side of his skull.
His curse is a garbled moan as he stumbles, clutching his bloody temple, and Luna takes advantage of his moment of weakness.
She lunges with the fluid grace of a dancer, grabbing two loose tranquilizer darts I stowed beside the door and driving them both into the bastard—one in the quad, the other near his groin—depressing the plungers.
That’s my girl.
The Wilde howls and tries to raise his gun, but it clatters to the floor from paralyzed hands. His knees buckle, body slumping forward as his limbs seize. I rise fully and send a bolt through the open window and into his chest. He drops in a heap.
Righteous anger vibrates through Luna as she slams her foot into his neck, and I hear his spine crack from here. My lips twitch between a smirk and a frown, torn between pride and guilt for her being in this position at all.
I’ll analyze that later. After I make sure she’s safe.
“You Fury bitch !”
Anddd that’s my cue.
I slip out of the trees on silent feet, loading my crossbow with another bolt in one fluid motion. Another figure rushes from the shadows, knife raised high. I don’t think. I don’t even aim, and my crossbow fires like the extension of me it is.
Thunk.
The bolt sinks into his throat with a wet, choking sound.
His body folds, twitching as he reaches for the arrow’s shaft.
Ain’t no way that thing’s coming out, though, especially with the blood slicking his fingers.
He hits the sopping wet ground on his knees, sinking partway in before collapsing face-first, driving the broadhead deeper.
The cabin door flings wide to reveal my pretty white swan painted in blood that isn’t hers, holding my knife and poised to strike. Pure rage and agony flash in her eyes, warring over which one will win out. My little warrior, ready for battle.
The rain dampens her tresses, but she stays focused as another Wilde surges from the woods.
His eyes lock on the blade she wields like it was made for her, and he falters, no doubt eyeing the F initial on the handle. Recognition flares.
“The Fury gave you his knife?”
She doesn’t know what that means, not yet. But every Wilde does. They’re after her because they don’t want her to become mine. But we’re past that. She’s already becoming one of us .
He doesn’t wait for her answer, charging at her. He’s fast, but she swivels out of his reach in a move I’ve seen her perform a thousand times on stage, and I bulldoze into him before his blade can graze her shoulder.
We slam into the ground shoulders first. My knuckles crack against his jaw. His elbow hammers my ribs, but I punch his throat. He lands one to my face, flooding blood into my mouth, iron tainting my tongue, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not until I’ve taken out every last one of these bastards.
We roll through mud and stones, fists flying, grunts muffled by thunder. His knee aims for my stomach, but I twist, driving an elbow into his sternum and slamming him down on a gnarled root.
He wheezes and writhes in pain.
“Luna.” I whistle, holding out my hand, and in the next second she’s tossed me the knife. It arcs through the air, and I catch it by the hilt, fingers closing over the F at the top. I plunge the blade into his chest, relishing in the sound of his last breath rasping from his body.
A crow shrieks overhead, circling once before vanishing into the branches. I blink up after it but quickly snap my eyes back to Luna.
She shakes as she comes to me, chest heaving, blood and dirt streaking her skin. Her eyes are locked on mine, their glint as dark and twisted as the sensations thrumming in my veins and down to my cock.
I step toward her.
“Orion,” she whispers, swallowing, her voice carrying the same desperation flooding through me.
She’s alive. She’s mine.
I’m alive. I’m hers.
And it’s time to make that true.
I can feel that she’s about to ask me for what we need, the adrenaline riding us both.
She steps closer, trembling. “ Please …”
“Fuck, baby.” I barely recognize my own voice. “Come here?—”
A guttural scream pushes us apart as another Wilde bursts from the tree line, followed by a second.
Shit.
I intercept the one going for her first, just as steel flashes in the other’s hand, and shove Luna behind me, roaring.
“ Run !”
She hesitates for one brief second, until one of their daggers nicks me and I can’t afford to look at her anymore. Out of the corner of my vision, cherry cola curls vanish into the underbrush.
Good girl.
I turn back in time to see two blades mid-flight. There’s no time to think or dodge. There’s only a gleam of silver—then the sound of my own breath choking out of me.