Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I handle all the background checks on members. I also help find the sad sacks we pick for the hunt, though Soren always gets the final say.
The hunt is a tradition in the Forsaken that takes place twice a year. We handpick people who are depraved, who wouldn’t matter if they went missing. Lately, I’ve been choosing killers, interfering in investigations to make it seem like the killer can’t be caught. But we have them, and we lock them away until the hunt.
Then, when it’s time, we let them loose in the forest. The forest becomes their courtroom, and we become the judges and executioners. There is discipline to it. Some may think it’s about the thrill, the chase, the blood. And that’s definitely part of it. But that’s not what it is for me. The thrill is in knowing exactly who deserves it, and in tracking them, studying them, learning their patterns until they’re predictable.
Control.
Justice where the courts fail.
Purpose where others look away.
And when it ends, it’s clean, final. There are no appeals, no loopholes. We hunt them down, our faces hidden behind masks passed down from member to member. The founding member had a badly disfigured face, and the mask was made of broken mirror pieces, so when you look at it, it’s a cracked version of yourself staring back at you. We were all told that same story, and we each wear a mask every time we hunt.
“Well, hello.” Marcus’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Soren drifts away, leaving me exactly where I’ve been since I arrived.
“Not interested.” Her voice echoes behind me. I smile because they were the same words I said to her not that long ago.
“Come on… I’m sure I can show you a good time.”
“Still not interested,” she purrs.
Now I can’t help but turn toward her. She isn’t even facing Marcus. Her back is to him. I don’t particularly care for Marcus, but he serves a purpose in the society.
My gaze drags over her before I can stop it. The line of her spine is straight but relaxed. The way she holds her weight, it’s like she could move in any direction without warning. The dress clings just enough to suggest, not demand. The heels anchor her, but I don’t get the sense they would slow her down. Then there’s her face when she finally turns.
Her eyes are blue and sharp. Not soft, not inviting. Watching, always watching.
I shift my attention to Marcus, catching his eyes, and give him a small nod toward the crowd. Leave.
He hesitates for half a second, long enough to annoy me, then backs off without a word. She doesn’t move or thank me. She remains still and silent for a time before her voice drifts over, smooth as silk but with an edge to it. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I reply.
“If you say so.” She pushes off the bar, finally turning enough for me to see her fully. My eyes catch hers again, and there it is, that same awareness. She’s not flustered, not impressed. Just noting me, the same way I’m noting her.
“She’s going to be a while,” I say, following her line of sight to her friend. Her gaze snaps back to me, her blue eyes, lighter than her hair and sharper than they should be, lock on mine.
“Thank you for that input.” Stepping away, she heads straight for her friend, and for some strange reason, my eyes stay glued to her.
I tell myself it’s instinct, observation, the same reason I would watch anyone.
But that’s not entirely true.
There’s something about her I can’t place yet. Something that doesn’t fit.
She doesn’t belong here.
Or maybe she belongs more than anyone else does.
Either way…
I keep my focus on her and her alone.
FIVE
MAVEN
“Carrie.” Bailey pulls his head away from the crook of her neck as she looks at me. “I’m going to head out. Will you be fine getting home? Or do you want me to stay?”
I know Carrie can look after herself, and I’m well aware that she’s been to a few of these parties. But my patience is already fraying. I came here for her, not for this circus. And yet, as always, she’s chosen the wrong man. Predictably, a man who thinks charm can substitute character.
“Yes, thank you.” She giggles and then goes back to kissing Bailey.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, keeping my distance. Of course, she dragged me here, and the moment we walk in, she disappears into the mess she clearly enjoys. My jaw tightens. Every muscle is coiled, ready to act if I need to. Because she might be fine, but that doesn’t mean I trust anyone in this room.
And still, I can’t stop watching her, even as she lets him take her attention. The way she leans in, the tilt of her head, the way she laughs. It’s infuriating. She is brilliant and capable, but somehow she keeps picking men who are beneath her.