Page 19 of Nothing to Lose

Stories and legends about the Corvus woods drift through my mind. About the blood that was spilled here by the very people who founded this school and the secret society they created as their legacy; the students and generations that came after them who wandered through here and came back disoriented, pale, and refusing to explain where they’d been. It was wrong to come here.

I vault over a fallen log, nearly stumbling to the ground as I brace myself against a grey stone wall, weathered almost smooth by centuries of rain. I take a step back, realizing I’ve stumbled into a structure that has been neglected for longer than any of us breathing at Corvus. Moss clings to crumbling walls, some shoulder-high, others at least two stories. Glistening ivy wraps itself around fractured pillars, and what remains of an enormous arched window still has the stained glass intact, the sunlight filtering through it and casting a green shadow on everything below. It looks exactly like the shell of an old cathedral. Or maybe a chapel just grand enough to have once aspired to be one. But now, the forest has claimed it as its own.

Someone worshipped here once. Now it’s clear only the ravens do.

I step through what must have been the main entrance, my footsteps echoing faintly against the cracked cobblestone. The air feels different somehow, stagnant and sheltered, like even the wind is reluctant to enter.

Near the far wall stands what looks like a confessional. It’s surprisingly intact for the age, the carved wooden frame leaning at an angle, one door hanging open on rusted hinges. I look around, my eyes taking in every ancient corner. I can’t remember anyone ever mentioning this place, not even in the ghost stories everyone insists on telling. You’d think a decrepit cathedral hidden in the Corvus woods would be the talk of campus.

The air shifts, every muscle in my body tightening as another sound reaches my ears. It’s not the ravens, or the steady drip of water on the forest floor; it’s a shoe brushing against stone. My pulse thuds in my ears, and I scan the area, looking for anyone . . . looking for him. Somewhere in these woods, I know Hunter is searching for me, just as I’m searching for him.

I know he’s here.

“So,” I call out, my voice echoing through the empty cathedral. “Are you going to keep hiding?” I’m met with silence. “You like toying with me that much?” Another unmistakable crunch of a branch breaking. The wind picks up, ravens flapping their wings from the crumbling tracery above me, croaking. Then I smell it. It’s not the earthy forest around me, or the tall oaks. It’s something that calls to every part of me. My stomach flips.

Hunter.

I take a step forward, then another, and another. The woods seem to hold their breath right along with me as I wait for him to reveal himself.

“You know, this would’ve been way less creepy if we hadn’t run into the Corvus woods. Heard this place was filled with monsters and ghosts.” The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I scan the trees, every shadow suddenly suspicious. If I hadn’t smelled him, if I wasn’t positive I felt his presence, I’d think the woods were playing with my head. I’d start to question if the rumors and whispers about this place are true. But I know he’s here.

“Come on, fucker,” I yell, only to be met with the deep croaks of ravens.

“You always talk this much when you’re scared?” Hunter’s voice echoes around me, far closer than I expect it to be. I turn around, finding him leaning against the crumbling remains of an old stone archway a few yards away as if he’d been there the whole time, looking way too fucking amused for his own good.

His cheeks are flushed pink, his blond hair wild from the chase he just finished. He’s wearing a plain hoodie and shorts, spinning his spoon around in his fingers with a suave confidence that makes my heart betray me. He just looks so fucking good.

“Gotcha,” I breathe.

Hunter raises an eyebrow. Neither of us moves. A stream of pale light slips through the stained glass, basking us in neon green, as everything around us seems to settle back into a restful calm. Even though I’m feeling anything but.

“So,” he says, kicking off the stone archway and taking a steady step in my direction. “It’s just us.”

“Hmm. I was hoping you’d say that. Are you ready to lose, Crowe?”

Hunter laughs, and my heart swoops again.

“Only one of us is walking away a winner today, and it isn’t going to be you, little brother.”

I roll my eyes dramatically, the heat rushing to my cheeks. “You are so unbelievably smug.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

I cock my head to the side and squint. “Do I? Do I though?”

Then he takes a slow step forward, and I match it with one of my own. The distance between us shrinks until we’re toe-to-toe, both of us holding our spoons, neither of us reaching for the other person.

Hunter leans in slowly, running his nose along the length of my jaw from chin to ear. My head falls to the side to give him access as his lips press against the soft spot of my neck.

I’ve played with Hunter on the field for years, our stats always neck and neck, fighting for the spotlight, challenging each other every step of the way. But I’ve never noticed just how brown his eyes are, how an amber swirl close to the irises seems to glimmer when the light hits them just right. I didn’t notice what a huge heart he has, and how deeply he cares behind all the joking and negging. I’ve been blind, but now the fog is starting to clear, and Hunter is right there at the end of it.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Those five words have me melting into him. I sway on my feet, and his free hand reaches up to steady me, his fingers curling against my waist. I know he doesn’t mean today. I know he’s not talking about the game. My head is swimming, and it’s hard to catch my breath.

“Do you want me, Eli?”

“What about the game?” I whisper, pressing further into his lips, not wanting him to stop kissing and sucking a trail up and down the length of my neck. Much to my disappointment, he pulls back, holding up the spoon between us.