5. Draven

T he bump isn't what gravitates me to turn around, because I easily could have thought I was merely backed into by a bundle of balloons.

No, it's her fragrance.

I have a strange aptitude for depicting and breaking down scents, which I chalk up to training Shade. If you want to tame a beast, you have to become one yourself. It's possible because I'm partially blind in my left eye—color blind and astigmatism—that maybe whatever creator there is, blessed me with that heightened sense of smell.

It's the scent of darkness; a sweet, fruity aroma with a tart undertone. I'd equate it to a pomegranate, but then I'd be granting the likeness of Death herself. Along with that sweet scent of amber. It's warmth evoking a sense of mystery and depth, I know if someone dives in, it will devour them into the abyss.

She's the moment the city goes into a blackout, and I'm intrigued enough to keep my gaze on those hazel eyes that are equally alluring, as they are pissing me off. As if I'm the filthiest thing she's ever laid eyes on.

My chin is nearly tucked against my chest, and it isn't because this girl is short, but because of our proximity.

Let me rephrase… woman. This is no girl.

Big Guy? My head tilts slightly, her eyes never tearing away from mine. A sheep staring down the wolf in his territory. Brave.

I hum, a corner of my lip curling up as I catch her gaze flicking to it before quickly returning to my eyes.

"No," I finally answer her question.

An involuntary twitch in my hand occurs, as I struggle with the urge to not grasp her neck firmly. I'm certain my hand would wrap around it almost entirely.

Despite her anxious breathing, she challenges me. It's not fear but anticipation that drives her. She is clearly unaware I'm a hunter, and even if she was, I have a feeling her defiance wouldn't waver.

" Je vais surveiller, ma proie. " I step around her, and don't look back.

"The fuck you say to me?!" Her voice both equally annoying and captivating as she screams at my back.

Not that it wasn't already solidified, but with that slip of her tongue, she has become mine for the next forty-eight hours. I know her screams are going to be a symphony of magic for me.

What a delicious little delight you will be, my Little Sheep.

"Are you seriously saying no?!" Spit flies from his mouth across the room, and I feel my restraint failing. Does he think he is safe because he is classified as my boss?

A groan vibrates from my throat, it's the only answer he'll get from me.

I can hear Marcella giggling under her mask. Cute little bunny with a crack across one cheek. Someone punched it during a run in her maze, and quite unfortunate for them they didn't make it to the next. Jun is obsessed with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed barbie doll.

I get the obsession. I'm finding myself doing the same in this moment, but not for her crazy ass.

"I'll cut your pay tonight, Draven."

Her fucking eyes, a blend of earthy browns and vibrant greens like the forest around us. They were hazel, not like it isn't a common color, but the ferocity in them has my dick jumping with anticipation.

It wasn't even just her eyes, the scars marring her face. As much as I want to turn her throat purple in my grasp, I equally want to touch the rest of her. To run my fingers along the uneven skin on the right side of her lip and the one on her left eyebrow. I'm feeling an insatiable need to add to them, because who am I not to mark my territory.

"He isn't listening," Troy chortles. "You know he doesn't give a fuck about the monetary value, Jarv. Odds are the boy won't even make it past Oscar's maze."

The loud thump of a fist echoes in the trailer. I wasn't exaggerating when I made the comparison to a fishbowl. It smells like a goddamn fish market in here, and I know it's because of the pussy he brings in. It isn't like we don't have showers in these things. I think he enjoys the rancid smell he causes and the dirty women he brings in .

"You'll be fucking out of here, Draven, I'm sick of your—"

I angle my body to him, and drop my ear to my shoulder. My gaze dragging gradually to meet his, the slow heave of my chest is deliberate, showing my agitation.

My eyebrow twitches. "Finish," I command.

I watch as his throat bobs.

A loud, nearly bear like growl, comes from Po. "I will take the Politician's son. Jarvus, you know Draven."

His voice is as burley as he is—six-and-a-half-foot human bear. Tattoos across his forehead and harsh toned wrinkles pulling between his forever tugged eyebrows. He always looks pissed, but I'm sure I look the same. His white hair shaven at the sides, slightly longer at the top, an indication of his age. Though, age is nothing but a number in his case: Ex-kick boxer, pretty sure he was in some mafia down in Los Angeles, and a fucked-up sense of absolute control, he may as well be in his thirties instead of his fifties.

"Of course you'd want him," Marcella giggles.

Po will fuck anything, and I mean anything . While I don't mind sharing, putting one into my own gender is not for me. Him though… He will dominate a cactus as long as it submits, and even if it doesn't.

Jarvus hasn't taken his eyes off me, but I refuse to break contact first.

"I'll take his other half, since now I'll have multiple prey," Po continues. "That ain't a problem, is it boy?"

I lift my hand, the bright gold Devils mask shining in my grip. "Nope." My eyes disappear behind the darkness momentarily, and when my vision peers through the eye sockets, Jarvus has his ass in his seat, gaze drawn to a piece of paper where he is writing.

A laugh escapes Troy. "Perfect! What a night! I love Halloween." He is dressed in green, and part of me hates that he plays into the leprechaun game, but equally, I love it. He was bullied for it, and now, he makes millions from it. Good for him.

As Oscar emits a drawn-out sigh and moves toward the door, a collective motion to follow ensues.

"Draven, hang for a moment," Jarvus grumbles, prompting me to settle back into my position, arms crossing over my chest. The snug black shirt I wear tugs with the slightest movement.

"The Governor has requested a favor; it was why I needed you on this."

I roll my eyes. "Po is fully capable of doing as you ask."

He groans and the chair squeaks in protest as he leans back on it. I need to get out of this trailer. I'm going to begin to smell like ass and raw fish soon.

"They want the fiancé gone. Seems she's been snooping, or rather, her family has been."

Truthfully, I don't care about any of this. "All of us have killed, besides Marcella. She makes Jun do that. You only want me because—"

"Because you're clean and good as fuck at what you do. Don't make me beg."

I only shake my head. "I'll have Po come back so you can shove your needs down his throat."

All I want to think about is where I'll find my raven-haired prey. I didn't get the best look at her, because she was so damn close. But I imagine her body has as much willpower as her stare does.

The stairs down protest my weight, and I'm equally concerned the next time Jarvus tries to exit they will break. Maybe not concerned, hopeful, but mad I won't be around to see his round ass roll.

"Po." The Hunters are all walking toward the exit that brings us into the carnival. "Jarvus. He has further need's."

"Piece of shit!" he grumbles. "So, fucking needy. You owe me for taking this man." His gaze rakes over me, and soon enough, I will be looking for a spoon shortly for them. "I'll give you the half back for something else."

My brows knit together; my scowl strong. "You can have my entire weekend's pay; it'll never be a consideration. Not even a fleeting thought."

He tucks his hands into his pants pockets and lets out a throaty laugh, "Pussy."

Yes, yes, I am.

I never understood using that word as an insult. Do people not realize how strong pussies are? They've been known to cut off the circulation of a dick with the right motivation. I'll be a pussy over a dick any fucking day. Cocks are weak, and I'm man enough to admit that.

Po retreats back into the trailer and I walk up to Troy who is situated next to Jun and Marcella. "Little piss rat."

"Fat piss rat," Marcella croons. "But he pays us so damn good." She's rubbing her thighs together, the leather pants squeaking as she does. "It's so hot when you groan Draven and piss off Jarv. Did you find prey for the weekend? I can see a bit of sparkle in your eyes."

Jun doesn't react, which would seem odd for someone that quite literally kills for her. He knows I have no real desire to do anything but sew her lips shut. "I have, and when I mark her, we all know the rules."

There were only a few rules us Hunters have. The first being, respect the others' maze. We don't interfere with their shit. Myself, being the only hunter without a traditional one, I don't really have to worry about it. I'm here for pleasure and going with the flow. I can't be held down to a damn schedule, plus, cleaning up one of those mazes?

The second rule, and the most important: Do not kill or even touch the prey designated within the established boundaries. This, even beyond the maze, is non-negotiable. Breaking this will bring all the Hunters together, culminating in the transgressor becoming the hunted.

In their maze, anything can go, unfortunately. It rarely happens, because most runners use their amulet to get out before death can occur, but it has. Especially in Gabe's, of which not many make it to anyway. A few have, with only a single one ever making it out.

It's been about an hour since I've selected her. I haven't assessed my prey long enough to know if she'll even make it to the mazes. Maybe I'll scare her enough tonight that she'll run away and never come back.

Though, something tells me, she's going to surprise me.

I hope you do, Little Sheep.

The loudspeaker boomed with a demanding call to action, "Hello Midnight Menagerie guests. Please congregate in the safe zone for your one and only announcement of the night!"

Situated at the furthest end of the drag of stalls, is a stage. It is never used; other than the purpose it would be now. Each of us Hunters linger on it, myself sitting, one leg propped up with my arm draped over it. The other swung lazily over the edge.

I hate this part. Too many eyes on me, and it wasn't like my height didn't give away who and what I was. It's why I strategically sit. The masks were only essential for this particular moment, because once everyone goes out and begins their fun, it comes off.

Every hunter, maybe besides Po, could easily blend into the crowd. Not me, which is unfortunate, but I could care less. The moment I stalk my prey, they know who I am. I'm fully capable of using my surroundings to my advantage unless I need to crawl through an air vent. For that, I'd call on Troy.

As everyone begins to congregate, I slowly scan the crowd. I can't wait to lay my eyes back on her, but I know, at this moment, I won't see more than just her face. Which is unlikely given how many people have rushed to the metal bars that separate us from them.

It takes a moment, because as much as I'd like to say she sticks out like a sore thumb, that's wrong. It isn't necessarily her appearance that does it for me, it's her fucking attitude.

When my gaze meets her excited one, I don't turn away. She's probably ten or so feet back, and while people are pushing into her, she's fighting them for dominance. My prey is no damsel, but I want to make her into one under my grip.

A loud bang of a bullet shooting into the air ceases the crowd's chatter.

"Thank you, thank you!" Jarvus claps, one hand holding the gun he just shot off, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. "Thank you all for being here with us on this glorious Halloween weekend." This will be the only group interaction any of them will get, and although I feel it's unnecessary, I choose the battles I fight. This being one of them.

I fixate intensely on my prey, observing the corners of her lips curling upward. I witness the elation in her eyes as they fill with excitement. I'm consumed by the need to discern whether the look stems from her lack of comprehension, or if she's genuinely sadistic. It's making my cock fight against the zipper of my jeans for dominance.

"Welcome to the gates of Hell. You've all been provided instructions, but I wanted to go through a few ground rules. Firstly," his arms open wide – and I could equally do all of his actions without looking because of how robotic it always is – "Meet your Hunters."

The crowd roars, as if we were some celebrities. We're their demise, and the thrill knowing we will crush their excitement and turn it into terror, really makes me feral.

"Midnight!" I still think its racist of him calling Oscar that. Dark as night itself, that man is as silent as a mouse happily fed. He plays into it, because while Jarvus could be talking about his skin color, he could also be referring to his demeanor. The black mask pulled over his face, shows absolutely no features, perfect for hiding in the shadows.

"Fearful Lephee!" When he calls my guy Troy, giggles and swoons erupt. Who doesn't like a pale ass red head, even if he is short.

My prey doesn't seem interested, not yet. I'm eager for him to call me for once.

"Blonde-Shell!" The moment he calls on Marcella, all of the men, and some women, howl. I don't move my gaze, but by the sweat and smell of musk that wafts in my direction, I'm guessing she flashed them. She runs around with just a black leather bra on that matches her leather pants.

"Dobby!" I'm unsure if it's a reference to something, but a comment about socks one day from Marcella gave Jun the nickname. Originally from South Korea, he latched to the crazed blonde nearly the first day he came to us. The crowd appreciates him… but no more so than Po.

"Pot-Belly!" I feel the wood structure below me shift as Po takes a step up. The song they sing for him is euphoric, and he soaks it all in. He is anything but small, and everyone knows his desires extend beyond just a pussy .

"Sloth!" He looks as bored and unenthused as me with willing prey. Otherwise, Gabe looks nothing like what you'd expect. Instead of being fat, the boy looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. Not many cheer, but those in their goth phase at least whistle.

"Last but not least." I usually despise this, but with her gaze dragging to mine, I don't mind it. The smile that comes over her as she gapes in my direction, makes me fucking needy for her . "Grim."

I tune out all the shouts. Despite her eagerness, it's no greater than when she watched the others. She's simply excited to be part of this adventure, this game she believes has a winner.

How long will it take to break her? How long until she understands that winning has quite the cost?

A friend, I assume, grabs her arm, and hangs all over her, dragging her attention away from me. I close my left eye, balancing only her in my vision. Her smile is delightful, her thick lips quite delicious looking.

The remainder of Jarvus's speech falls into the back of my mind, I can't hear anything but my own heart. What is she afraid of? What does she taste like? What does she hate? What does she love?

Something tells me my proie doesn't love much. Maybe the girl beside her, and the thrill of what is to come, but that's it.

A chuckle slips from my lips; "Oh, Petit Mouton , let the hunt begin."