Page 62 of Illusionist
That's when I hear it—laughter, rich and masculine, drifting from somewhere behind me.
Silas.
My feet freeze without conscious thought, my body recognizing that voice before my brain catches up. There's a quality to that laugh that makes my skin prickle with awareness, with want I'm not truly ready to acknowledge.
“Come on, little fed,” a feminine voice calls out—Nova, her tone playful. “Where do you think you're going?”
I break into a run.
The fence looms ahead, the gap narrower than I hoped but definitely navigable. Behind me, footsteps give chase, but they're not rushing. They're taking their time, like hunters who know their prey has nowhere to go.
“He's actually running,” Silas's voice carries easily across the lot, amused rather than concerned. “How adorable.”
“Should we let him get to the fence?” Nova asks, and there's laughter in her voice too. “Make him think he has a chance?”
They're playing with me. This whole thing—the unlocked door, the unguarded escape route—it's all part of their game. They wanted me to run. Wanted me to feel the hope of freedom before they crushed it.
But I'm committed now. The fence is twenty feet away, then ten, then I'm diving through the gap, feeling metal scrape against my bare shoulders as I squeeze through. Branches tearat my skin as I tumble into the underbrush beyond, but I'm free. I'm actually free.
I scramble to my feet and plunge deeper into the forest, adrenaline masking the pain of thorns and rocks under my bare feet. Trees whip past in a blur of shadow and moonlight as I run, putting distance between myself and the carnival.
This is insane. I'm a federal agent running nearly naked through Missouri woods because two carnies played mind games with my sexuality. If anyone from Quantico could see me now…
The laughter follows me into the trees. They're keeping up, maybe even gaining on me. I'm in decent shape, but running barefoot through undergrowth isn't really giving me the advantage.
“Getting tired, Agent Coleman?” Silas's voice drifts from my left, closer than it should be.
“This is fun,” Nova adds from somewhere to my right.
My lungs burn as I push harder, brambles tearing at my legs, low branches catching at my hair. But the voices never fall behind, never sound winded or strained. They're toying with me, letting me exhaust myself while they?—
My foot catches on a fallen branch, and I go down hard, palms and knees hitting dirt and rocks. Pain shoots up my leg, but I force myself to keep moving, to get back up.
Then a boot lands on my back, pinning me to the forest floor.
“Gotcha.”
Nova's voice is breathless with exhilaration, not exertion. I try to twist around, to see her face, but the pressure on my spine keeps me down. Leaves and dirt press against my cheek as footsteps approach from another direction.
“Not bad for a fed,” Silas says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “But you're going to have to do better than that if you want to escape us.”
The boot lifts from my back, and I roll over to find them standing above me—Nova with her auburn hair wild from the chase, Silas with that feral grin I'm starting to know too well. They're both breathing hard, flushed with the hunt, and the sight of them like this sends unwelcome heat straight to my cock.
Even now, even after everything, my traitorous body wants them.
“Did you really think we'd just let you walk away?” Nova asks, dropping to her knees beside me. “After what we've shared?”
“I'm a federal agent,” I gasp, trying to inject authority into my voice. “You can't just?—”
“Can't just what?” Silas crouches on my other side, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with sweat from the chase. “Can't hunt you through the woods like animals? Can't drag you back to our den and finish what we started?”
The image his words paint makes my breath hitch. Being dragged back, being at their mercy again, letting them strip away the last of my resistance until there's nothing left but need…
“You want to come back with us,” Nova observes, her green eyes bright in the moonlight. “Your body's telling us the whole story.”
I look down and curse silently. My boxers are tented again, my arousal obvious despite the circumstances. Despite everything that should be screaming at me to run, to fight, to maintain some shred of professional dignity.
“This is what we do to people who try to run from us,” Silas says, his hand settling on my chest, feeling my racing heartbeat. “We catch them. We claim them. We make them ours.”
