Page 118 of The Fire Went Wild

Jaxon smiles happily at that, his big blue eyes searching my face. “Do you feel like a Hunter?” he asks softly, and I blink in surprise. Because I hadn’t actually thought about it until now.

But I realize that something is missing. That emptiness in my chest that lingered even after I killed Oliver Raffia and Damian Tyloch’s man. The faint curls of guilt I had largely managed to ignore. A sense of myself as human.

It’s gone.

It’s all gone, and I’m free.

Jaxon stares at me, waiting for my answer.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I feel like a Hunter.”

And then I kiss him because together, we might have broken the binding that kept me from knowing what I am?—

But I am never going to break the binding that ties me to him.

EPILOGUE

CHARLOTTE

THREE MONTHS LATER

Icrouch in the thick underbrush and breathe in deep. The swamp is overwhelming at the best of times, but even with all the rot and life here, humans and Hunters stand out above everything else. A river of heady, adrenaline-laced fear sweeps through the dense tapestry of rotting vegetation and stagnant water, and my skin prickles with excitement.

Him. The prey. A tourist whose car broke down on the side of the Pellerin highway. Jaxon pretends to help him, calling for an emergency tow truck, grinning affably up at the prey from beneath the brim of that ugly-ass cowboy hat he insisted on wearing. I watch the exchange from the edge of the tree line, my heart racing furiously. I can hear the others’ hearts too. Not just Jaxon’s—he’s calm, collected, his body reflecting his slow, lazy drawl. But also Sawyer’s, pounding with excitement. And Ambrose’s. The mysterious Ambrose. This weekend was my first time meeting him.

I’m not thinking about that right now, though. I’ve got my eyes on Jaxon and the prey. This is a game the three of themused to play, years ago, before Sawyer died at Camp Head Start. We select a victim together. Send the victim into the woods. Hunt them for an hour. Once the hour’s up, the first one to make the kill wins.

That’s why the three of us are triangulated around Jaxon and the prey, waiting for the clock to start.

Jaxon ambles away from the truck, pretending to talk on his phone. He gives a signal into the trees, where Ambrose is waiting. A half second later, Ambrose bursts out swinging an ax, his face covered by a white mask. The prey stares numbly at him like he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. But when Ambrose slams the bat into the side of his car, the prey understands.

He shoots off from the highway, screaming, and I hit the timer on the cheap watch I put on for the occasion. There’s nowhere to go but the swamp, and Ambrose chases him directly between where Sawyer and I are hiding. As soon as he passes, I jump up, my breath quickening. I didn’t bother wearing a mask.

I shove forward through through the swamp, moving by scent and sound as much as sight. Sawyer and Jaxon are doing the same, just like we talked about, and the four of us draw around the prey like a noose, corralling him away from the highway, away from civilization, and into the swamp’s dark tangle.

The chase is exhilarating. Ever since I died, ever since I finally accepted what I am, the world has become heightened. It was so overwhelming at first, all those sounds and scents threatening to drown me. But Jaxon helped me through it. He taught me what his father taught him—how to ignore what I didn’t need, how to focus in on what I did.

“We’re Hunters,” he told me, the two of us stalking through this very same swamp. “This is how we Hunt.”

I’m Hunting now, following the scent of our prey’s terror. Time loses any real meaning; I only know how long it’s been when I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes. I circle through the swamp, slowly pushing the prey deeper into the wilderness, wearing him out. So do the others.

Heisgetting tired, too. I can sense it. He’s stopped screaming for help and has slowed his pace, thinking he’s lost us. He hasn’t. All four of us are stalking him through the damp shadows. I make a loop around through the trees until I find a thick nest of underbrush where I can crouch down to wait. My plan is to intercept the prey when the hour is up.

I settle down among the leaves. Jaxon is nearby. I can smell him, that earthy scent that drives me wild. Then I can hear him, a faint rustling of the leaves. He’s coming closer. So’s the prey, although he’s still a ways off, crashing through the underbrush in his panic. I slip sideways, my movements easier now. Everything’s easier.

“Careful.” A hand wraps around my throat; a mouth brushes against my ear. “It’s dangerous out here.”

“Jaxon,” I breathe. “I heard you coming.”

“Mmm. Good girl.” He pulls his hand away and replaces it with his mouth, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin of my neck. His arousal is more than evident, and I let him suck on my neck while we wait for the prey to come closer. For Ambrose and Sawyer to come closer, too. They’re trailing behind the prey, scaring him deeper into the swamp. Disorienting him.

But when Jaxon slides his hand down my shirt’s neckline, trying to get at my breasts, I slap it away. “Stop distracting me. I want to win.”

He chuckles. “You remember there’s no prize, right?”

I glare at him, which just makes his grin widen, his teeth flashing in the dim light. Jaxon’s wrong about there not being a prize; it’s true I won’t win anything, but in the last three months,I’ve learned what being a Hunter really means. I’ve learned how to do it properly. And this feels a bit like a final exam.

The prey’s fear bursts through the trees, and even Jaxon takes notice, sitting up a little straighter, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s win it together,” he whispers, peering through the underbrush. The prey’s getting closer. “You know how much I love seeing you covered in blood.”