A little sister?
My throat contracts to keep my food down. My mind is dizzy. That drink was a little strong.
“The Hunt is about to commence,” Ophelia calls, standing on a pile of burning embers and branches. “Who will be catching me tonight?” Her body moves around the witch men, her finger grazing their taut bare chests. Abs upon abs, though their faces are hidden behind the same plastic doll-like mask the waiter sports.
Alessi steps forward, stripping out of her dress. “Catch me if you can, bitches…” Then she dashes off into the thick forest with my sister witches following closely behind her.
“Wow!” I gasp, amazed by how quickly they moved through the clearing.
The warlocks all stand still, as if waiting for their call to chase.
Everything feels eerie, as if people are watching me from all angles. Twigs snap beneath the soles of my feet, my vision blurring as I step closer and closer to all five of them. They’re in a half circle, but all standing still. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I release an exhale, bringing my finger up to the chest of one of them. Abs tight, skin slicked in oil. None of them bear any tattoos, all naked, exposed. My palm comes to his left pec, my eyes closing.
Everyone is quiet. I don’t know why they haven’t run off for my fellow witch sisters, but something in the back of my mind says I don’t care. My eyes open, and I’m staring up at the mask that hovers over me. His eyes. I can’t see them clearly with the light, but I feel them.
I reach up to the edge of his mask, testing to see if he will allow me to touch him.
“Saint… honey, that’s not allowed—” His hand comes up to silence Veronica.
“I—” My fingertips touch the plastic of his mask, peeling it off slowly. Just as I’m about to drop it onto the grass, a loud roar of a motorbike cuts through the clearing, and I turn to look over my shoulder in shock.
“Saint! Get on the fucking bike!” a familiar voice barks while swinging his leg off.
“Brantley?” My eyes pop open, and suddenly whatever I drank earlier isn’t potent enough to keep me drunk. Not in his presence.
He ignores me and goes straight for Veronica. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill all these fuckers right here and right now.”
“Ah.” Veronica looks between Brantley and me before she folds her arms in front of herself. The muscles in her face relax, and a flash of understanding brushes over her features. “Go hunt. You’ve spent enough time being fascinated by our little Hecate.” They must all scurry off because dust kicks up around my feet.
“Our?” Brantley takes another three steps up to Veronica. “V, she is not ours, she is mine. What the fuck is this shit? You sending her out on a fucking hunt?”
My mouth opens and closes. I want to say something. Anything to help Veronica, but I can’t get the words out.
“Actually, no, she wasn’t. She was observing, and Brantley, I didn’t realize it was like that for you and her.”
He spins to glare at me, pointing toward the idling dirt bike. “Get on the fucking bike!”
“I don’t know how!” I make my way toward the both of them. Maybe if I stand in front of Veronica, he won’t tear her head off.
“I trusted you…” Brantley’s eyes narrow.
“And you can trust me, Brantley. She wasn’t going out on The Hunt, even if I didn’t know about the two of you. She simply—” Veronica’s eyes flick to me, “is too good.”
Once I’m standing between them, my hand is on Brantley’s chest. He’s wearing a thick dark hoodie, but I swear I can feel his heartbeat beneath the palm of my hand. My cheeks flush. “Brantley, you’re being unreasonable.”
He pauses and slowly cocks his head down to look at me. Actually not look. To study me. “Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me farther into his chest. “How fucking so?”
“Well.” I peel off his fingers with my other hand, but it’s no use since his grip is like steel. “For starters, I’m not yours anymore.”
He growls, just as the corner of his lip curls in a snarl. He leans down to my height, close enough for our noses to touch. “On. The. Fucking. Bike.” His other hand is on the back of my neck, squeezing. “Now.” He shoves me away.
I turn to face V. “I’m so sorry.”
She offers a small smile of sympathy, but her eyes have new worry lines indented around the edges when she goes back to Brantley. “Please don’t take her away yet.”
“You fucked up.” He grabs me by the hand and begins dragging me toward his bike. “And you’re really fucking lucky I don’t peel the skin off that piece of shit she touched.”
“Ever the romantic, Brantley.”
“You would know…” he snaps, shoving the helmet into my chest.
“How would she know?” I ask, though I wish I’d said it louder, maybe with some bite. How can he threaten the life of some innocent boy just because I touched him, yet he and Veronica clearly have history?
“Do tell her…” Veronica says from the side of me.
Brantley turns over his shoulder, flipping her off before swinging his leg over the bike. I see the back seat where I’m supposed to sit. Even the pegs where my feet go. But I don’t want to leave.
“Brantley…”
He turns around, his eyes hooded and his jaw tight. I shouldn’t be testing him right now. “You really want to do this right here?” His fingers find mine and he yanks me into his leg. His fingers are around my chin as he tilts my head down to him. “Never pegged you as the jealous type, Dea.” A crooked smirk is on his mouth.
I pull away from him defiantly. “You wanted me here, but since I touched someone, you now want to take me away?”
“No—” He turns partially to face me. “I was coming here to take you home anyway” —his traitorous eyes fall on Veronica— “because everything is sorted with The Gentlemen.”
My mouth closes, but goose bumps break out over my skin. How can everything be resolved with The Gentlemen so quickly?
“Then when I found you with your hand on his chest, yeah, I almost went ripper. But I didn’t. You should be thankful. That’s progress for me.”
I cross my arms. Heat radiates from the side of my face, as if someone is watching our exchange. My eyes flick to the side where The Hunt began. Darkness through the trees, so thick I can’t imagine how they would be able to see.
“Saint, honey, you might want to take the monster home before the rest of the crew gets back.”
I hook my leg over the bike, wrapping my arms around his torso. “But we’re staying here. We can leave tomorrow.”
He revs the bike loudly before we zip forward onto the man-made pathway.
We pull into the long driveway, where I see Brantley’s Bugatti parked on the curb outside the front steps. He turns off the bike and helps me off the back while I pull off the helmet.
“Saint…” he says, but it’s too late.
I’m walking to the front door, not interested in continuing any conversation with him. For the first time ever, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Jealousy? Anger? Betrayal? Do all of them somewhat feel the same?