Page 12 of His to Hunt

"So what was it about her that caught your attention?" Sebastian asks, circling closer with that predatory grace he never fully suppresses. "The fact she wasn't wearing the anklet? Or just the way she looked at you like you were nothing special?"

A muscle twitches in my jaw. "You should be more careful about the questions you ask."

He grins. "And miss the only time I've seen you this worked up over a woman? Not a chance."

Her eyes narrow, gaze darting between us. I can practically see her mind working behind that mask, reassessing, calculating, deciding if these men are threats or merely annoyances.

"I'm standing right here," she says, voice steady despite the tremor I can still feel beneath my fingertips. "Maybe try asking me directly."

Graham whistles low. "Oh, I like her."

"You would," Sebastian mutters.

I finally release her chin, but don't step back. "My associates were just leaving."

"Were we?" Sebastian asks, amused.

"Yes." The single word carries enough weight that even Sebastian knows better than to push further.

Graham inclines his head in mock surrender, then offers her an exaggerated bow. "Until we meet again, mysterious lady who dared to strike the untouchable."

Sebastian simply shakes his head in amusement as he follows Graham back toward the door.

Just before they disappear inside, Graham pauses. "Remember the time. Things change at midnight."

The door closes behind them, leaving us alone again in the moonlit silence of the terrace.

She exhales slowly. "Friends of yours?"

"Associates."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only answer you're getting right now." I pause, studying the defiance still burning in her eyes. "You should be more concerned about what happens next."

"And what is that, exactly?" She tilts her head, a challenge in every line of her body. "Another lecture about how I belong to you now? More threats wrapped in that velvet voice? Or are you finally going to tell me what this collar really means?"

I step closer, until I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "It means you're mine. But if you need a demonstration..."

The clock in the distance chimes, marking time's passage with eleven solemn beats.

"One hour," I say softly. "That's all the freedom you have left."

Seven

BECKETT

I leaveher on the balcony, breathless and trembling, because I want her to remember what it feels like to watch me walk away.

Not in defeat.

In silence.

In control.

I want her to burn in the space I leave behind. To stand there with that collar still tight around her throat and wonder why I didn't finish what I started. Because the second she starts asking questions—about me, about this place, about herself—she's mine.

Inside the ballroom, the shift has begun.

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