by Sarah Cross
Down the hall, through the kitchen. She flung open the back door and kept running. She tore through the moonlit yard, past the well, and as she ran through the ring of fruit trees it seemed like every sleeping songbird woke. They took off into the air, the mad beating of their wings pointing her out like a spotlight.
She swung her arm and hissed at them to go away, but they couldn’t understand her, just kept flapping after her.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Breathless, she stumbled through the forest, stones gouging her feet, branches grabbing her dress. The trees had scattered the birds, but the leafy canopy blocked out the moonlight and made it impossible to see. Viv was only making it through because she knew these woods so well. She’d played pretend games here with Henley. She’d spent hours just roaming the trails.
Henley lived on the other side of the forest. Could she get there? He wouldn’t want to see her tonight, but …
Her lungs were burning. A deer crashed after her, then seemed to sense her distress and leapt away. She could hear the animals going this way and that, drawn to her but nervous, and the rustling and the footsteps wound her up so tight she might have screamed if she’d had the breath for it. She didn’t know how close the man was. She didn’t know if she was hearing his footsteps or hers, his breathing or hers, his—
A gloved hand closed around her arm and jerked her off her feet.
She hit the ground and he flipped her onto her back, pinned her leg with his knee so she couldn’t get away. He gripped her jaw with one hand and held the knife with the other. There was just enough moonlight for Viv to see the curve of the blade, and the deep lines age had carved into his face.
“Well, well,” he said. “The little rabbit can run.”
His knee was hurting her leg and she blinked hard, hoping tears would slip out so he’d pity her. But her eyes stayed dry. She was gasping, choking on the smell of him.
“Uh-uh, don’t try that trick on me.” His thumb pressed the corner of her eye, crushing an imaginary tear. “I’ve been hunting girls like you since before you were born. Some Huntsmen get swayed by a princess’s crying.… I’m not one of them.”
“You’re a Huntsman?”
“Sure am. Maybe you want to offer me something to save you. I hear you’ve been giving plenty to the other Huntsman.”
The fact that he would say that—not just say it but imply that she was whoring herself out to keep Henley from killing her—made her stop caring about earning his pity. She told him where he could stick that knife.
He smacked her full in the face. The leather stung—and the blade would feel worse. But she wouldn’t let him talk to her like that.
“You’re lucky I’m retired,” he said. “Otherwise you’d be in pieces.”
“Retired?” She pressed her tongue to the inside of her lip. There was a blood-flavored, tooth-shaped gouge there.
The old Huntsman got up. Her leg was numb where he’d been kneeling on it. She quickly pulled it under her so he couldn’t trap her again.
“I’m out of the princess-killing business. I’m here as a consultant. In case Boyfriend doesn’t have the proper equipment. The blade—or the balls—to do the job.” He laughed and Viv stared daggers at him. He didn’t know anything about Henley if he thought Henley was afraid.
“I’m here to make sure he gets it right the first time. And that he doesn’t bring back some animal heart in place of yours. I’ve known your stepmom since she was your age. Back when she thought that apple mark meant she was a princess. She tracked me down and did me a very nice favor so I’d spare her. Of course, she didn’t need saving. She had a different fate.
“But I do repay my debts. So you bargain with whatever you got,” he said, looking her up and down, “but don’t count on it working. Your stepmom’s going to have the happy ending she deserves.”
The Huntsman didn’t bother to sheathe his knife. As he strolled back toward the house, he ran his blade along the outstretched tree branches like a child might run a stick along a fence. Viv stayed huddled on the ground, the feeling returning to her leg in slow pulses, the tears coming more slowly. The smell of the Huntsman’s sweat was heavy in her lungs, and she doubled over and breathed in the scent of earth until she felt less like throwing up, less like death had come and laughed in her face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
VIV KNEW THE HUNTSMAN was gone when the animals emerged from their hiding places. Three rabbits approached and she rubbed their velvety ears while tears dripped down her face. All the emotion had gone out of her; she felt numb so she didn’t know why she was crying now.
She’d known this day would come—the curse demanded it—but it was still a shock. Part of her, no matter how afraid she’d been, had always been in denial.
Instinct told her to go to Henley. Even though she knew he wouldn’t want to see her. Even though he wasn’t her hero, wasn’t her savior, and never would be. All the times in her life that she’d felt safe, she’d been with him. But those days were gone. She couldn’t get them back by crawling into his arms now.
Still … he was the one person she wanted to see.
Viv nudged the rabbits away from her and started through the forest. There was a path that would lead her to Henley’s house, and once she found it she followed it out of the woods—to the place where the trees opened up and showed her the ranch-style house, the perfectly landscaped yard. The one blight on the scenery was an old swing set, kept around because Henley’s cousins liked to play on it when they came over.
She sat down on one of the swings and creaked back and forth on the rusty chains. The lights were on in the house—every so often she saw one of Henley’s parents pass by a window. His dad was generally friendly. His mom didn’t like Viv and called her “princess.”
Eventually the lights went out. A couple of raccoons pawed at Viv’s feet, checking between her toes as if she might have hidden a treat there.
She brushed them aside, got up, and tapped at Henley’s window. She saw his neatly made bed, his weight set. Photos pinned to the wall, mostly of her or the two of them, including some that had been ripped in half and then taped back together. Sports junk on the floor. But no Henley. His door was shut, which meant he probably wasn’t home.
The raccoons had followed her, but their love was fickle, and it wasn’t long before they abandoned her to ransack the Silvas’ trash cans. Viv left as one of the cans clanged against the driveway—before the noise woke Henley’s parents. She didn’t want to be caught.
Maybe it was better that Henley wasn’t home. She couldn’t keep running to him. He was the Huntsman, the person she was supposed to run away from. The fairies had made it that way when they cursed him.
It was just the way things were.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“NOTHING LASTS FOREVER, HENLEY. She doesn’t want you anymore. Denying it isn’t going to help.”
Regina was smiling as if she were simply telling him what he needed to hear, and not being cruel.
It was after midnight. Regina had called and told him Viv was missing, and Henley had gone into the woods to look for her. He’d checked the cottage, and Regina had followed him inside and cornered him.
He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Regina, not with anyone.
He sat hunched at the edge of the bed—a plastic-coated mattress on a rusted metal frame—his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his fists. The lantern was casting strange shadows and illuminating the decay, the broken things that were better left hidden.
Regina wore a short silk robe over a nightgown he could almost see through. Her robe was loosely tied and she was playing with the belt, slowly undoing the knot, tying it again, sliding the silk strip between her fingers.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I don’t know what she sees in Royals. Obnoxious, spoiled boys … That doesn’t go away as they get older. I should know—I married one.”
Her words twisted around him like a sn
ake. Hissing in his ear, making him picture every prince Viv had messed with in the past year. Always when he was there—like she was practicing leaving him every time she did it.
“Maybe in ten years she’ll realize what she’s missing,” Regina said. “But by then it’ll be too late. She’ll have her prince, a home, maybe children … so many ties to her happily ever after that it won’t seem worth breaking them for you. You’ll never have her. Unless …”
“No.” The word came out gruff, hard. He knew what she wanted. It wasn’t an option.
Regina came and stood too close to him, the toe of her sandal touching the tip of his shoe. The lantern light caught the sheen on her thighs—he didn’t look higher.
“Listen to me,” she said. “We both know what you want. If you can’t have her, you don’t want anyone else to have her. Isn’t that right? Well, you can live as a shadow of yourself, unable to let go … or you can become the man you’re meant to be. You can have her heart—forever. Your destiny is telling you what to do.”
He was sweating. It was hot inside the cottage and this conversation was making it worse. Usually his exchanges with Regina consisted of her telling him what kind of yard work needed to be done. She’d been nicer to him since he’d been cursed—once she’d decided he was useful to her. But tonight was the first time she’d spoken to him like he was the Huntsman. Like he could murder the girl he loved.
He closed his eyes and Regina touched his shoulder, as if she sensed weakness.
And maybe she did.
A heart in a box was not a substitute for Viv; Regina was crazy if she thought that it was. But … it was true that he didn’t want to give Viv up. He would do anything not to lose her. That was why he put up with her crap, let her humiliate him, and then, the second she needed him, came running. Because he still had that shred of hope that they could be together.
Or maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe he just remembered that hope. He didn’t feel hopeful when he listened to Regina. He felt like everything was over, and he was just clinging to a lie.
“Whatever you two had before, it’s gone. And you’re the only one who’s not okay with that. Because she has a happy ending to look forward to. What do you have, Henley?” Regina leaned closer. “You have a choice. You can be laughed at, thrown aside for a boy with a fancier pedigree … or you can take what’s yours.”
CHAPTER NINE
VIV WAS HALFWAY THROUGH THE FOREST when she saw light peeking through the dirty windows of the cottage. The door was open and as she drew closer a woman in a short robe sauntered out. The light swung toward the woman as Henley appeared in the doorway and offered her the lantern.
Regina. The lantern lit her face from below—hollowed out her cheeks and eyes. But her legs were a mile long and her nightgown barely covered her ass, so Henley probably wasn’t looking at her face.
Viv bit her torn lip—then winced at the sting, glad for the cover of darkness.
Regina’s hand brushed Henley’s as she took the lantern. “You sure you won’t walk me home?” She smiled, but Henley’s eyes were downcast, rooting through the leaves at his feet—watching something? Then the leaves shifted and a chipmunk darted out and scampered toward Viv. The rustling-leaf sound repeated all across the forest floor as one creature after another raced toward her.
Viv crouched lower in her hiding place and let the animals run into her hands, trying to shush their chittering so they wouldn’t give her away.
“I’m going to stay here,” Henley said. “Think for a while.”
“Yes, think about it.” Regina trailed her fingers along his forearm, then started away with languorous steps. Henley stayed in the doorway until the lantern light had vanished.
“I know you’re there, Viv.”
She stepped out of her hiding place. She’d been caught rodent-handed. Chipmunks perched on her shoulders like epaulettes. There was a mouse in her cupped hand, preening its tail like a ribbon. And now the fireflies had woken up and were hovering around her, golden bulbs blinking softly. Lighting the way.
For a moment, there was something magical about it. Dots of gold light filling the air. The soft peace of an undisturbed forest.
Viv had to remind herself that the magic had nothing to do with the two of them. She shooed the animals and they scattered. The fireflies went out one by one until she and Henley were drowning in darkness.
She curled her hands into fists and her heart thumped hard—like a door slamming to keep him out. “I can’t believe you brought her to the cottage.”
“Viv—”
“This was our place! Our secret!”
“I didn’t bring her here, she followed me!”
And suddenly they were yelling at each other, their voices ripping up the forest.
“Why don’t you tell her everything? Tell her every place I go to hide. Or, better yet, just hunt me down—do the job for her!”
“She said you ran into the forest. She asked me to look for you!”
“Of course she did! That’s what she’s always going to want! I can’t believe you listened! I can’t get away from either of you!”
Viv had meant to tell him about the retired Huntsman. But once her anger got going, her mind kept spinning in one direction: Henley would betray her. There was so much hurt and fear in her lungs she was choking on it.
Henley wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She didn’t struggle. She was too startled by how good it felt to be there.
“You want me out of your life?” he said. “Say it. Tell me to get out of your life and see if I stay.”
Viv closed her eyes. She didn’t want him gone—she wanted the Henley of two years ago back, the Henley who wasn’t cursed. She wanted to erase the time they’d spent watching their relationship erode, like a bridge crumbling at their feet.
She didn’t want what they had. But she didn’t want to lose it, either.
She moved so he would let her go, and then stepped into the cottage to see if he would follow.
The air inside was moist and heavy. It smelled like wet earth, rotting wood, and summer decay. It used to smell like cookies and old books. Back when the cottage was their hideout and they took care of it.
Grass brushed Viv’s ankles as she crossed the room—the forest was pushing up through the floorboards. And when she sat down on the bed she sat right in a puddle of rainwater that had collected where the mattress dipped in the middle.
Viv swore. She shot up and slammed into Henley’s chest.
“Did you get wet?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said sourly.
She heard the scrick of Henley lifting the mattress and then the quick rush of water as he flipped it over, dry side up. “You can sit now.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled. She sat again, but the bottom of her dress was soaked and she couldn’t get comfortable. Henley settled in the lone wooden chair. It was too dark to see him, but she’d heard the chair legs scrape the floor.
She sighed and wished he’d come closer.
“Do you remember when we thought we could live here?” she said after a moment.
“Yeah. It seemed like a real house.” There was laughter at the edge of his voice, and she felt it, too, rising up in her, remembering how silly they’d been. This rotted little shack—a home. There was something precious about that innocence. That time in their lives when they could overcome anything, because the solution was as simple as grabbing a box of cookies and disappearing into the woods for a few hours.
“I used to think this cottage was a million miles away from everything,” Viv said. “That we could hide here and leave the world behind. But if Regina can walk here in her hooker heels … it’s not much of a sanctuary, is it?”
“I don’t know.” Henley’s low voice dropped lower. “I think it was, for a little while.”
The smell of earth and wood seeped from every corner. Murky decay: something old dying so something new could live.
“The future was so open then.
I never thought …” She twisted the hem of her dress to squeeze the water out, then kept twisting, nervousness taking hold. “I never thought you’d do things for her. Help her.”
“Viv—I’m polite to her, that’s it.”
“You shouldn’t even be that. She should be your enemy. You should pick a side, and it should be mine.”
“Did you pick my side?”
“What?” Her hands went still in her lap.
“When you think about your future, am I in it? Or am I just a roadblock you have to get through?”
“Henley …”
“You think you’re going to end up with a prince—and I’m the Huntsman. That’s all I am to you.” His voice was rough. Not the low rumble she was used to—jagged, hurt. “So you don’t have room for me in your life. Right?”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He was quiet then. Maybe he’d expected to feel better. Or maybe he’d expected her to be a better liar.
The hum of insects merged with the throb of blood in her head. It was a mistake to talk about it. They should have learned that by now.
It was too dark to see his expression, so she went over to him and put her hands on his face instead. His skin was hot, damp with sweat but not tears, and she stroked her hands over his cheeks and up into his hair, tenderly. Sometimes she wanted to hurt him but right now it was too much.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered. And then she pressed her hand to his lips before he could answer. The sounds slipped out between her fingers: Everything.
She bent her head to his and kissed him, harder when he tried to ask why, until he didn’t have the breath for questions. Explanations were painful. Promises were lies. She didn’t want any of that. She wanted his mouth, which was soft and familiar—and hard when she wanted it to be. He always knew. Their hearts were a mystery but they knew each other like this.
