Page 41 of Hunted

Valentin’s gaze cuts to me with the sharpness of a half-drawn blade.

On the line, Hale’s voice drops to something faint and obedient. ‘Of course. We’ll… do the paperwork.’

Valentin ends the call.

I let out a laugh sharp enough to hurt. ‘So that’s it? You make one phone call, and the agency rolls over like a dog showing its belly?’

His eyes darken, not with anger exactly, but with the quiet impatience of a man unaccustomed to resistance.

‘You are well-versed in the imperative benefits of hierarchy,’ he says softly. ‘And yet you fight it so viciously. Why is that, Miss Cross? I do not believe it’s simply because you enjoy wasting my time. And yours.’

‘I don’t like people who throw their weight about,’ I shoot back, my voice steady on spite alone.

His head tilts. ‘But I barely threw, Miss Cross. In fact, it was barely a nudge.’

Then he lunges.

So fast my instincts barely have time to scream.

One moment he’s across the room, contained elegance and tailored menace, and the next his hand is at my nape.

Making it brutally clear he could do either choke or break whenever he chose.

His grip is mostly on my collar but I still feel his fingers, and skin on skin is electric in the worst way. My body reacts before my mind catches up, panic and fury colliding with something darker that makes my nerves feel as if they’ve remembered him.

I slam my hands against his wrist, trying to pry him off.

Useless.

His face is inches from mine.

Warm.

Too warm. A vampire shouldn’t feel like this.

His scent hits me, clean metal and winter air, and my pulse stutters traitorously as his eyes flicker, silver rimmed with something darker. Hungrier.

‘Your scent,’ he murmurs, almost to himself.

My blood freezes. Nausea coils beneath my ribs, but I force the words out through the pressure at my throat. ‘Rude. But by all means, tell me. What about it?’

His thumb shifts, brushing the place where my pulse should betray me completely.

Thank fuck, it doesn’t.

‘It is… wrong,’ he says, quieter now, as if the discovery irritates him.

I go still as his focus narrows, and my stomach drops.

So I drag my fear into something meaner and do the only thing I can.

I bare my teeth.

‘I have news about Lyra,’ I say, rage shaking through my voice before fear can claim it. ‘So what’s your plan, Don Moretti? To kill me before or after I give it to you? Personally, I vote before. But hey, logic has never been everyone’s strongest suit. Some men prefer senseless violence.’

He doesn’t give me time to breathe.

One second I’m pinned against the VIP wall, his palm searing the juncture of my shoulder, the weight of him a dark promise of violence.