Page 31 of Run Little Fawn

The words hang in the air between us, a challenge and an invitation all at once. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise that vanishes as quickly as it appears.

"Then I'd say the game just got more interesting."

His words hang in the air, a tantalizing thread that I can't resist pulling. "I know almost nothing about you," I muse, swirling the wine in my glass. "But you seem to know an awful lot about me."

Lucian leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he fixes me with an intense gaze. "I know enough."

"Enough for what?" I challenge, meeting his stare head-on.

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Enough to know that you're not like other women, Aria Moreau. You're not quite like anyone I've met before."

The sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine, a delicious mix of fear and anticipation. "And what exactly do you know about me that makes me so interesting?"

He leans back, his fingers drumming a lazy pattern on the tabletop. "I know about your past, your father. How you turned down the opportunity of a lifetime, gave up a full ride to an Ivy League school for a mediocre life. How you squandered a chance most people can only dream of."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder of the choices I've made. "I gave that up to support my family," I snap, my voice tight with emotion.

"Same thing," he shrugs, seemingly unfazed by my outburst.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "Why me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you choose me?"

Lucian's eyes narrow, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "I didn't choose you," he says slowly, his words measured. "The Order did."

"The Order?" I repeat, my brow furrowing. Maybe he's finally going to give me some real answers. "What's that?"

He waves a dismissive hand that only serves to fuel my curiosity. "A group of like-minded individuals who believe in the survival of the fittest."

"Is that why they chose me?" I ask, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Culling the 'weak'?"

Surprise flashes across his face, his eyes widening slightly. "No," he says, leaning forward once more. "You were chosen because you had the potential to become elite. And you threw it away."

His words hit me like a slap in the face, because they echo the doubts that haunt me when I sleep. The little voice that screams at me from the back of my mind that I had a chance to be happy, once upon a time, and I wasted it.

The weight of my choices, the sacrifices I've made, all come rushing back in a tidal wave of emotion. I close my eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks.

"You don't know anything about me," I whisper, my voice trembling with barely contained rage.

"Don't I?" he counters, his tone infuriatingly calm. "I know that you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. That you've faced adversity and come out the other side, even if it meant giving up your dreams."

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "And what would you know about dreams? A man who leads such a life of privilege that he has to hunt human beings for sport just to feel something?"

A shadow crosses his face, a flicker of something dark and haunted that vanishes as quickly as it appears. "More than you might think," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. The candle flickers, casting dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

I hold his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, any crack in the façade he presents to the world. But his eyes are like steel, unyielding and impenetrable. The question that's been burning in my mind finally spills from my lips, a desperate plea for understanding.

"Who are you, Lucian? Why do you do this?"

His expression shifts, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable that vanishes as quickly as it appears. He leans back in his chair, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world rests upon them.

"I do it because I have to," he says, his voice low.

I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief. "Bullshit. No one has to hunt another person."

His eyes flash with a hint of anger, a warning that I'm treading on dangerous ground. "It's not something I take pleasure in," he growls, his words clipped and precise. "But it is a means to an end."

"A means to what?" I press, leaning forward, my heart pounding in my chest.

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