Page 12 of Hunt Me

The expression of fury on his face changes to one of recognition. It doesn’t quite soften, and he sure as hell doesn’t smile, but something flares in his eyes. My heart beats so hard I wonder if he can hear it from this far away.

Swallowing heavily, I force my legs to move again, and he watches me, his hands now free from the cat.

Digging into my pocket, I yank out my CI charging case and flip the lid. They automatically turn on, and the moment I slap the first one against the magnet on the right side, my whole world wobbles as sound rushes through my head.

I’m used to it though, so I don’t falter as I put on the second, securing the processors over my ears before shoving the case back into my jeans. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time, and I feel so seen, which is a bizarre feeling for someonewho performs on weekends. But there’s something different about the way he watches me.

Something almost…hungry.

I’m near him now, just a few feet away, and though he hasn’t stopped staring at me, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. His expression is still blank though, and with the blood still dribbling sluggishly from above his eyebrow, he looks dangerous as hell.

I take a breath, then point. “You’re bleeding.”

He seems startled by the sound of my voice. My accent isn’t as thick as some of my other friends’. I’ve been Deaf since I was three and a CI user since I was five, though I went without them for almost all of college. But my parents wouldn’t let up on speech therapy, and I was dragged to sessions once a week until I was a legal adult and could finally refuse.

But maybe it’s not my accent. Maybe he’s startled by the fact that I’m speaking at all.

He huffs, then says in a very low, very gruff voice that is so hard to understand I have to read his lips, “I know.”

“Would you mind if…” I hesitate, and he cocks a brow up. “Do you have a first aid kit?” When he frowns in confusion, I point to his head. “You’re bleeding.”

He shakes his head very, very slowly. Then, he lifts the edge of his shirt up and wipes his face clean.

I look at his exposed stomach, and god. He has abs. Lots of them. I knew it. And with shoulders like that…

Good fuck.

“Oh my god, you’re going to get tetanus,” I say, snapping back to reality. “Or rabies.”

He lifts a brow again, then shrugs once more, not saying another word.

‘Do you prefer sign?’ I ask.

He lifts his hands, which are filthy from the mud he dove into. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Now?’

His head tilts to the side, and then he suddenly takes several steps toward me. I feel a rush of fear. It really is like being confronted by a fucking tiger. I back up until I hit something, and…

Oh. It’s the church wall.

My breath feels stuck in my lungs, a swallow trapped halfway down my throat. I want to raise my hands and ask him what he’s doing, but they won’t move. Instead, all I can hear is a strange, almost rattling noise, and it takes me a second to realize it’s coming from me. From my chest. I might be hyperventilating.

Arhe stops just short of touching me, but I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “What are you doing here?” Now that he’s close enough, I can make out the more subtle parts of his rumbling voice, and it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

“I…” My finger touches my chest, but it doesn’t do anything else. It feels wrong to say I was following him, even though I was. It doesn’t seem right to admit that I was hunting him down, mostly becauseIfeel likehisprey now.

His hand lifts, and he hovers his fingers near my face. It takes a second, but eventually, I realize he’s not quite touching the spot where he’d wiped blood off me before.

“Little rabbit,” he murmurs, and my dick kicks in my jeans. “Are you scared?”

“No.”

He doesn’t laugh or mock my obvious lie, but I can tell he knows it’s not the truth. His head tilts to the side again, and then he leans in and takes a deep breath of the space between my shoulder and neck. His skin still isn’t touching mine, but god, I wish it would.

Arhe bites his lip, then presses one hand beside my head, fingers scraping the wall in a way I can hear it. My CIs aren’t perfect, but this close, they pick up the sound.

Normally, I don’t give a shit about hearing, but being able to know the sound of his huffing breath and the small grunt he makes when he scrapes the heel of his palm on the brick—somehow, I feel like I don’t want to live without that if I have a choice. And right now, I choose everything about him.