Page 22 of Hunt Me

Taste

“Can you believe him, Obsidian? He called me a wench!” Matilda screeched as his hooves punched against the icy terrain. She’d been called worse before, but it felt incredibly insulting coming from King Alesi.

She shook her head in frustration after realizing her focus was best spent on escaping rather than what an old-as-dust vampire thought of her. She kept her head low, leather reins tightly wrapped around her hands as she escaped certain death.

“My gods.”

Matilda’s breath escaped her body when an enormous shadow flew above her. The shadow temporarily blocked the moonlight, tempting her to take a peek. “Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up,” she chanted to herself as she pushed her black stallion to the limits.

Matilda kept her eyes straight ahead, even when she felt a strong gust of wind from above that blew her hood off and disheveled her already tangled curls. He was directly above her, perfectly matching Obsidian’s speed. He was toying with her—making her believe she had a chance of survival. She had no other option but to fight back.

Matilda released the reins, tightened her knees around the horse, and retrieved arrows from her quiver. She reclined back and, with lightning speed, released three arrows, praying they’d pierce her target. From the vicious growl that shook the remaining dead leaves from the knotted trees, she’d assumed at least one of them connected.

“Yes!” she celebrated prematurely. “Take tha—”

Matilda screamed when she was snatched from her horse. She clung to her captor, digging her nails into whatever she could grasp. They broke through the intertwined tree limbs and ascended towards the brilliant glow of the luminous moon. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened like saucers as she took in the magnificent sight. She was flying to the moon, reaching where no human had ever gone before. She’d be content if it were the last thing she saw before she perished.

Luka glanced down when he heard her murmur about the moon’s beauty. She was beautiful to him, but in all the wrong ways. She was the complete opposite of his queen. His Anastasia was tall and slim, with fair skin and bone-straight, ashen hair that refused to hold a single curl. In contrast, the huntress was shorter, with a curvy yet nimble, fit figure. Her hair was a mass of springy coils that would be striking if twigs and leaves weren’t protruding from her spiral crown.

“Taking pleasure in the view before your demise?”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, still in shock and awe at the wonder she’d been missing.

“You accept death so easily? Where has all that fight gone?”

She breathed in and out, releasing a frigid puff of air that swept across his face.

“I think… I just realized… I have nothing left to fight for—not a family nor a cause, not even a place to call my own,” she replied in a soft, vulnerable tone that he didn’t think she was capable of. Her words resonated with him.

What did he have to live for?

“You poor creature. What a miserable existence.”

A crooked smile split her face. “It could be worse.”

“How so?”

“I could be you. I might live a miserable existence, but it’s better than living a dull, miserable existence. You have nothing better to do than play cat and mouse with a huntress and give her a private tour of the moon? How romantic.”

Luka hummed in satisfaction, basking in her shrieks as she plummeted toward the ground. He smirked and swooped down to catch her before it was too late.

“I thought we were sharing a moment!” she squawked, attempting to catch her breath while he eased them to the ground.

“I am doing you a favor by ending your life. It must be uncomfortable living with such delusions of grandeur.”

“I—”

Matilda went boneless when Luka sank his fangs into her throat. The first taste of her blood had barely touched his tongue before he tore his mouth from her neck and dropped her unceremoniously into the snow. He stumbled away, pacing in frantic circles with his hands clasped over his head and her blood dripping from his fangs.

“Not again,” Matilda slurred as Luka’s venom coursed through her veins. She was on fire, lust licking at her insides like the hearth of a fireplace. The snow did very little to douse the flames of desire that threatened to consume her and turn her into smoldering ash in the snow. She was nearly immune to vampire venom, but she’d never been bitten by a vampire descended from the ancients. She needed to flee… quickly. Matilda used the last of her willpower and strength to roll over and crawl to safety.

“You’re a witch!” Luka accused, voice booming over the tops of the forest. “There is no other explanation for why you taste just like—no—better than—”

He cut himself off and strangled the blasphemous words before they could seep out of his mouth. He wouldn’t voice it, no matter how true the statement—couldn’t admit it… refused to accept it. She had to be dealt with swiftly.

“I’ll drain her until there is nothing le—”

He paused again when a thought overwhelmed him. If he drained her now… he could never have her again, but if he kept her alive…