I was starting to lose my mind. It was 10:33. I hadn’t seen another human in recent memory, and I’d gone numb from my waist down due to pants-related loss of circulation. What the fuck kind of tracker was D if he hadn’t found me by now? Had I really done that good a job evading?
The thing was . . .
Maybe I had.
Twenty-seven minutes left. I could easily win this thing. A gift card and glory.
I was just so bored and lonely.
And horny.
I’d been sitting behind a fallen tree for the past half an hour. Thinking about D and whipping posts and getting my ass beat in front of everyone . . .
I wasn’t sure I’d still have a functional dick after surgeons cut these pants off. But if I did, I was gonna put it to good use as soon as I was out of these damn woods.
The minutes ticked by.
I could go ahead and start walking toward camp, right? I mean, the hunt was winding down . . .
No. That’s what he’s counting on. He knows you’ll get impatient. And he’ll be waiting somewhere near camp to ambush you.
I sort of didn’t care. I stood up to head that direction.
And suddenly, she was right in front of me: red hair, wide lips. Fury in her protectively-geared eyes.
Cinnamon.
She was clearly as shocked to see me as I was to see her. There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then we both moved. She raised her rifle, and I dove over the fallen tree, landing hard on my shoulder. I started to crawl. I heard her climbing over the trunk, and I scrambled to my feet and bolted into the thickest tree cover I could find, not caring about the branches that scratched my face and snagged my clothes. I ran until my lungs burned, and finally took shelter behind a tree, panting so hard I thought I might puke.
“Dave? Oh Da-aaaave.”
I pressed against the tree, trying to slow my breathing.
“Do you think I won’t find you?”
I am a corvid. I am Richard Kimball. You will never find me.
“I’ve shot four slaves already today. You might as well surrender.”
I don’t believe you, you socially stunted equine terrorist.
Her voice was getting closer, but she was moving to the right of where I was. I inched around the tree counterclockwise to stay hidden.
“Poor Dave. This is gonna be so humiliating for you.”
My heart pounded. My best option was probably to try to outrun her. But I had no idea where I was anymore, or which way to go.
She’d stopped talking. That was always a bad sign, right? In horror movies, if the stalker fell silent, it meant they were about to pop up right next to you.
A twig snapped to my left, and I whipped my head around, nearly shrieking when I saw a figure standing several yards away.
But it wasn’t Cinnamon.
“Gould!” I whispered.
“You’re in a pickle now, aren’t you?” He spoke in a regular voice. Like, a voice people could hear.
“Could you keep it down?” I whispered. “It’s her. It’s Cinnamon! She’s after me.”
He grinned. “I know. Too bad you don’t have an ally to help you out of this, right?”
My stomach sank. “Gould, I love you. I’d do anything for you—”
“Except team up with me for the hunt?”
“Yes. I mean, no!” Rats. Who’d told him? Kamen, I swear to God . . .
“Kamen’s just better at evasion, huh?”
“No. No, I . . .”
He watched me press myself flat against the tree as Cinnamon tromped through the bushes nearby.
“Yoo-hoo,” she called. “Davey?”
I looked at Gould pleadingly. “The alliance with Kamen just sort of . . . happened.”
“Really? Because it seems like you two planned it. It’s okay,” he added. “I’m doing fine on my own. Better than you, at least.”
I tried not to wheeze. “If she finds me, she’ll find you too.”
“Somehow, I don’t think she’s as interested in me as she is in you.”
I tipped my head back, hissing through my teeth. “Please, you can’t let her take me. I’m so close to winning.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Please?”
“If I were you,” he said. “I’d run. Now.” He disappeared behind a tree.
Cinnamon was approaching quickly. I glanced to my left and spotted a thicker tree.
Don’t think. Just do it.
I leaped out from behind my tree. A barrage of yellow paint bullets splattered all around me, but I made it to the other tree.
Gould was still watching me.
“Please,” I begged. “Please.”
He shrugged.
“Gould, I—”
“Surrender, David!”
I jerked around. Cinnamon was a few feet away, rifle pointed right at my chest.
Don’t think.
I moved closer to her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Can’t shoot me if I’m less than twenty feet away. And if I don’t surrender . . .”
She backed up rapidly, but I kept coming. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this up, but for the time being, it was working.
“You know what?” She stopped suddenly. “I don’t think I care.”
She fired, and I dropped to the ground just in time.
I crawled away from her, lurching to my feet and then falling again, right at the base of the tree I’d used for cover.
“Oh, Dave.” She stepped forward. “This is just kind of sad. Fish in a barrel.”
This was it. This was how I went down. Fifteen minutes to go, and I was going to get captured by my least favorite person in the BDSM world. She was gonna take me to the whipping post, and it would be humiliating, because if I safeworded out of letting her torture me, she’d call me a coward. But if I let her torture me . . .
I’d never be able to live with myself. Not if I let her touch me with her hooves of darkness.
“One last chance to surrender,” she mock-cooed.
I gritted my teeth. “Never.”
She aimed the rifle, and fired. Several times.
Except none of the bullets hit me.
What did hit me was a very solid, warm body, which slammed me against the tree’s roots and made me shout in agony.
The body rolled off me. Gould lay on his back across a giant root. His chest was covered in blue paint.
“Gould!” I clambered up and knelt by him. “Gould, no!”
He looked up and gave me a very I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king sort of look.
“Run,” he whispered.
Cinnamon was reloading. “Well, Gould, you might do just as well,” she muttered, fumbling with the ammo in her pod belt.
I looked down at Gould again. “I can’t believe you—”
“Don’t let it have been in vain.” He reached up and grabbed at my face, his fingers mushing my lips and poking my nostrils. I moved my head slightly to get his hand more on my cheek.
“But she’ll—”
“Run!”
I leaped to my feet and ran until I couldn’t run anymore, not stopping to look back until I was far from them. Gould was on his feet. Cinnamon had taken his arm and was leading him away.
Shit.
I couldn’t let her take him. Gould had sacrificed himself for me. If I ran now, I was the worst kind of coward.
I spun and hurried after them, ready to fight.
But before I could catch up, a very tall figure emerged from the trees a few feet behind them, holding a rifle. I stopped abruptly.
“Excuse me,” Drix called.
Cinnamon halted. Turned slowly.
Drix walked toward her. “I believe you have something of mine.”
“What are you talking about?” Cinnamon demanded.
“That’s my prey. You’ll see that he’s been hit by a blue bullet. I believe your yellow bullets . . . hit that tree.” He motioned to the tree I’d been standing in front of when Gould had dived in to save me. It had a giant yellow splat of paint on it.
I watched, unable to believe what I was seeing.
“Why would you fire?” Cinnamon demanded. “You could see that I had him cornered—”
“Well, I saw that you had Dave cornered. But I shot at Gould. So I would like my captive, please.”
And damn if Cinnamon didn’t look up at that tall-ass, super polite vampyre and grudgingly shove Gould toward him. “Take him, then. I’m through with this hunt.” She strode away, red hair bouncing.
Drix turned briefly and met my gaze. Nodded slightly, then led Gould toward the meadow.
Dude was my favorite deus ex motherfucking machina ever.