Page 124 of Hunted

‘You know what I mean.’

His eyes narrow, then he inclines his head. ‘Yes. Sometimes.’

‘Right now?’

His mouth flattens. ‘That depends.’

My lips are suddenly dry. No, not dry. Tingling. Hungry. ‘On what?’

‘On whether you continue looking at it like that.’

Heat jumps to my face. My eyes clash with obsidian black before I yank them back down. ‘I’m studying it.’

‘You are studying me. And it is not… ineffectual.’

This is when I should stop. The air is thick with other emotions now, other thoughts that are decidedly filthy. I open my mouth to deny them, then close it because he’d only raise one maddening eyebrow and be right.

I move closer again, curiosity punching clean through caution. I can feel my pulse in my wrists. At my throat. In my pussy. I can feel him watching every shift in my breathing.

And there is an alarmingly distinct lack of resentment in it that shakes me to my toes.

‘Can I touch it?’ I whisper.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn’t have asked. There is no safe version of this.

I should be planning exits. Instead, I’m standing behind him half naked in my own bad judgement, wondering whether touching the vampire I ran from for six years is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done or the first honest thing I’ve allowed myself to want.

The terrifying answer is probably both.

My hand is already lifting before he answers because apparently my self-preservation has gone on holiday.

His head lowers. A grunt rips free from his chest, one lock of jet-black hair falling over his forehead, his gaze darkening impossibly.

For one suspended second, I think he’ll say no.

Instead, his voice is rougher than before when he says, ‘Yes.’

I touch him.

A gasp escapes me when I find him even warmer than before. I have an abstract thought to ask him how that’s possible when he should be cold-blooded. I touch with just the tips of my fingers at first, light over the edge of the sigil.

The mark instantly flares.

There’s no melodrama or fireworks and chanting or the room exploding into prophecy. Just a sudden live pulse under my fingertips, heat rushing into the lines as if something beneath his skin has turned towards me. The branching edges sharpen, deepen, and for one impossible heartbeat I swear it reaches back.

Valentin’s reaction is immediate.

Untethered.

His breath catches hard enough to sound almost human. His head drops. One hand hits the edge of the dresser behind him with enough force to make the wood groan.

His scent spikes. Heat. Hunger. Something metallic and electric all at once.

I feel the tremor move through his body under my hand.

Holy fucking— I should stop.

I do not stop.