Page 69 of Hunt Me

“Of course, Beloved.” Luka traversed the field to retrieve the plump bird. He cried out in pain when an arrow pierced his back. “Fuck!” he yelled, reaching for the arrow. Her laughter grew further and further away as she ran in the opposite direction to hide. Luka ripped the steel tip out of his back and glared at it menacingly. “I will ruin her!,” he said through clenched teeth. “Calm yourself, Luka. She did it to get a rise out of you, and if she does that, then she wins,” he muttered to himself. “It’s okay, Tilda. I’m not harmed. I’m sure shooting me in the back like a coward was a mistake. I forgive—”

His ears perked up at the sound of a whistle in the air. He caught the arrow before it penetrated his chest, and snapped it in half. “I tell you I love you, and this is the thanks I get?”

“But, my King. Didn’t you say you would die for me?”

“I said I would die for you, not by your hands. Wait. How did you know? Did Ezra speak to you?”

“Hybrid hearing,” she answered, voice echoing from her hiding place, alerting him of her location. His boots were nearly silent against the grass as he crossed the meadow to a rock formation where she was hidden. “You’ve found me.”

“I’ll always find you.”

“Hm,” she hummed. “So, you think you’re in love with me?”

“I more than think it.”

“Words are fleeting, Luka. You must prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you, huh.”

Luka walked in a tight circle with his hands clutched behind his back as he contemplated what grand gesture he could perform to prove his love for her. They were to be wed. He abolished the ban on hybrid unions and children. He dressed her in the finest of robes and jewels. He gave her anything her heart desired. What more was there for him to give?

His blood.

Blood exchange between vampire mates was as sacred and intimate as could be.

“Very well, Matilda Helsing. I’ll prove my love to you tonight. For now, let’s visit the town.”

25

Hours of Pleasure

“This is nice,” Matilda said as they strolled hand in hand through the town square.

“For once, I agree with you.”

“I have an idea.”

“I’m not entertaining this idea of yours. It’s guaranteed to be all buffoonery.”

“Some, not all. I think you should relinquish your title as Vampire King of Night Falls to Lord Gustafson, and we can retire in the countryside.”

The thought had briefly occurred to him, but the fantasy flitted away as quickly as it came.

“You have that look on your face. I assume the answer is no.”

“What look?” he questioned.

“Like your bowels are in traction.”

“You should relinquish your title as Queen of Night Falls to become the court jester,” he teased, gently tugging on one of her curls—something he’d grown fond of doing. It became a habit—one Matilda didn’t mind him forming. The small gesture was intimate in nature—something only he was allowed to do. She’d behead anyone else who tried.

“Hm,” she replied without a quip, which he found more than odd.

“You look unwell,” he muttered before leading her to a shaded area where residents took their midday meals under mulberry trees.

“I’ll admit I’m not accustomed to the southern climate. A moment to recuperate would be much appreciated.”

“My word. You must be more ill than I perceived. My stubborn queen is admitting her limitations without protest? The world must be coming to an end,” he teased gently, easing her to the grass.