Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Reaching into his pockets, I search for a phone but come up empty. “Come on! Fucking hell!” I stomp on his stomach with all my anger and step back as he grunts. I watch as his breaths become shorter and shorter, blood running down his neck and mixing with the dirt below.
He wanted worse for me, so I don’t feel bad watching this ass bleed out in front of me.
As I slowly step back, someone grabs my arm. I hold the knife up and spin toward them.
“Caterpillar.”
He pulls his mask off, an axe in one hand and the other wrapped around my forearm. I thrust out my free arm, stabbing him as fast as I can. I hit him in the stomach. He grunts, and I take off running with the knife still in hand.
“Caterpillar!” he screams.
Fuck him. I’m out of here.
He can shove that axe straight up that guy’s ass for all I care.
TWENTY-SEVEN
REON
She runs.
How, I don’t even know.
Her lips were blue, and she was covered in dirt, her hair in loose strands all around her face, and a knife was clutched in her hand. Desperation was written all over her face.
And it’s my fault.
I look at Hank on the ground, his hand covering his throat as he bleeds out, and touch where she managed to stab me. Thankfully, it was only superficial, so nothing like Hank on the ground.
He will die, and I will do nothing to save him.
He planned to harm and then kill her, and that’s not acceptable. The only person who can play with my caterpillar is me. I didn’t give permission for anyone else to touch her.
“Reon.” He says my name through a gargled breath. He’s on the verge, and ever so slowly, he will die.
Good. Die, you bastard.
I bend down, my mask in one hand, the axe in the other.
“She got you good.” I smile, proud of her. She has done well. She is surviving and doing well in a forest full of men hunting her.
I’m oh so proud of my little caterpillar.
He reaches up with his free hand, the one that isn’t holding his throat, and tries to grab me to pull me down to him, but every time he moves, more blood spurts from his neck.
“It’s best you stay still, Hank.” I stand and slide my mask back into place. Holding my axe with both hands, I lift it and raise it over my shoulder. “They can’t know it was her. You see, that would make them demented. Insane with anger. They need to think it was me.” I smile behind the mask because he has no idea what I’m talking about. “That means this is going to hurt, Hank.”
As I look down at him, he stares back at me and makes another sound. Was it a plea? I don’t even know or care. I lift the axe, then swing it down toward his neck. It cuts straight through. I pull the axe free from the half-frozen ground, and then I take in his motionless form, his eyes open and lifeless, as his blood covers the dirt beneath him.
He probably wished he had stayed home tonight before he met a grisly end.
The sick bastard.
I don’t like everyone in the Forsaken, but we always try to keep it clean. We don’t go out and kill just for the fun of it. No, that’s what the Hunts are for.
They serve a good purpose, and normally, the scourge of Society is involved.
After wiping the axe on his lifeless body, I rest it on my shoulder and turn in the direction Lilith ran, listening for her. She couldn’t have gotten far—my little caterpillar is tired.
She’s been out here for a good few hours, and soon daylight will come, and all bets will be off. She’ll be hunted and killed without a second thought. The hope is to always kill the prey before daylight breaks, and most times, we do. But I think my caterpillar has finally grown her wings and is ready to fly.
Now she’s a butterfly.
How is it possible that, even covered in mud and looking defeated in every way, she is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen on this earth?
Walking in the direction where I saw her run off, a surge of fear hits me. She could die. Shaking that thought from my head, I glance down at the ground and try to make out her footprints. Even though the darkness makes them hard to see, the ground is wet, so they stand out more.
“Reon.”
I stop at the sound of Arlo’s voice. He walks up to me, cracking his neck with his mask back on, and I see that his arm is bandaged. That mask means a lot to our Society; you see, the first ever Lord was disfigured. It was his idea to cover his face, and being a Lord, everyone followed, much like we do today. Then the Hunt came, which was perfect for the broken glass masks.