Page 112 of Hunted By Valentine

The relief only lasts until I notice the blood running down her body to pool on the floor. She’s fucking bleeding. Someone didn’t just touch her; they fucking hurt her. But that’s not what has fear clawing at my heart; it’s the look in her eyes. They’re open, but unseeing as she sways unsteadily. And in their depths is… nothing.

As I look at her, I, for the first time in my life, believe in the concept of having a soul. And the thing that’s convinced me is that Ruby’s is gone. The woman on the stage is a shell, a husk of her former self. Nothing more.

I make a quick inventory of my options. The bow is useless here; I’ll only get to use it once. The second the element of surprise is gone, I’ll get rushed which means close combat. All I have is the knife, a small, easily concealed blade meant for cutting rope or fabric. I pull it from my pocket and hold it in my palm, feeling the cold steel leech the warmth from my skin.

My thoughts turn dark, possessive. I imagine rushing the stage, slashing at the older woman, taking Ruby in my arms and cutting her bonds. I see us running through the corridors, out into the night, escaping in a hail of gunfire. It’s a suicide fantasy, but it’s better than the paralysis of indecision.

I crack the door again, just enough to see. A man takes the stage, dressed in a gaudy velvet suit. He taps a microphone, and the crowd starts to settle. My heart pounds in my ears, each beat a thunderous drumroll.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man says, his voice echoing off the walls. “Thank you for joining us this evening. We have a truly exquisite selection for you tonight.”

My grip tightens on the hilt of my knife, imagining the feel of flesh giving way to steel, the warm rush of blood. No one will touch her again. No one but me.

With those thoughts at the forefront of my mind, I tuck the knife into the waistband of my pants, and remove the bow from my back. I quickly line up three arrows, ready to shoot them off to the left where most are seated. Hopefully, the chaos will buy me a few precious seconds.

Then I burst through the door.

Chapter 41

The Prey

Istand on the stage, barely clinging to consciousness as my broken body hangs limply. I am a ghostly observer of this unfolding nightmare, detached from reality yet consumed by searing pain that throbs through every inch of my being.

Each breath is a struggle, each movement a torturous feat. I am nothing but a shell, filled with agony and empty of hope.

The Knight family curse grips my mind in a relentless vise, chanting tales of horror and warning, haunting me like a ghostly presence. Passed down from generation to generation, it is a superstition etched deep into the fabric of our bloodline.

Three children born, but only one destined to survive and carry on the legacy. The other two cursed to suffer unimaginable tragedy, their lives sacrificed for the chosen heir’s rise to power.

This is not justice, this is not right, but I gave up on those ideals a lifetime ago. Deep in my bones, I have always felt the looming inevitability of an early death. And now, with a twisted sense of certainty, I can feel the curse seizing me, as though I am simply fulfilling a preordained script written before even my first breath was drawn.

Myvision blurs as I sway on my unsteady feet, the stage lights burning too bright in my eyes. The room spins around me, a dizzying blur of colors and shapes.

Suddenly, a deafening crash pierces through the air, like thunder striking too close. My eyes snap open, struggling to focus on the scene before me. But no matter how many times I blink, the sight remains unchanged.

Valentine stands in the doorway, a menacing angel armed with a bow in his hand, his arrows already unleashed. His eyes are scorching, darting around the room in search of his target, and when they lock onto me, a primal ferocity sparks to life within them.

While he throws the bow aside and pulls his knife out, our gazes lock in a fleeting moment. That’s all it takes for my resolve to shatter like glass, a traitorous glimmer of hope threatening to break through.

I can’t afford to waver now. Valentine’s presence can’t shield me from this fate. There is no escaping it, I have sealed it, prepared to welcome the curse as it consumes me completely.

The elegant crowd of twisted creatures cowers in fear, their polished exteriors cracking under the weight of terror. One desperate soul cries out for security, but it’s too late. Valentine is a raging tempest, tearing through the room with raw power and determination.

He seizes a man by the collar, hurling him aside like a discarded toy. A woman screams as he viciously slices through her luxurious fur stole, the sharp blade singing a deadly tune.

“Valentine,” I whisper, though my voice is a ghost’s, too thin to carry.

He’s too late. His desperate attempts to save me are futile, as my mind and body have already been irreparably damaged. I want to scream at him, to spare him the wasted effort, but my voice is a shattered whisper compared to the screams that echo inside me.

He believes he can rescue me, undo the trauma that has consumed me, but I am already lost beyond redemption.

A wave of pure terror washes over me as I watch him take a brutal blow to the ribs. My heart plummets into an abyss of despair and I ache to run to his side, to protect him from harm. But I am utterly shattered, brokenbeyond repair, and I know that this time, there is no turning back from the edge I am teetering on.

Without hesitation, he thrusts his knife deep into the attacker’s kidney with a force that makes bones crunch and organs burst. A gush of hot blood sprays out in a morbid mist, coating everything in its path with a sickening scarlet hue, reminiscent of a shattered stained-glass window.

My throat constricts as I try to scream out, my voice trapped in a suffocating grip of fear. I want to beg him to turn around, to run and save himself from the oncoming danger. I’m frozen, unable to move or speak, as another assailant charges toward him with a jagged bottle at the ready.

Valentine swiftly sidesteps the attack, the sharp glass grazing his shoulder but he doesn’t even flinch. Without hesitation, he spins around and drives his knife with brutal force into the attacker’s stomach, unleashing a primal scream of rage and vengeance.

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