Page 100 of Hollow

“Why not?” I say. “Damiano already takes care of the grounds. You have The Vault. I can resume my photography. We make it work.”

“Simple as that?” Flint asks, but I see the longing in his eyes—the same need for belonging, for home, that I feel myself.

“No,” I admit. “Not simple at all. We’ve got three dead men connected to this property. We’ve got history between us that’s messy as hell. We’ve got complications I can’t even begin to count.” I squeeze their hands. “But we’ve got each other, too.”

Damiano tightens his fingers around mine. “So we stay. Together.”

Flint’s laugh is soft, almost surprised. “The fucked-up three musketeers. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s not perfect,” I say, leaning into them both, “but it’s ours.”

The air shifts between us, charged with something more than just decision. The weight of what we’ve done—what we’ve chosen—settles around us, not as a burden but as a bond.

“No body, no crime,” I say softly, echoing the island saying I’d heard whispered since I arrived. “That’s what they say on Heathens Hollow.”

Flint’s mouth quirks into that dangerous half-smile. “Except we’ve gotthreebodies.”

“All safely buried,” Damiano adds, tracingpatterns on my knee, “but Idoneed to check the plants over Liam. Make sure everything’s as it should be.”

“And I should get back to The Vault,” Flint adds. “Keep an ear out, see what people are saying about Viktor.”

I nod, understanding their need to maintain appearances, to move forward as if nothing has changed when everything has.

“Tonight,” I say. “Come back tonight. Both of you.”

They look at me, questions in their eyes.

“I want us together tonight,” I explain. “All of us.”

“Just to sleep?” Flint asks, that familiar heat already building behind his eyes.

I shake my head slowly, feeling something wild and reckless building inside me. Something that belongs to this island, to these men, to whatever darkness we’ve all embraced.

“No,” I say. “I want to do The Hunt tonight. For real this time.”

They both go still, eyes locked on mine.

“Briar,” Damiano begins cautiously, “with everything that just happened?—”

“That’s exactly why,” I say. “I’m tired of being chased through that maze by someone trying to hurt me. I want to know what it feels like to be hunted by someone who...”

“Who what?” Flint prompts.

“Who loves me,” I finish, the word hanging between us, new and fragile and yet somehow as solid as the island beneath our feet.

Damiano’s breath catches. Flint’s jaw tightens, that muscle jumping in his cheek the way it does when he’s fighting for control.

“You want us to hunt you,” Damiano clarifies.”

Both of you,” I say, my gaze moving between them. “White nightgown. Red light. Whistles in the dark. The whole tradition.” I reach for both their hands. “I want to reclaim it. Make it ours.”

Flint tightens his fingers around mine. “You trying to exorcise some demons, princess?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe I just want to feel what it’s like to be prey without the fear of dying. To be caught by the right predators.”

Flint and Damiano exchange a look, some silent communication passing between them that makes my skin prickle with anticipation.

“Get the red light,” Flint says to Damiano, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll bring the masks.”

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