Page 98 of Prey
A man with bronze skin and dark, atmospheric tattoos looks up from what appears to be a chemistry textbook. “The physiological response to fear and arousal shares many commonalities. Elevated heart rate, increased blood flow, heightened sensitivity. The body often confuses the two.”
“Thank you, Dr.Theon,” Marcus says sarcastically.
“I’m not a doctor,” Theon replies seriously. “I never finished the degree.”
“Because you were busy learning how to kill people with household chemicals,” adds a man built like a tank, with extensive tattoos and an undercut. “I’m Damon. Don’t mind the scientific commentary—we’re all fucked up here.”
“Speak for yourself,” says a man with dark skin and tattoos that seem to shift when he moves. He’s leaning against the wall, observing everything with the detached interest of someone used to watching rather than participating. “I’m perfectly adjusted to my particular brand of insanity.”
“That’s Dominic,” Nikolai explains. “He assumes identities like some people collect stamps.”
“And today I’m being myself,” Dominic says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lucky you.”
A lean man with blonde hair and pale skin sits in the corner, so still he might be carved from stone. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
“That’s Lucien,” Nikolai says. “He doesn’t usually speak this much.”
“I’m verbose today,” Lucien replies with dark amusement.
The last man remains seated at the kitchen island, chopping vegetables. He’s beautiful in a way that seems almost engineered, with dark hair and pale blue eyes that miss nothing.
“Raphael,” Nikolai supplies. “Our resident chef and philosopher.”
Raphael nods once in my direction but doesn’t speak, just continues his precise knife work.
“Well,” Darius says, clapping his hands together. “Now that we’ve all been introduced, shall we discuss the elephant in the room?”
“Which elephant?” Ezra asks, looking around as if expecting to see an actual fucking elephant.
“The fact that our dear Hunter has finally claimed his prize and brought her home to meet the family.”
The wordfamilyhangs in the air, weighted with meanings I don’t fully understand. But I can feel it—the bonds between these men, forged in whatever hell they shared.
“She’s not a prize,” Nikolai says, his voice carrying an edge.
“No?” Darius tilts his head. “Then what is she?”
“Mine.”
The single word drops like a stone into still water, creating ripples of reaction across eight faces. Some approving, some amused, some calculating.
“Possessive,” Marcus observes. “Your cortisol levels have spiked.”
“Because you’re all staring at her like she’s a particularly interesting experiment,” Nikolai snaps.
“Well,” Theon says reasonably, “she is.”
“She’s standing right here and has a name,” I point out.
“Yes,” Darius agrees, moving closer again. “You are indeed.” His fingers trail along my arm, feather-light but deliberate. “And you’re far more interesting than Nik’s usual… acquisitions.”
Nikolai’s entire body goes rigid beside me. “Step back.”
“Or what?” Darius’s smile turns predatory. “You’ll fight me for her? Here? Now?”
The tension in the room ratchets up several degrees. I can feel the attention of all eight men focusing like a laser, waiting to see what happens next.
“If I have to,” Nikolai says quietly.
