Page 50 of The Devil's Hunt

"Ah, that's right," Gage chuckled, catching a glance at Archer, who feigned false shock. "The Hunt was last night. Well, the odds were in your favor since you're the first Chosen that Archer has brought home."

My eyes narrowed as I stared up at Archer, my forehead creasing in confusion. "I thought The Hunt had been going on for years."

"It has. Decades, even," Archer confirmed.

"Then how was I the first Chosen you've brought home?"

"I've always participated, but none of mypickshave survived The Hunt. Most don't, actually. Not until you."

"Really? But everyone talks about The Hunt and being picked for all the parties and the mind-blowing sex with you three stooges."

Archer's lips curved into a dark smirk. “Well, they aren't lying. Wedothrow parties, and thereisa lot of sex."

"That you participate in?" I pressed, feeling a twinge of jealousy. My stomach churned at the thought of Archer fucking a bunch of college girls.

"I do." Archer's expression turned quizzical as he watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction.

"Hm," I frowned, turning my attention back to Gage. He said nothing else, but I knew neither of us were done with the conversation.

Meanwhile, Gage spoke up, breaking the tense silence."It doesn't look like anything important was hit," Gage mused aloud, changing the subject. "If you look like this after The Hunt, I'd hate to see the other guy."

"Girl, actually," I blurted out, seeing Emily's caved-in face in my mind. I knew I should feel remorse for what I had done. But the truth was, I didn’t—not right then, at least. Instead, I felt satisfied.

Whole.

"Nice," Gage responded, picking up a pair of tweezers and pulling a piece of wood out of my thigh.

I watched as Gage expertly cleaned my wounds before delicately stitching them back together. The room was filled with the soft sound of his movements, the delicate click of the needle piercing my skin. Archer stood beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder, and I winced as my adrenaline waned, and the pain of my injuries made me nauseous.

"These should heal nicely. You're lucky. An inch deeper, and you would have bled out before you got back here," Gage paused, assessing his work and lifting an eyebrow. "Stay away from knives and crazy chicks for a little while, Mila."

"I can't promise anything," I teased.

"It will be sore while it heals, so I'll give you Vicodin. Take one every four to six hours. Change the bandages once daily, and if you have any concerns, you know where to find me."

Gage handed me an orange bottle of pills and a bag of woundcare supplies. "Weight-bearing as tolerated, and keep the extracurricular activities to a minimum so you don't tear your stitches."

"You got it, Doc." I gave him a small smile, feeling exhausted and in significant pain. "Thank you for these," I gestured toward the pills and slid off the table, gingerly putting weight on my leg. Archer moved to pick me back up, but I swatted his hands away in annoyance. "I've got it."

My defiant act didn't go unnoticed. I pushed past him, intent on making it to his room independently. He followed me wordlessly, not far behind, only fueling my annoyance further. My injured leg throbbed with each step, but I was dead set on making it without his help. He would point me in the right direction, but just watched me hobble along. I limped for what seemed like an eternity before I collapsed against the wall, sweat dripping down my face as I fought through the pain.

He stood there, waiting for me to surrender and ask for help, but he knew I would never give him that satisfaction. Suddenly, his arms were around me, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing. I seethed in indignation, but he held me tightly and silently carried me the rest of the way to his room.

Setting me down in the bathroom, he turned the shower on and lifted my bloodied and torn dress over my head, tossing it to the floor. Helping me step into the shower, I closed my eyes, letting the warm water cascade down my body and wash away the evidence of The Hunt. Archer joined me, wrapping his arms around me protectively and cleaning the blood and dirt off my skin.

"You've never been more beautiful than you were tonight," he whispered in my ear, his voice low and filled with wonder.

"What would have happened if she killed me?" I retorted.

"She didn't," he replied calmly.

"But she almost did," I pressed. "And you just stood there, watching."

He spun me around to face him, anger in his voice. "I did watch because that's what The Brotherhood required of me. We have a codeto follow. If I had interfered, you would not be considered worthy enough for me."

"Worthy? Who are you or any of those misogynist pricks to decide who is worthy?" I seethed, my voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck you."

Before I could even process his next move, his body roughly pinned me in place against the walls of the shower, his jaw clenched tightly as he growled, “I’ve killed for you.”

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