Page 92 of His to Hunt

Her eyes narrow dangerously. "You're insane."

"Perhaps." I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her—paint and turpentine and something uniquely Luna beneath it all. "But I'm also effective."

"At what? Being a controlling asshole?"

I allow myself a small smile. "At keeping you safe."

"I never asked for your protection," she firesback.

"No," I agree. "But you wear my collar. The protection comes with it."

She flinches slightly at that, memory flashing behind her eyes. The night at the masquerade. The moment she chose to be claimed rather than run.

"I want to leave," she says, her voice quieter now but no less determined.

I study her for a long moment, considering. The threats against her have been neutralized—or soon will be. The Collectors have acknowledged my claim. Christopher Finch is about to discover the consequences of wanting what's mine.

She could leave. I could let her go.

The thought makes something cold and unfamiliar twist in my chest.

"If you really want a chance to escape," I say slowly, the words forming a plan as I speak them, "I'll give you one."

Suspicion flashes across her face. "What does that mean?"

"Another Hunt," I explain. "Just you and me. If you can evade me until sunrise, you're free. I'll provide for you for the rest of your life, ensure your safety, never ask anything of you again."

Her eyes widen slightly. "And if I'm caught?"

I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "Then you are mine," I say, my voice dropping lower. "Completely. Without reservation or resistance. Mine in every way that matters."

Her breath catches, pupils dilating despite her obvious attempt to appear unmoved.

"Do you accept these terms?" I ask, offering choice while knowing precisely what she'll choose. Luna Laurent has never backed down from a challenge. Especially not one issued by me.

She straightens her spine, chin lifting defiantly. "Yes."

I let my smile widen, predatory and satisfied. "Good."

Stepping back, I glance at the windows where twilight is deepening to true darkness. Perfect timing.

"You have a ten-second head start," I tell her, my voice a promise rather than a threat.

She blinks, momentarily frozen in place.

"Ten," I begin counting, watching as understanding dawns on her face.

"Nine."

She bolts, bare feet silent against the stone floors as she disappears into the darkened hallway.

"Eight."

I remain where I stand, listening to her rapid footsteps fade into the vastness of the house.

"Seven."

This is what we both need, I realize. This game of predator and prey. This chance to break the tension that's been building between us since the moment I claimed her.

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