Page 95 of His to Hunt

Another gasp. Another shuffle of leaves as she tries to move without being heard. She's trying to stay silent, but her body is feeling everything. And I haven't even touched her yet.

I move silently until I'm only a few feet away, concealed behind a tree. She still doesn't see me, but I see everything—the curve of her hip as she shifts, the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the clench of her thighs as her body betrays her.

"I can smell you again," I say, my voice dropping lower.

She stiffens, going completely still.

"You're soaking through those panties, aren't you?"

There's a beat of silence before her voice comes back—tight, breathless, but defiant.

"I'm not wearing any."

My body locks at her words. Heat punches low in my spine, spreading through me like wildfire. I step out from the shadows, and her eyes go wide when she realizes how close I've been all along.

"Then what exactly," I murmur, moving toward her with deliberate slowness, "do you think I'm going to do to you when I catch you?"

She stumbles backward, bumping into a tree, her pulse visibly racing at her throat. I stalk closer, each step measured and dangerous.

"Run, Luna," I tell her, a smile spreading across my face. "Because when I catch you this time? You don't get to walk away."

She does run—and this time, I don't wait.

I surge forward, grab a fistful of her hair, and wrench her back against me like I've been waiting to do it for hours. She slams into my chest with a breathless curse, fists flying.She fights like she means it—elbows, nails, a knee that comes dangerously close to my thigh.

"Let me go!" she demands, struggling against my grip. "I want my freedom!"

I don't let go. Instead, I drag her back three steps, spin her around, and slam her against the nearest tree—flat, hard, wild.

"Why?" I demand, something raw breaking open in my voice. "Why are you still fighting this?"

Her eyes blaze with fury and something else—something vulnerable and afraid. "Because I need to be free. I need?—"

"What?" I press, my grip tightening. "What do you need that I haven't given you?"

She struggles against me, but her resistance is weakening. "I need to build something that's mine. I need to feel safe. I need to create. I need?—"

"You have all of that with me," I cut in, my voice rough with an emotion I've never let myself feel before. "The studio. The gallery space I'm going to give you. The protection. Everything you want to build, you can build with me."

She stills at that, her eyes searching mine with desperate intensity. "A gallery?"

"Yes," I admit, the word dragged from somewhere deeper than I intended. "I was going to tell you. Your work deserves to be seen."

She shakes her head, confusion warring with something like hope in her expression. "Why would you do that? I'm just a possession to you."

"No," I say, the admission ripping me open. "You're not just anything to me. You never have been."

Her breath catches. "Then what am I?"

I press my forehead to hers, let her feel the tremor I can't quite control in my hands. "I don't know," I confess, voicebarely above a whisper. "I don't have a name for what you are to me. I just know that nothing makes sense without you. That I've broken every rule I've ever set for myself since the moment I saw you."

Her hands have stopped fighting, now resting against my chest—not pushing away, just feeling my heartbeat.

"You locked me away," she says, but the anger has bled out of her voice.

"To protect you," I explain. "From anyone who might try to take you from me."

"You can't own a person, Beckett."

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