Page 43 of Hunted

I look down, then back at him.

His face is calm. Curious. Waiting.

I know what he wants.

Fear. Real fear.

My body wants to give it to him. My nerves are already shredding themselves, my fingers digging into his wrist as gravity tries to drag me from his grip.

Still, I lift my chin. ‘If this is a threat… or foreplay,’ I say, voice wheezy but steady through sheer will, ‘you need new hobbies.’

His grip tightens, more than enough to remind me how firmly I’m suspended between life and death.

‘You provoke with so very little care,’ he murmurs.

‘I respond to bullshit badly. As we’ve both learned tonight.’

A deeper flicker crosses his eyes, and I realise that Valentin Moretti might be exactly unfeeling enough to watch me perish in the name of this little experiment. He might wait until I give him what he wants, then drop me for the lesson.

So I let my gaze fall. Let my breathing hitch and my fingers tremble from the cold.

I give him a performance, complete with much more wheezing, because yeah, my air is seriously depleting.

When I chance an imploring glance at him, his eyes sharpen instantly. He leans closer, nose brushing near my hairline.

Inhaling. Testing.

Silence stretches.

Then that sensually curved, entirely kissable mouth tilts. ‘That,’ he says softly, ‘is not fear.’

Fuck. Busted. Damn him.

He hauls me back onto the rooftop in one brutal motion. My boots slam against concrete as my body collides with his chest.

There’s no need for pretence as I bend over and drag grateful shovelfuls of air into my lungs.

When I glance up, something electric surges between us. More savage than panic. More manic than rage. Hot, poisonous and deadlier than simple attraction.

I shove it down immediately. ‘You’re disappointed,’ I say. ‘Should I try harder? Cry, maybe?’

He stares at me with a lethal intensity that threatens exposure. ‘Humans beg as incessantly as they breathe,’ he says, voice level, almost reflective.

‘And I will too, I’m sure. Just give me a hundred or so years.’

His head tilts slightly. ‘When you are a corpse in the ground?’

I shrug. ‘Oops.’

I step back. He lets me, but for one second, I think he might close the distance again.

Instead, he watches me. Then he moves. This time there’s no rooftop arc, no graceful leap through the skyline.

He snatches me and drops straight down the side of the building.

My scream tears out as wind explodes against my face, the world flipping vertical, concrete and glass rushing past in a blur.

We’re falling… and he isn’t slowing.