Page 11 of Haunted

“You’re trembling,” he observes, his thumbs making small circles against my hip bones.

“I’m not afraid of you.” It’s only half a lie.

His lips curve into a devastating smile. “Fear isn’t the only thing that makes a woman tremble.”

I swallow hard. “What do you want from me?”

Xavier reaches into his pocket, his eyes never leavingmine. Between his fingers appears a sleek black envelope edged in blood red.

“An invitation.” His voice drops lower. “To the Hollow’s Hunt.”

This is it—the access I’ve been working toward for weeks. The evidence I need might be within reach. Yet, as Xavier places the envelope in my palm, I’m distracted by the way his fingers brush against mine.

“Why me?” I ask breathlessly.

He doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, his fingers close over mine, trapping the invitation between our palms. Heat radiates from where our skin connects, traveling up my arm and spreading through my chest.

“Because you intrigue me. Most women who work here either fear me or want something from me. You... you look at me like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.”

I am. Xavier is the puzzle I need to decode to break this story.

“The Hunt is exclusive.” His face inches closer, and I catch the scent of mint on his breath. “Dangerous, even, but I think you already know that.”

I remain frozen, caught in the gravity of his presence, the weight of his hand over mine burning like a brand.

His fingers tighten subtly. “The Hunt reveals people’s true nature. What will it reveal about you, I wonder?”

My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. The rational part of my brain screams in warning.

Xavier leans in closer, his lips hovering inches from mine—and I’ve never wanted to be kissed more than I do right now. My eyes drift half-closed as sensationoverrules my better judgment. For one electric moment, the space between us crackles with possibility.

Then he pulls back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He never intended to kiss me. This was just another power play.

“I’ll need your answer within twenty-four hours,” he says. “The Hunt waits for no one.”

His fingers release mine, leaving the invitation in my palm. Without the heat of his touch, the envelope feels cold and dangerous.

“Consider carefully. Once you’re in, there’s no turning back.”

With that, he turns and walks away, confident in every step. The door closes behind him, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

My hands tremble as I tear open the black envelope. Inside is a card handwritten in elegant script—Xavier’s, I assume. The crimson ink gleams under the fluorescent lights as I read:

The Hollow’s Hunt welcomes you as prey.

Friday, midnight.

Wear something you don’t mind losing.

Come alone. Tell no one.

—X

My initial triumph fades as I notice the second item in the envelope. A legal document, several pages thick, with “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT” emblazoned across the top.

I scan the dense paragraphs. The language is absolute. By signing, I agree that anything witnessed orexperienced during the Hunt remains confidential. Violation results in severe legal consequences. Near the end, a clause specifically mentions that publications of any kind are expressly forbidden.

My heart sinks. This is a poison pill for my investigation. If I sign, I will be legally unable to publish what I discover. If I don’t sign, I’ll never get inside.

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