Everyone who almost died ten years ago in the attack lost the ability to see color—the world shifting to monochrome in the gasp of a breath. Carter is one of the rare few who had his full color vision restored. He speaks about it like a holy experience—as if the moment he realized he was in love with Naima was the moment he was reborn, and the color returning was just a symptom of a new life beginning.
It’s nauseating.
In recent years in Mountain Haven relationships, waiting for color to appear has become a point of tension. I can’t be bothered to succumb to the hopeless notion, nor do I aspire to.
For ten years, I’ve had one plan: rebuild and revenge. I have been careful not to form attachments with anyone. The thousands of us left here who survived the attack split into two directions. Some survivors sought out the comfort of partnership and family—eager to put their second chances to use. The rest, like me, turned away from that entirely.
Watching Carter pine for his wife while we were away was enough to put me off it even more.
Outside, a bell rings, and the bar quiets for a moment to hear the pattern. But it’s just that one chime, the warning that the hunt will start soon.
“Shall we?” Bryce says, nodding toward the door.
I stand and follow him toward the exit. Carter lags behind, kisses his wife, and swats her ass as she walks away.
He struts up beside us with a grin. The cold air steals the breath from my lungs as soon as we step outside, but I know the chill will be short-lived. Once the hunt starts, my blood will be burning.
I’m desperate for this hunt. It would be easier to blame my eagerness on my time away, but much as I hate to admit it, it’s just as likely that it’s the way Harlow has been taunting me. Maybe it’s just Harlow in general, with her vicious smile, her sinful body, the heady floral scent ofher skin, and the heated look in her eyes when I sucked her finger earlier.
There are plenty of things that are annoying about being heir, but I can safely say I’m going to thoroughly enjoy fucking Harlow Carrenwell in every sense of the word.
Carter and Bryce lead the way, and I scrub a hand over my face as we walk. I need to stop fantasizing about that. Tonight is about our people and playing the part of the heir.
By the time we reach the edge of the ruins where a statue to Kennymyra still stands, a crowd has gathered. Torches burn around the circle of the shrine. My parents stand in front of the large marble statue, their cloaks embroidered with Kennymyra’s sigil. I know the cloaks are red because it’s the color that honors Kennymyra, but to me, they just look charcoal.
The prey group of men and women fuss with their white cloaks, making them look like nervous ghosts milling about the entrance to the hunt grounds. The white is so that even those of us who can’t see color will be able to tell who is participating in the hunt.
On the other side of the circle, the hunters are decked out in dark colors, their hungry gazes assessing the options in front of them. I join them, Bryce falling into place beside me. Carter hangs back toward the edge of the circle in his green guard cloak.
I scan the crowd until I find my target. I’d know those dark eyes and the curve of that sensuous mouth anywhere. Miriam.
My blood heats. She’s a good twenty feet away, but a breeze stirs her hair, and her scent hits me all at once, sage and floral and so familiar. Desire rushes through me. Perhaps my friends were right. I do deserve some fun. I was just going to catch Miriam and steal her away to fool around for old times’ sake. I wasn’t going to fuck her, but Harlow’s disdain is obvious and she’s made it clear she could not care less who I fuck.
What’s between Miriam and me is purely transactional. I can think of no better way to chase away the memory of how Harlow’s body felt arched against mine. This will set me straight.
Miriam winks, pulls her braid over her shoulder, and tightens the ribbon that fastens the end of it.
“One last hurrah?” Bryce whispers. “You look like you need it.”
I grin. “Can’t hurt to indulge this once.”
Bryce claps a hand on my back. “Fucking finally. You’ve been so serious of late. Happy to see the old friend Hen is back.”
I swat his hand away. “I’ve been here all along. Now, who will you be chasing this evening?”
He nods to a curvy woman who is smiling shyly at him. She lifts her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and flashes the ribbon around her wrist. “She looks fun and she’s new. I love the first-timers.”
The restlessness of the crowd is a hum in my bones. I just want to go.
My father lifts his hands and a hush comes over the crowd. “All participants must follow the rules. The wordBreachbrings all games to an end immediately,” he says, his stern gaze passing over the crowd. “Now be safe and have fun.” He lifts his arms so they frame the statue behind him. “We dedicate this hunt to Kennymyra.”
A guard on the edge of the forest holds up a bell. “All prey get a five-minute head start.”
He rings the bell, and the participants in white dash into the trees, disappearing like specters into the darkness.
The fiddlers start playing loud music and the prey disappear into the hunt grounds. With a mere couple of miles between us and the mountain face, there are only so many places they can go inside this small area within the fort walls.
These few minutes of anticipation are my favorite part. So much about our lives here is regimented and controlled. We rely on order above all. These nights are when we can be as wild as we want, so long as we have the consent of our partner, and sometimes it’s a relief to not have to hide the impulse to be monstrous, especially after how much I’ve been leashing it with Harlow here.
