Page 94 of His to Hunt

And I will. But not yet.

She's still crouched low behind a fallen trunk, her back pressed to bark, hands braced against her thighs like they're theonly things holding her together. She hasn't moved in two minutes. But I can hear her breathing. Shallow. Hitched. Faint enough to fool anyone else.

But not me.

I take a step closer—still hidden, but close enough that my voice will reach her.

"You breathe too loud when you're scared," I say, keeping my voice low, as though I'm speaking directly into her ear.

The forest goes still, holding its breath with her.

"And you always hide on your left side when you're cornered," I continue, my words floating through the trees. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

I take another step forward, feeling her body tense, even from this distance. The smile that curves my lips is all predator, all hunger.

"Keep hiding, little thief." My voice curls through the trees, slow and warm and cruel. "I'll still find you. And when I do—I won't be gentle."

I circle wider, deliberately letting her lose track of me again. Let her shift her weight, strain her ears, try to trace where I've gone. She doesn't know I've already closed the distance. She doesn't know she's making it worse—how every ragged breath, every shiver of anticipation just makes me want her more.

I pause behind the trunk of an old pine, shadowed and still, then lean forward and whisper low enough to slide under her skin.

"I can smell you, you know."

The silence trembles around us.

"I can smell how fucking wet you are for me."

Her breath catches—a stuttered inhale that betrays her.

There it is.

I step out from behind the trees, revealing myself, and the moment our eyes lock—she bolts.

She runs harder this time. No more hesitation, no more crouching in the dark—just pure instinct, legs pumping, breath sharp, hands pushing past limbs that drag at her like the trees want to keep her here for me.

Good.

Let her run. Let her think she's getting away.

I trail her steps, slower, steadier, not bothering to hide the sound of my boots crushing leaves and pine needles beneath them. I want her to hear me. I want her to know I'm getting closer.

"You run pretty fast for someone who wants to be caught," I call out, voice carrying through the trees.

A sharp gasp escapes her—barely audible, but I catch it.

"Is this the part where you beg me not to find you?" I ask, enjoying the game too much to rush it.

"You wish." She yells over her shoulder, veering left and crashing through the underbrush.

I keep going straight. I don't need to follow her path. I know where she'll circle back. She's panicking again, but it's not real fear—it's anticipation. It's excitement.

I catch a glimpse of her again—just the edge of her shoulder as she ducks behind a fallen tree. She's trembling, not from the cold, but from the ache building inside her.

"You're not hiding, baby," I call out, my voice low and smooth. "You're waiting."

No answer comes, but I know she's listening. I can almost see her holding her breath.

"You want me to take my time, don't you?" I continue, each word deliberate. "Drag it out a little longer? Make you so desperate you forget how to speak?"

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