Page 47 of The Hunt

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious, Ev. Let’s drop all this animosity and help each other out. I really miss you,” he said in a soft, wheedling tone.“If you forgive me for all the past stuff, I’m willing to forgive you too.”

“You’rewilling to forgiveme?” I said scornfully.

“Yes. For all these wild accusations,” Jake replied. “I’m willing to let it go because I know how good we are together. You know it too, don’t you?”

“No,” I snapped. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Like I said before:fuck off.”

He ignored me. “You know, you’re depriving yourself of so many good things by ending it with me. I mean, when you were my girlfriend, you practically had the world at your feet,” he prattled on. “Think about it. Access, money, opportunities your parents could never give you… it’s all here with me, and you know it.”

I rolled my eyes again. “I know what you’re trying to do, but you can’t buy my silence or compliance,” I said in an acid tone. “Also, what about this new girlfriend of yours? Do you think she’d be happy to hear you saying all this shit?”

“Maya is just a rebound. She knows that. You’re the real deal, babe,” he said. “So come on. Let’s do it. Let’s bury the hatchet and get back together.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. So what do you think?”

“Honestly, Jake?” I said through gritted teeth, finger hovering over the end-call button. “I think I’d rather fuckingdie.”

10

Rhett

The Wild Huntheadquarters loomed ahead of me, its towering spires clawing at the night sky. The building was ancient, older than anything else in Havenport, its Gothic architecture a reminder of a time when fear and reverence were carved into stone. The dark gray facade was cracked and weathered, ivy snaking up the sides as if nature couldn’t help but claim a piece of its menace for itself.

I pulled my coat tighter as I stepped inside, the heavy wooden doors groaning ominously as they swung open. The air shifted instantly—colder, heavier, filled with the scent of melting wax and old stone. Black candles lined every crevice, their flickering flames casting distorted shadows across the vaulted ceiling.

As I strode down the main aisle, I glanced up at the masked figures seated in the pews above and below, their faces obscured behind intricate skeletal designs of silver and black. They didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was a sea of anonymity, the masks making them all identical.

Only the brand-new members at the front remained unmasked like me. We’d receive the masks for meetings after we went through our first hunting season.

To be honest, I’d never quite understood the reasoning behind masking at meetings. It just seemed so overly theatrical and ultimately pointless. After all, anyone who’d passed the summer trial knew who all the members were, because there was a listin the encrypted files we were granted access to after passing.

Not to mention all the society parties and other events, where we saw everyone in person. So what was the point of the older members hiding their faces during meetings? It only seemed logical to wear a mask around non-members.

I asked my father once, and he gave me some blathering excuse about adhering to tradition and the sanctity of the society’s rituals.

‘The masks aren’t just for secrecy,’he’d said, puffing on his cigar with a pompous look on his face.‘They’re a symbol. A reminder that in the society, we’re all equals. No names, no status. Just the Hunt.’

It sounded like nonsensical bullshit then, and it still did now. No one was truly equal in The Wild Hunt. Power was everything, and everyone knew exactly who wielded it: the Patriarchs.

Especially the Head Patriarch—JJ’s father Peter.

I’d let my father have his explanation, though, nodding like I understood. You didn’t challenge the society’s traditions. At least not if you valued your place in it.

But still, every time I walked into this building and saw those skull masks staring back at me, I couldn’t help but think about how much of it was just a show.

It was a show I enjoyed, though. The Wild Hunt had given me what I always needed: a place to channel the chaos inside me. Allthat anger, all that restlessness that used to get me into trouble, now had a purpose.

Here, I wasn’t just some reckless guy with a chip on his shoulder. I was part of something bigger. Something that demanded control, precision, and ruthlessness. The training, the rituals, the hunts… they were mere outlets, carefully crafted opportunities to unleash everything I kept bottled up.

Out there in the real world, losing control was a liability. In here, it was power. The society didn’t care if you were angry, probably didn’t even care if you were a full-fledged psychopath, as long as you were smart about it. As long as you used it to win.

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