Page 21 of His to Hunt

"I didn't come here to belong to anyone."

"No," he agrees, "you came here to use this world for your own purposes. To take what you need and disappear." His thumb traces my lower lip, the leather of his glove cool against my heated skin. "But plans change, little thief. And now you belong to me."

For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, he takes a step back.

"You're going to run again," he says, his voice low in the darkness.

My heart stutters. "What?"

"You heard me." The space he's given me feels more like a taunt than mercy. "I'm giving you another chance."

I stay frozen, certain this is some kind of trick. "Why would you do that?"

"Because the hunt isn't just about catching. It's about earning."

Understanding floods through me, followed by a flash of anger. "You think this is a game. This is my life and you're playing games?"

"Everything's a game when you know you're going to win," he replies.

My chest tightens as my breathing quickens, every muscle in my body tensing for flight.

"This time," he tells me, voice muffled behind the death's grin, "when I catch you—and I will catch you—be ready to fight me."

I take a step backward, then another, my eyes never leaving his through the mask's hollow sockets.

"You'll regret that," I whisper, then turn and plunge into the darkness of the trees.

I run faster than before, heart pounding in my ears, knowing he's counting behind me. Knowing he's giving me just enough of a head start to believe I have a chance.

Knowing, deep down, that I never did.

Eleven

LUNA

I don't knowhow long I've run for. It could be two minutes, it could be two hours. But my exhaustion has set in, and he knows it too. I know he's there. Not because of footsteps or movement—he doesn't need either to hunt. It's the silence that gives him away, the sharp kind that falls over the forest like a shadow, enveloping me before I have time to run.

I freeze with one hand still braced against the rough bark of a tree, the other curled into the torn hem of my dress. My knees ache from running, my throat burns with each breath, and blood has dried under my nails from when I stumbled earlier, desperately clawing at anything to keep moving.

His hand wraps around my ankle without warning. I try to scream, but the sound lodges in my throat as he yanks me down. My body hits the dirt hard before I can catch myself, palms scraping against moss and mud. In one fluid motion, he's on me, his weight pressing down in calculated increments as he establishes control—a knee between my thighs, one handon the small of my back, another firm on the back of my neck, holding me down just hard enough to steal my breath.

The bone-white mask brushes against my cheek, its hollow eyes and silent grin mocking my struggle as I thrash beneath him. He lets me fight, amused by my futile resistance.

"Get the fuck off me!" My voice sounds raw and desperate.

He offers no response.

I shove back against his weight, legs kicking wildly as my hair tangles with twigs and dirt. I claw at anything within reach, but his grip only tightens until I suddenly go still—not because he's stopped me, but because I know I can't escape. Not like this. Not here.

"Don't," I whisper, despising the tremor in my voice. "Please—don't."

His breath slides warm against my neck, steady and even behind that grinning mask. When his hand moves from my neck to my throat, fingers pressing just enough to feel my pulse racing beneath the skin.

"I warned you, little thief. Did you think you could outrun me?" His voice slides over my skin like velvet wrapped around steel. "Or was this what you wanted all along?"

I twist to glare at him over my shoulder, teeth bared. "I wasn't planning on being thrown into the dirt."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me like distant thunder. "No? Then what exactly were you planning?"

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