Page 6 of His to Hunt

And now? Now the game has changed. She doesn't belong to the Club.

She belongs to me.

My little thief.

Four

LUNA

He's coming for me.

That same presence from before—hot and cold all at once, scraping down my spine like claws dipped in silk. My chest pulls tight, my breath stalls, and I hate myself for it.

Because I don't scare easy.

But whatever he is? He doesn't need to growl or speak or even look at me for my body to register him as a threat.

I don't move. I don't flinch. But I feel it—like a storm building behind me, slow and inevitable.

And then I see him.

He cuts through the ballroom like a sharpened knife. Everyone shifts around him without even realizing it, like they know better than to stand in his path.

He's tall. Sharp. All tailored composure and quiet menace, with a black mask that only hides what he wants to keep secret.

Everything else is on display. His hands, smooth and sure,tucked into the pockets of a midnight-black suit. That jaw, razor sharp beneath just the barest trace of stubble.

And those eyes.

Cold. Silver. Searing.

Locked on me.

Fuck.

He's coming for me.

And everyone in this room can feel it.

One of the other girls shifts uncomfortably beside me. Another glances my way, like she's trying to figure out what I did to make this stranger seek me out.

The answer is nothing.

And also everything.

Because I shouldn't be here. I'm not supposed to be chosen.

But he's walking straight toward me like he knew I'd be here all along.

I square my shoulders, roll them back, and plant my feet a little wider. If he's going to make a scene, I'm not going to make it easy. The $250,000 waiting for women who escape the Hunt hangs in my mind like a lifeline. My entire reason for being here—my way out, my fresh start. My freedom from Christopher and my parents.

If this man claims me now, that chance vanishes.

When he stops before me, the silence thickens until it's almost suffocating. His gaze moves over me deliberately, assessing rather than admiring, cataloging rather than coveting. He looks at me like I'm a puzzle with missing pieces, or perhaps a prize he's already calculated how to claim.

"Keep walking," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the tension coiling tight in my stomach.

His lips quirk at the corner. "And deny myself the pleasure of your company? I think not."

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