Page 6 of Hunt Me

Just outside the door, a body blocks my path.

Impatient, I shove past them without bothering to look up. The moment my shoulder makes contact, a jolt slams through me, driving me backward a few steps.

Strong hands land on my hips, helping to steady me. I gasp, reeling at the sudden return of dizzying power rushing through me. When I look up, an attractive male is staring back at me, looking equally stunned.

Not just attractive. He’s handsome to the point of devastating. Dark hair falls to the nape of his neck, thick enough that I find myself wondering what it would be like to run my fingers through it. His jaw is covered in a short beard that only adds to the dangerous and roguish aura he puts out. But it’s those eyes, nearly black and full of secrets, that hold me still, trapped by their enigmatic depths.

The noise of the bar falls away.

For a suspended moment, nothing else exists in the world but him and me. Something passes between us. Not interest. No, this feels so much more than that. It’s heavy and contains a darkness I should be running away from rather than leaning into, hoping for another taste. Whoever this stranger is, he’s not safe. So why are my nipples hardening at the sight of him undressing me with his violent eyes?

Slowly, he reaches up and brushes a warm hand over my cheek. I don’t move. I barely breathe. The dizziness from earlier washes over me again, the world tilting and then righting itself again—as if the entire axis of my world has just changed.

As the moment stretches, there’s a strange settling inside my chest that feels both comforting and alarming. And it’s all I can do not to reach for him and run my hands over his body or offer myself to him here and now to be claimed.

The desire to do both of those things terrifies me.

Not because I don’t welcome physical pleasure but because I’ve never felt so overcome with need. It’s a threat to my survival, especially in a moment when I can’t afford to lose focus.

I take a step back.

At my retreat, his gaze darkens, and fury flashes. For a wild moment, I think he might actually toss me over his shoulder and run off like some kind of caveman. But in the next second, he’s gone, slipping out the door and into the night as if he’d never been there at all.

I follow him out, trying to decipher which direction he went.

Inside the bar, someone screams, drawing me back to the task at hand. Dazed, I look through the glass just in time to see the mark toppling off his stool. His skin is grey, and his eyes are frozen. His glass—empty.

I turn to leave just as the bar’s door flies open and panicked customers pour out into the street. One of them slams into my shoulder. Another reaches out to steady me before I can lose my balance. I grab her wrist, holding tight for support until I get my bearings.

Magic surges to the spot where I’ve touched her.

Her eyes widen, her face reddens, and she gasps. I release her, and she stumbles back. Another fleeing bar patron knocks into her, and she falls—hard.

I rush forward and kneel, panic and confusion leaving me at a loss.

“Hey,” I call, “Are you all right?”

She is most clearly not all right.

Her attempts to speak are interrupted by saliva leaking from her mouth. It’s soon joined by blood. I can only watch in horror as her skin turns grey and her chest heaves with a failed attempt to draw breath. And then the life disappears from her eyes, and she’s gone.

Dead.

I have no idea what just happened, but all her symptoms point to poison. A sniff against the night air confirms it. The scent coming from her flesh, from the blood that’s leaked from her mouth, is unmistakable to my dark fae senses.

The unnatural rot of poison.

Panic seizes me.

Scrambling for my pocket, I search for my extra vials of supplies, wondering if one somehow broke in the commotion and jostling. Maybe she touched the sachet of powder, not that a single touch would have been enough. Besides, it’s only residue now.

Someone kneels to investigate the dead woman’s vitals. I look up and meet the eyes of a man I’ve never seen before, noting the way he looks between the vial I’m holding and the female dead at my feet.

“What have you done?” he demands.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

“She’s dead,” he accuses, louder now. “What did you do?”

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