Page 19 of His to Hunt

Because she's still moving exactly where I want her to go—toward the ancient oak that stands alone in a small clearing, its massive trunk offering the illusion of shelter, of safety. It's where frightened prey always run, thinking size and solidity equal protection.

They never look up. Never consider that predators understand elevation, angles, the advantage of attacking from above.

I circle around, keeping her in sight but remaining undetected. When she reaches the oak, she pauses, pressing her back against the rough bark, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

Now, I think. Now is the moment.

I'm silent through the shadows, ghosting across the clearing until I'm standing directly behind the massive tree trunk. She doesn't hear me. Doesn't sense my presence until I speak.

"Found you."

Ten

LUNA

His voice slicesthrough the night—two words that freeze my blood and send my heart into a panicked sprint.

I whirl around, but there's nothing there—just the massive oak trunk, rough bark against my palms, shadows stretching in every direction.

"Found you," he says again, and this time I can place it—behind me, above me, the sound seeming to come from the tree itself.

I stumble back, nearly falling as I crane my neck to look up. And there he is, perched on a thick branch about twelve feet off the ground, one leg dangling casually as he looks down at me through the hollow eyes of that bone-white mask.

"That's cheating," I gasp, trying to sound defiant despite the fear coursing through me.

He tilts his head, the gesture somehow more unsettlingwith the skull mask rendering his expression unreadable. "There are no rules against climbing trees, little thief."

Before I can respond, he moves—a fluid, graceful motion that brings him from branch to ground in seconds, landing with barely a sound just a few feet away from me.

I back up instinctively, but the tree is behind me now, my escape cut off by bark and wood and a man who moves like he was born to hunt.

"Stay back," I warn, though we both know it's an empty threat. "I don't want to hurt you."

A low chuckle emanates from behind the mask. "You couldn't if you tried."

"I got in a pretty good slap earlier," I remind him, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You did." He takes a step closer, moving with a deliberate confidence that makes my stomach clench. "And I let you have that one."

"Let me?" My hands ball into fists at my sides. "You think I need your permission to stand up for myself?"

Another step. "I think you're talking because you're afraid of what happens when you stop."

He's right, damn him. Words are the only shield I have left, the only barrier between his merciless approach and the terror building in my chest.

"I'm not afraid of you," I lie.

"Yes, you are." He's close enough now that I can see the gleam of his eyes through the mask's sockets. "But not for the reasons you should be."

"And what reasons are those?"

"You're not afraid I'll hurt you." Another step, closing the distance to mere inches. "You're afraid I'll see you. Really see you. All the parts you try to hide, even from yourself."

My breath catches.

"You don't know me," I say, but the words sound hollow even in my own ears.

"Don't I?" His gloved hand rises slowly, fingers brushing against the choker at my throat. "I knew the moment I saw you that you didn't belong in that ballroom. That you were pretending to be someone you're not. That you were running from something—or someone."

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