My gaze trains back down to the girl. “What is your name?” “S-Samantha…” she whimpers. “Samantha,” I release her wrist and put my hand behind her neck, grabbing hold of her brunette hair and tearing her head back. “Your hunter is pissing me off.” Her eyes round, fear radiating through her pours, smelling of anxiety—a mixture of salt and aged bread. “So, I’m going to fuck with his prey. You need to listen to me, and if you do, you may just survive this weekend.” As if confirming her biggest fear, her lips tremble, but she nods. “Pot-Belly is your hunter, tasked to kill you.” Her eyes gloss
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