Page 17 of The Huntress

She allowed a small smile to form. They’d chosen the wrong prey. Although, she did wish she’d dressed appropriately. Her sneakers were fine, but should she survive until nightfall without crossing the finish line, her cut-off jeans and T-shirt wouldn’t keep her warm. A sports bra would’ve been helpful. Not to mention any number of her throwing blades or grenades—anything other than just her wits.

She stopped short before breaking past the tree line. One suckblood already hunted her, and she couldn’t afford to attract another hunter. She studied the white structure in the clearing. It was a skylight—round, with a glass roof, approximately knee-high off the ground. There was something underground that required natural light. She frowned, not seeing an entrance. She’d hoped she could escape here since she wasn’t interested in conversion, anyway.

Sighing, she glanced around, accepting that this skylight wasn’t her hoped-for refuge. A faded footpath marred the forest floor—one that looked abandoned. She followed it, praying it led her to safety.

At the sound of someone entering the clearing behind her, she careened along the path to dive behind a large bush. She landed on something hard, jabbing her thigh. She yelped. The force knocked the breath from her, and she instinctively bit down on her lip to stop herself from gasping.

With their excellent sense of smell, the bush wouldn’t hide her from the suckblood. She stank less than the other women, having forgone deodorant or perfume in her rush to find Val. But she’d washed her hair.

She brushed her hand over something metallic and glanced at a handle to a trap door. Before she could second-guess her decision, she lifted the hatch. It opened on well-oiled hinges, startling her, since it had a rusted and ancient texture.

She grabbed onto the visible part of the ladder and climbed into the hole, pulling the hatch with her. The pitch dark didn’t deter her with fear driving her to be bold. She continued down the ladder, feeling for each rung before stepping onto what she hoped was the floor. Using the rock wall behind the ladder, she guided herself around the room, tapping her foot, hoping the floor wouldn’t drop off beneath her. Her vision adjusted to the darkness, and she discerned unfamiliar box-like shapes that were useless to her. They wouldn’t hide her for long, and they weren’t weapons.

The hatch opened, casting a sunlit rectangle on the dirt floor. Throwing caution to the wind, she dived behind one of those shapes, slamming her head against the wall. Dizziness and a piercing pain hit her. She raised her hand to touch the lump forming and winced—her fingers came away wet and sticky.

Great.Now she was bleeding, enticing him like a matador waving hismuletaat the bull.

“I sense she went down here,” the deep voice said. “I can smell her coconut shampoo.” An inhalation followed his words. “She’s injured.”

There was a smirk in his voice, as if he’d been the one to draw her blood. The fucking arrogance.

“It’shisplace. I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to anger him,” a woman said, her voice sexy and breathless.

Freakin’ predators.

“I want her. She challenged me.” The urgency in his voice sounded feral, skittering Callie’s heartbeat. So this was what prey endured? She didn’t like it.

“You’re on your own,” the woman said. “I will choose another meal. I doubt you would’ve shared anyway.”

“True.” The man chuckled.

“See you later, Darius.”

The male suckblood descended the ladder, closing the hatch behind him. What law enforcement was taught about suckbloods wasn’t something she would stake her life on. Theycouldsee in the dark, but was his swift, confident clamber down the ladder due to a familiarity with the hideaway?

Shit.He might have corralled her toward his lair.

“I can smell you, my pretty,” he whispered, causing her to shiver at the lethal seduction in his voice.

Like an idiot, she’d trapped herself.

Chapter Nine

SWAPPING A BOY FOR A MAN

Calliestrainedherears.His tread reverberated through the dank room, sounding closer, but it was directionless, as if he intended to disorientate her. She breathed through her nose, forcing herself to control the rising panic.

“I will convert you, anyway. You made this fun for me.” He sounded pleased with himself. “I can smell your blood. I can hear your heart beating. Why do you hide from me, my sweet?”

Why? She frowned at his unexpected stupidity. Or was she being the obtuse one? After all, to attend a festival was to seek conversion. He had a right to expect she wanted that, and his offer to convert her should’ve pleased her.

Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. No way, no how. He made a slow and deep inhalation, followed by a fast whoosh. It came from the left of her, sounds—she suspected—he’d made on purpose. An elaborate show of sniffing her, not to locate her since he could see her.

Her heart cinched, and before she could control her legs, which had developed a mind of their own, she stood. It startled her to find herself now exposed, with the top of the stacked crates under her fingertips. Her suicidal courage reared its head when she least wanted it to.

He’d convert her? How kind of him. She suppressed a giggle. Now wasn’t the time to laugh, although imagining Carter’s expression when she told him she was a suckblood almost had her considering it.

Drawing in a shuddering breath and using her remaining willpower, she faced the direction of his voice. “My thanks for your generous offer, but I don’t want to be your meal or converted.”

---