The Hunter’s Game: Blood for Blood: 01

by Fox, Logan

  He scrambles to his feet, hauling me up with a hand in my hair. I scream, but hoarsely because he knocked the wind from my lungs. I try my best to see if Hunter’s manned up enough to come and help me, but I see nothing but dark shadows out there in the forest.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” a rough voice grates into my ear.

  Not the best thing to hear when you’ve just trespassed. But if he’d said something along the lines of ‘I like my girls with a little fight’ or something, I swear I’d have said my prayers and hoped I died of syphilis sooner rather than later.

  “I’ll leave. Please. Just let me go.”

  Logically, this argument should have worked gang busters.

  It doesn’t, and I’m done debating the subject with him when my captor clamps a hand over my mouth and drags me toward that tall white building I’d so erroneously thought a church.

  Because, of course, it could only be an abattoir, a crack house, or the headquarters for a human trafficking ring.

  Where the fuck was Hunter? Would he send for help? Or did he fear that I’d rat him out about everything that had happened up to this point?

  I won’t.

  If you can hear me, if we’re somehow cosmically entwined after those herbs you made me drink…please.

  Help me, Hunter.

  * * *

  More men arrive the closer I get to the church. No, I can’t argue the fact anymore. There’s even a little bell in the tower.

  I don’t know what’s freaking me out more—the fact that I’m naked, or the fact that none of them seem to care. I sincerely doubt that I’ve somehow ended up in a naturalist retreat that caters only for gay, brawny men.

  Look, it’s possible, but highly implausible.

  The building’s wooden doors creak when one of the bulkier men drag it open.

  Thank God—ironically?—that there isn’t a service going on. I doubt anyone in this congregation is on the normal, law-abiding side of Mallhaven’s population.

  Inside, the church looks like I’d expect. Judging, not from personal experience, but from movies and shit of course since I’ve never been inside one. Stained-glass windows throw shafts of colored lights onto rows of empty pews. There’s a pulpit at the far end—just as empty. Some flower arrangements that look more feral than pretty.

  There’s something wrong, though.

  It’s not the fact that this place is utterly silent.

  Creepy, yes. Wrong? No.

  Is it the guy dragging me down the aisle?

  Again—creepy, but not it. After all, I did cross some rudimentary barbed wire. I could—possibly—truly be trespassing here.

  There’s something I’m not seeing. Something—

  “Father.”

  Who’s he speaking to? There’s no one here.

  A small arched doorway leading off the stage—or should I call it an altar?—opens to admit a dark-robed figure.

  Ah. There you go. There’s the fucking strange I was looking for.

  This is no church. Well, not in a holy way. I scan the place around furiously, trying to find another piece of this twisted puzzle.

  When I find it, it’s so blindingly obvious I almost roll my eyes.

  The stained-glass windows don’t depict Christ on the cross. There are no virginal Mary’s up there, glowing with their inexplicable pregnancy. No three wise men.

  Okay, honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue what goes for normal church doctrine.

  But an enormous man with the head of a goat is probably not it. Unless he’s being slaughtered by like, an angel or something.

  Nope.

  Beastie’s positioned right above the pulpit. One hand’s up and making some weird occult symbol, the other is stroking the head of a blond woman who’s either weeping in his lap or going serious deep throat on his dick.

  The robed figure draws closer. I try to cover myself because this is the first time I feel eyes on me. Eyes where they shouldn’t be, like if you happen to spot a vulnerable naked young lady in the middle of—oh, I don’t know—your satanic church?

  A stray beam of red light flashes over the man’s face. I thought he had his hood up, but it turns out he’s got long, dark hair that hangs just past his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed Jesus beard.

  There’s a zealous gleam in his eyes as he works at a button at the top of his robe.

  I swear, if he’s naked…

  But he’s not. He’s wearing a plain, long-sleeved t-shirt and faded jeans.

  The robe swirls around him as he plucks it off, and then it’s around me and my captor is no longer holding me by the scruff of my neck.

  “What is the meaning of this?” his dark voice demands.

  Oh, thank God, and not even ironically. This was all a mistake. His ignorant grunt is obviously really stupid. I surge forward, so fucking glad that I’ve discovered a sane person that I don’t bother with sorting out my legs first.

  As I trip and fall forward, I grab for the first thing I can to stay upright—and that happens to be Father’s neckline.

  Eyes such a pale blue they almost don’t have any color latch onto me. Dark brows contract. The man jerks my hand from him with such aggression that I yelp in pain.

  “She was inside,” grunts the grunt.

  “No, I wasn’t!” I hate the fact that my voice is much higher than it should be, but now’s not the time to worry about coming off weak. “I mean, I didn’t know—”

  “Where are her clothes?” Father says through perfect teeth. But not to me—he’s talking to his fucking grunt.

  “Wasn’t wearing any, Father.”

  Cold eyes flicker to me. A scan takes in every pore on my face. “You’re trespassing, girl.”

  “I guess I missed the sign,” I manage, my words muffled how tight my jaw is. “Now, if you’ll just let me—”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” The man called Father grabs my wrist. “Hunter knows the rules.”

  My mouth is open to protest, but what the fuck am I supposed to say about that? So, instead, I gape up at the Father as blood drains from my face.

  He knows Hunter.

  Is that why Hill didn’t dare chase after me? Why he went and hid like the yellow bellied fucking coward—

  “Father!”

  I spin around at that familiar voice. Hunter stands silhouetted in the church’s doorway before striding up to us.

  Father rips me to the side, taking a step forward as if expecting Hunter to take a swing at him. “You know the rules.”

  Hunter’s dark eyes spark with anger, but his voice comes out smooth as silk. “She doesn’t.”

  “That’s not how this works, Dr. Hill.”

  Honorifics? I gape from Hunter to the priest, eyes so big they feel as if they’re going to fall out.

  Hunter holds out a hand for me. “She’s mine. Return her to me.”

  His?

  If I wasn’t getting such a hectic vibe from Hunter, I’d have said something snarky.

  Look, I don’t believe in things like soul mates and spiritual connections and all that shit. I just don’t. Call it cynicism, or experience, or whatever the fuck you want.

  But right now, somehow, Hunter’s mentally commanding me to go with this. To swallow whatever pride I have left and trust him.

  Trust him.

  Trust him?

  Trust him?

  Doesn’t he get it?

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” I spit out, wrenching my wrist free from the priest’s grip. I almost want to take off the robe around my shoulders, but then I’d have to stalk out of here naked.

  Doubt I could hold my head up if that happened.

  Instead, I grab it around me with all the arrogance I can muster, turn on my heel, and walk straight into the grunt that dragged me inside here in the first.

  Rats.

  “So not one of yours, then,” the priest muses smugly. “See yourself out.”

  “She’s not—” but Hunter cuts off without finishing his sentence.
Then he glares at me like this is all my fucking fault. I scowl back at him a second before I’m herded after the priest.

  Wait, what?

  “Hey, let go!” I start struggling, throwing Hunter a pleading look over my shoulder. “Hunter!”

  But he just stands there, tight lipped and eyes dark as a thunderstorm, not making a move in my direction.

  “Hunter!” I yell, more in confusion than anything else.

  Why the fuck won’t he help me?

  What the fuck is going on?

  I whip my head forward.

  And where the fuck is this priest taking me?

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Hunter

  My chest is so tight, I can’t even breathe. I watch the High Priest of the Messianic Church of Solomon drag an incredulous Clover down the aisle.

  But Father is right; I know the rules.

  I should accept the fact that Clover is gone. I should be getting to work finding a new test subject.

  A new trial.

  More data for my study.

  That’s all that should be—

  “Please!” My voice sounds echoes strangely in the massive church. “Father, please!”

  But the priest doesn’t even pause mid-step. Clover looks at me over her shoulder, face the color of milk and her hair glowing as a stray beam of light glances off it.

  “Father!” I take a step forward, but his crony is blocking my path. I grit my teeth, my heart thundering like a herd of wild horses in a chest banded with icy iron chains.

  “She belongs to me!”

  The priest stops. Clover’s eyes are wide, but there’s not a trace of fear in them.

  If she knew where he’d been taking her, she’d have been fighting him tooth and nail. But she probably wouldn’t fight him until it was too late.

  “I can’t lose her.”

  The Father turns to me, Clover spinning around with him. He’s got her by her upper arm, but with such a tight grip that even when she tugs at his fingers, he doesn’t loosen his grip.

  “The other one is dead,” the priest says.

  Confusion flickers over Clover’s face, and I can’t blame her. But there’s no time for explanations.

  “I know.” I step closer, holding a hand up to the Father’s crony so he doesn’t tackle me. I could take him easily, of course, but I know there are twenty, thirty more of the Father’s men roaming nearby. “Her name is Clover. She’s mine. She belongs to me.”

  Father cocks his head at me. I’ve almost never seen him wear anything but the patient smile of a Buddhist monk and now is no different. He watches me from behind implacable eyes. “Which is what you claimed about the other one.”

  Fucker.

  My lips squirm; tongue battling my jaws. “MJ.” The name comes out as a strangled, angry sound. “Her name was MJ.”

  “Yes.” That beatific smile remains completely unchanged. “I remember now.”

  I hold out a hand. “Please.” And then, because it was the statement that seemed to have the most impact on him, I say again, “Clover belongs to me.”

  The priest regards me for a few seconds before walking back my way. Clover’s frowning so hard, I can only hope she doesn’t decide to say anything stupid.

  Or anything at all.

  I wish then, more than ever, that I knew this motherfucker’s name. But I don’t think anyone does. If he was even born of a mortal woman, I’m sure the Devil himself destroyed those birth records.

  I don’t believe in God, it’s true. But I know for a fact the Devil exists if only because of this man standing in front of me.

  The priest’s colorless eyes flicker over my face as if searching for some hidden meaning in my expression, which I keep as neutral as possible.

  “Blood for blood,” I murmur, hoping the words will only carry to Father’s ears.

  Clover’s eyes narrow to slits. Her mouth thins. But she doesn’t say anything, and for that I could kiss her.

  For that I will kiss her.

  Father lifts his chin, and slowly releases Clover. She slips to the side, moving as slowly and fluidly as a cat without making eye contact with the priest.

  I suppose anyone in a ten-yard radius can feel just how volatile this situation is.

  I beckon Clover with my fingertips, and she comes to my side. I grab her arm—not unlike Father had just been holding her—and start backing away.

  “Blood for blood.” Father’s voice feels like skeletal fingers walking down my spine, but I ignore the feeling and give him an abrupt nod.

  I can’t stand looking at him anymore. As it is, a plethora of ghastly memories I’ve successfully dealt with years ago flood my mind.

  Turning, I urge Clover close to my side and whisper a furious, “Don’t say or do anything. Just follow me.”

  “But—”

  “What the fuck did I just say?”

  Her mouth clamps shut with an audible click. We’re almost at the door when the Father’s voice reaches me.

  “It was good to see you again, Dr. Hill.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Clover

  Holy fucking mother of Christ. Hunter’s walking so fast it’s all I can do to keep up while holding the edges of the priest’s robe closed. I know they don’t seem to care, but I still don’t want the cluster of men we have to walk through peeking at my private bits.

  We’re through the group of thugs, but I can feel dozens of eyes on my back as Hunter heads back to the forest. I break out in goosebumps, and not in a sexy way.

  I jerk at the unexpected bellow of a voice when someone calls out. “We can take ya back.”

  Hunter lifts a hand without looking back and tightens his grip around my shoulders. “Don’t look back.”

  “Or they’ll charge?”

  “Very likely.”

  I guess the embargo on silence is ended. “What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?”

  “Shut up and keep moving.”

  “You’re going to call the cops, right?”

  “The…what?” In his astonishment, Hunter looks at me before catching himself. We surge forward, slipping through the hole in the barbed wire fence. “The cops?” he demands, releasing me and staring at me as if I’ve gone stark raving mad.

  We’re out of sight of the church and the priest’s bodyguards, but Hunter doesn’t stop. When he notices I have, he waves an angry hand at me. “Keep up.”

  “Ain’t nothing good happening in that place,” I say, stabbing a finger toward the distant church. “We gotta call—”

  “We ain’t gotta fucking nothing,” Hunter snarls at me.

  I’m so shocked, I’m not even pissed off at his sarcasm. He comes back for me, grabs my wrist, and hauls me through the forest after him. “Now keep up!”

  “What, you didn’t notice the fucking devil in that stained-glass window?”

  Hunter falters and turns a confused face to me. “Devil…” he murmurs. Then he barks out a brittle laugh. “That’s their—” he waves an impatient hand “—nature god or something.”

  My eyebrows skyrocket to my hairline, but Hunter’s pulling me after him again, not bothering with whether I want to be going in his direction or not.

  “Try Satan!” I whisper furiously. “And what the hell was that about blood for blood?”

  Hunter’s grip flinches around my wrist, but he doesn’t answer me.

  “Hunter!” I rip my hand free and tuck my hands under my armpit so he can’t grab them again. “I’m not going anywhere until you—”

  “It’s not my story to tell!” he yells.

  Birds take flight, and several smaller mammals plunge away through the forest.

  He’s angry. Or scared. Or a little bit of both—it’s so fucking hard to tell with him.

  “Now, are you coming with me, or are you going to wait for them to come after you?”

  “But they—”

  Hunter throws up his hands. He starts off, ripping foliage from his way with reckless abandon. I hesit
ate for longer than I should. Seriously, how can Hunter be worse than whatever the fuck was going on at that church?

  I follow him, of course.

  It’s not as if I have a choice.

  We eventually make it back to the road leading to his cabin, what feels like hours later.

  Hunter climbs on his four-wheeler, starts it up, and looks expectantly at me. When I don’t immediately climb up behind him, his shoulders sag a little like I’ve just exhausted the last bit of his patience.

  Which I probably have.

  “Fine,” he says, opening the four-wheeler’s throttle, so he has to shout over the sound. “Walk back to town wearing just that.” He lifts his fingers, eyebrows twitching in annoyance, and makes to pull off.

  “Wait,” I grumble, stomping over to him and sliding up behind him with ill grace.

  He pulls off so fast that I almost topple over backward. Instinctively, I grab his shirt and cling to him as he tears up the road. The wind whips my robe behind me, and I have to laugh because I can imagine how ridiculous the pair of us look.

  If there’d been anyone within a one-mile radius to see us, they’d have been pissing themselves laughing.

  I struggle one-handed with the robe and manage to draw it over myself in some semblance of modesty and narrow my eyes so the wind will stop drying out my eyeballs. Eventually, I just tuck my head behind Hunter’s back, pressing my cheek to his shoulder blade as I watch the forest stream past in a jade blur.

  I close my eyes, wishing I could push out the sight of the priest’s feverish gaze.

  Hunter parks close to the front door of his house and waits for me to climb off before he does.

  None of us say a word when he opens the door and stands aside to let me in.

  This time, I don’t hesitate.

  I need clothes. I have to call a cab. None of those things are going to happen if I stay outside like the stubborn bitch I am.

  Just like before, his home is utterly silent. If he has servants working here, they obviously only come during the night or something weird.

  It wouldn’t shock me in the least if they were all robots.

  I start upstairs, freezing when he follows me.