Page 23 of The Hunter's Empire

"Unusual for a woman." The deep voice sounds directly behind me, low enough that it brushes against the back of my neck like a warning.

I don’t turn immediately. I take another sip of whiskey before glancing over my shoulder casually. "What exactly is unusual?The whiskey, the auction, or the fact that none of the old men in this room have tried undressing me with their eyes yet?"

A quiet sound leaves him. Not quite a laugh.

"If I'm judging correctly," he says, resting one hand against the back of the velvet armchair beside him, "I don't think they would've gotten very far."

Only then do I face him properly. Up close, his presence feels heavier somehow. More intense. The kind that shifts the atmosphere around him without effort. Whiskey, smoke, and something darker cling faintly to him as he stops beside. Under the low amber lighting, the scar beneath his lips becomes more noticeable, drawing my attention far longer than it should.

Nothing about him feels polished. And yet every person in this room bends around his presence without meaning to.

Dangerous. That word keeps returning.

"Well," he says after a moment, his gaze moving slowly over me, "what is a woman like you doing here?"

I swirl the whiskey lightly in my glass. "What kind of woman am I?"

His eyes narrow slightly like he wasn’t expecting the question back.

"Clearly dangerous." He murmurs. The answer comes too easily. Then his gaze drifts deliberately over the mask covering half my face before returning to my eyes. "And very good at pretending otherwise."

I arch a brow. "Interesting observation from a man hiding behind a ghost story."

Something faint shifts at the corner of his mouth. Not irritation. But interest?

"Are you always this argumentative," he asks calmly, "or am I receiving special treatment tonight,Elf?"

The word catches me off guard enough to annoy me instantly.

I should let it go. Instead, I tilt my head slightly. "That depends. Are all your conversations built around intimidation and mystery, or is that reserved for women you’re trying to impress?"

A soft huff of amusement leaves him. "You think I’m trying to impress you?"

"I think men with reputations like yours usually enjoy performing for them."

That finally earns me a proper reaction. Not anger. A smile. Small, brief and dangerous.

A dimple appears in his cheek unexpectedly, sharp enough to momentarily ruin the severity of his face. My attention drifts lower without permission. To the scar beneath his lips again. Something about it feels strangely familiar.

I stare half a second too long. And his eyes darken almost immediately.

"Do you want to kiss me?" He asks softly. "Is that why you’re staring at my lips?"

Heat flashes across my face so fast it irritates me. I look away with a scoff. "Your ego is exhausting."

"So that’s a no?"

"I don’t make a habit of kissing men hired through auctions."

Another low laugh. God, that sound does something deeply inconvenient to my nervous system.

I take another sip of whiskey mostly to buy myself a second to recover. "Besides, I’m here for business. Not whatever this is."

"This?" He pushes away from the chair slowly. "You started this."

"I did not."

"You challenged me within thirty seconds."