Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
The second time I see him, the reaper is knocking on my door.
The third time, I am told he will be my husband.
Every time we meet after that, I question if he will be my enemy or my lover.
He says he'll teach me the rules and consequences to this world of ours.
It's a dark place of give and most definitely take.
And as my future husband, he's supposed to protect me at all costs from the shadows that threaten my family.
But am I ever truly safe when I'm with him?
Or with them?
Masked men tasked to watch over me. Stalk me. Rarely leaving my side.
If he can't always be the hunter, he makes sure they can.
I may be able to run from one, secretly enjoying the primal chase.
But when there are three.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Braken
I recognize her the minute I see her. I never forget a face, a name, or a story—especially if the story is laced in darkness.
But tonight isn’t about her past. It is about right now. The present.
She stands on her front porch, beneath the red light, with a certain confidence that only those who have seen their fair share of horrors possess. It’s as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but is determined to keep moving forward, no matter what the cost.
I watch from afar, hidden in the dense forest.
Stalking.
Planning.
She has signed up for The Hunt, and the night is ready to begin. By turning on her porch’s red light, dressing in her white nightgown, she has given her only signal of consent. Every year after the Harvest Moon, primal play is the only thing that exists on this island. It nearly consumes us all.
Women sign up to be chased with the knowledge that a basket full of money and gifts will await them in the morning on their porch—a fucked-up version of the Easter basket.
The men wear stag bone masks and hunt the women down with the sole intent to fuck them however they choose—an even more fucked-up version of the Easter bunny.
Every weekend, The Hunt happens until winter comes. It’s the way of Heathens Hollow. Always has been.
Raw.
Savage.
Depraved.
She will be my prey, and I the predator.
A game of submission... or is it?
I know from the moment I see her that she differs from the rest. Her eyes hold a certain fire, a passion that burns bright despite the darkness that surrounds her. It’s as if she dares me to come closer, to take her on and see what she is truly made of.
I creep through the trees, my heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. This is what I live for, the thrill of the chase, the rush of the taking.
This is why I do The Hunt. Why I embrace every part.
As I draw closer, I take in the way she holds herself, the way she stands tall and proud despite the danger that lurks around every corner. It is a challenge, a dare, and I am more than ready to accept it.
I whistle in warning. An eerie sound the hunters give.
She isn’t a novice to the rules of the game, so she’ll know it means I am near.
I step out of the shadows, and my eyes lock on hers. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. Instead, she holds my gaze, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. It’s as if she knows what is coming, as if she is ready to face whatever fate has in store for her.
A fierce determination blazes in her eyes, a burning fire that refuses to be extinguished. It’s as if she is daring me to take her down, to break her.
For a moment, we stand there in silence, each sizing up the other. Beneath my bone stag mask, I part my lips and say one word.
“Run.”
Without a word, she turns and sprints, in mere seconds disappearing into the forest, her body a blur of motion.
The hunt is on, and I am in pursuit. Her bare feet slap down as she runs, leaves and branches rustle as she dodges through the trees. I am hot on her trail, my senses sharp and alert.
As we run, glimpses of her reveal her long, dark hair whipping behind her, her body in a white nightgown moving with a fluid grace. A wave of desire washes over me, a primal urge to catch her, to have her. This is more than just a hunt, this is a game of seduction, of desire and passion.
I chase her deeper into the forest, the trees and foliage rushing by in mayhem. We move as one, predator and prey, locked in a dance of danger and desire. I feel the heat of her body, the scent of her sweat and fear driving me onward.