Vane’s green eyes flash with dangerous excitement behind his mask as he complies, creating another line parallel to the first. He leans forward, tongue tracing the wound, collecting her blood with evident elation.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he growls against her skin.
Lia laughs—not the nervous giggle of prey caught in a predator’s jaws, but the confident sound of a woman getting exactly what she wants. “And you said I wouldn’t be able to handle your particular... appetites.”
She reaches between them, grasping him roughly as she repositions herself. “I want to feel you inside while you cut me again.”
This isn’t the coerced submission the Hunt is designed for. This is a woman who embraces the darkness as eagerly as the man inflicting it.
I tear my gaze away from Vane and Lia. As fascinating as their power dynamic is, I have my own prey to find.
The corridor stretches before me, dimly lit and eerily quiet after the sounds of pleasure from the room I just passed. I scan the polished floor, searching for any sign of Elliot’s hasty departure.
That’s when I notice them—a trail of sweaty footprints leading left at the next junction.
“There you are,” I murmur, satisfaction curling through me.
The prints are unmistakable—bare feet, too large to be a woman’s. The moisture from his sweat has left perfect impressions on the sleek floor. Each footprint is farther apart than normal walking would produce—he’s been running, desperate to put distance between himself and the pleasure he can’t admit he craves.
I follow the trail, taking my time. No need to rush when your prey has so conveniently marked his path. The footprints growfainter as I progress, the sweat drying with each step he took, but the direction is clear enough.
Left at the junction, then straight past two doorways, then another left. He’s heading deeper into the maze, away from the main areas where other hunters might be.
Smart, but ultimately futile.
I run my fingers along the wall as I walk, savoring the anticipation. Elliot can’t hide forever. The Hunt has hours left, and I’m nothing if not patient.
The corridor ahead branches again, and I pause, studying the fading prints. They continue left, toward what I believe is a service area—storage rooms and staff facilities. A good place to hide or at least catch one’s breath.
I follow the trail of footprints down another corridor. The maze of Purgatory seems to shift around me, corridors bleeding into one another in a labyrinth designed for sin and secrecy. I pause at another junction, listening for any sound that might betray Elliot’s location.
Then I hear it—voices murmuring from around the corner.
“—can’t keep doing this to yourself.” The voice is smooth, cultured.
Theo Winters.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elliot’s voice, strained and defensive.
I flatten myself against the wall, keeping just out of sight. The corridor ahead opens into a small alcove, dimly lit in red. Perfect.
“Come on, Elliot. I’ve watched you for years at these events. Always hunting women you don’t really want, always running from what you do.”
A harsh laugh from Elliot. “Is this the part where you tell me you understand me better than I understand myself?”
“No. This is the part where I tell you I’ve been exactly where you are.”
I shift slightly, angling for a better position to hear. The cool wall presses against my shoulder as I stand perfectly still, controlling my breathing.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Theo continues, his voice softening. “The shame, the hiding. There are men here who would?—”
“Stop.” Elliot’s voice cracks. “Just stop.”
I smile in the darkness. Poor Theo, always so sincere, so earnest in his approach. He doesn’t understand that men like Elliot don’t respond to gentle coaxing. They need to be broken open.
“Julian was right about you,” Theo says after a moment.
My name in his mouth makes me pay closer attention. This is getting interesting.