CHAPTER FORTY

Our earlier chase had been a playful game of hide-and-seek. This was a hunt. I tore through the forest, vines snagging my legs, branches whipping my arms, rocks biting into my soles, Ricky one step behind, his breath coming so hard I had to look back to be sure it was him, half expecting to find a hound on my heels instead. As for why I was running, or where I was running, I’m not sure I could have even articulated it. I felt . . . drunk isn’t the right word. But something like it. High on adrenaline, the hormone pounding through me, drowning out rational thought, telling me I wanted to see it, wanted to see it . . .

Wanted to see what?

Oh, I knew. I could say I didn’t, but deep down I did. The ground vibrated under my feet. The smell of horses wafted over on the breeze. And then I heard it: the baying of hounds. Everything I’d smelled and heard in that hallway at the charity dinner, but this time there was no urge to run away. I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever wanted to run away. Tonight I felt that and I heard it and I smelled it, and I ran toward it.

Then I saw it. The flicker of movement in the forest, the ground pounding so hard now I stumbled. Ricky caught me around the waist, keeping me upright. I looked into the forest and I saw fire, licking flames in the distance, and I heard the pounding of hooves and the panting of hounds. Ricky’s hands closed around my waist and he tried to turn me around, but I wouldn’t look away, kept straining to see. He pushed against me, hard and urgent, and said something, but his voice was too thick for me to pick up the words. I dropped to my knees, on all fours, Ricky dropping behind me.

I saw fire and shadows. Then I saw riders. Riders and hounds, and Ricky thrust into me, and after that I didn’t care what I saw, didn’t care at all.

—

What happened next? I wasn’t even sure. Oh, I remembered the first part just fine. Sex. Amazing, unforgettable sex. Then collapsing on the ground, Ricky shuddering and panting, “Shit, holy shit,” as he caught his breath, his arms around me, so warm it was like falling into that fire, the fire I could still smell on the breeze. And then . . . well, nothing. I could say I drifted off, but I don’t even remember hitting the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was alone in the forest, sitting naked on the ground, blinking into the darkness.

“Ricky?”

“Right here. Sorry.” He appeared through the trees, something gathered in his arms. “I thought I could make it back before you woke up.”

He took our jeans and stretched them over me, then paused and looked down at his work.

“Not much of a blanket,” he said.

I laughed softly. “I appreciate the effort. Very sweet.” I reached for his hand and tugged him down.

He stretched out beside me, pulling me against him, which was warmer than any blanket. As I snuggled in, he said, “That, um, that was . . .”

“Intense?”

“Hell, yeah.” He exhaled. “Intense.” He was silent for a moment. “Was it . . . ? I mean, that wasn’t quite . . . Is everything okay?”

In his eyes, I saw the real questions. Was it too intense? Did I frighten you? Did I hurt you?

I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, answering that way. After a moment he relaxed, the kiss deepening, his hands on my ass as he pulled me closer.

“Is everything okay with you?” I asked as we broke for breath.

“Hell, yeah. I just wasn’t sure if it was too much—”

I cut him off with a kiss. “For the record, I will always let you know if it’s too much. I’m pretty sure I was the initiator there, and yes, I was following your lead, but I wouldn’t do that just to make you happy. I’m not that selfless.”

He smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

A few moments curled up together, light kisses, postponing the inevitable trip back to the cabin. Then he said, “In the forest . . . Did you see . . . ?”

“I saw something.”

“Riders?”

I nodded.

“There’s a stable nearby,” he said. “I suppose that’s what it was, but . . .”

“But . . . ?”

He looked at me. “You promised not to mock, right?”

“Absolutely. And I meant it.”

He reclined with his arm still around me. I twisted and rested on his chest, my chin propped up.

“It was riders from the stable,” he said. “A midnight hunt. Logically, I know that. But when I was a kid, sometimes I’d hear the horses and the hounds, and I’d tell myself it was the Hunt.”

“The Hunt?”

“I mentioned that my nana used to tell me stories. She’s Irish, and she grew up with all that. I liked it, so she’d pass it on. Stories of fairy traps and enchantments. And the Wild Hunt.” He lifted his head. “Have you heard of it?”

I was glad for the darkness, hiding my expression. “I have. Phantom riders and hounds that hunt the living and send them to the afterlife. If you see the Wild Hunt, it’s a death omen.”

“Nana said you aren’t supposed to see them, but only because, if you do, they might be after you. They hunt evil. Spectral vigilantes. I like that version better.”

“Nice. You’ll have to tell me more of her stories.”

“Better yet, you could meet her.” He shifted, getting comfortable. “She’s off on some hiking tour in Peru for the next few weeks, but when she gets back, if you’d like to meet her . . .”

“I would.”

His arm tightened around me. “Good.”

“They’re your dad’s parents, I presume?”

“His mom. His father isn’t in the picture. Never was. He sent plenty of money, but there was no contact. That’s one reason my dad insisted on keeping me, and made sure my mother stayed in touch.”

“Wanting something better for you.”

“Yeah.” He shifted again and made a face, reaching under him.

“Yes, the ground is cold and rocky.”

“That’s not it. I’m lying on . . .” He pulled out the boar’s tusk. “Um, okay . . .”

“Actually, that’s mine. It must have fallen out of my jeans. Did I mention I wouldn’t tease you about your superstitions? I have my own. It’s a good luck charm.”

“Huh.” He turned it over in his hands. “I’d remember if I’d seen it before, but it looks familiar. A tooth of some kind?”

“Boar tusk—the tip of one.”

“Really? And the writing? What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. I had someone take a look, and she could only decipher enough to figure out it’s a protective amulet.”

He peered at the etched letters. “It’s old, whatever it is. Very cool. Especially this.” He ran his thumb over the entwined moon and sun. Then he touched the words under it. “You have no idea what this says?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. Well, as hard as I try not to be superstitious, I think you’re right. It’s good luck. You should keep it close.”

“I am.” I stuffed it into my jeans. “And I suppose I should put these back on so I don’t lose it, which probably means we should head back to the cabin. It is a little nippy out here.”

“We’ll head back, and I’ll get the fireplace roaring.”

—

Ricky was having a dream. A bad one. I woke when he kung-fu-chopped me in the neck.

I scrambled up, ready to fight whatever monster had attacked in the night, only to find Ricky tossing and turning, moaning softly. Sweat plastered his hair and soaked the pillow. I tugged the covers off, in case he was just overheated.

He mumbled something I couldn’t make out. He kept mumbling it, over and over. I rubbed his sweat-drenched back.

“Ricky?”

More mumbling. Then he shot up so fast he startled me.

“I know,” he said, grabbing for me. “I know it.”

His eyes were wild, those golden flecks I’d seen earlier glowing. He held my arm tight, gaze fixed on mine, sweat dripping from his face.

“I know it, Liv.”

“Okay.” I loosened his iron grip on my arm.

“Sorry, sorry.” He let go. “I know it.”

“All right,” I said. “What do you know?”

“The tusk. The writing. I know what it says. What it means.”

“Okay. What?”

His mouth opened. Panic flooded his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. I know. I know.”

“Ricky . . .” I shifted to kneel beside him. “You were having a bad dream.”

He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. “No. I remembered. It’s important. It’s so important.”

I leaned in. “You’re still half asleep. It’s okay. It was just—”

“No! You need to know.”

He pushed me away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.

“Fuck!” His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine.” I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. “You’re having a bad dream.”

He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. “It was a nightmare.”

His head shook against my shoulder. “Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and . . .” He took deep breaths. “And it was just a dream.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck.” He pulled back, looking abashed. “It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn’t want to, like I’d lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and . . .”

Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“It was only a dream,” I whispered as I curled up against him.

“I know. Just . . . stay with me.”

“I will.”