Page 50 of Pretty Little Prey
“But I watched as you cursed at the king of the Dark Ones. A little lamb against a fucking basilisk.” Sly whistled, impressed. “I want to know why you’re different from what we were raised to believe about prey.”
“I’m not special or different in any way. I am terrified of predators,” she half lied, half told the truth. “If I were wearing boots, I would be shaking in them at your mere presence.”
Shewasscared of predators—because of what Rohan had taken from her. But, she had nothing left to lose anymore, other than her life. So, with fear came hatred and distrust. A desire to fight back against them, in the name of her slaughtered family. In the name of all mistreated and abused prey shifters. Yet, her self-preservation reminded her that a prey did not have the power or strength to take on a single predator, let alone the pack Rohan ran with. Currently, her only option was to keep running.
“Hmm,” Sly made a noise. “Bastille said you once implied you were being hunted by someone.”
Shit. Had she said something while under hypnosis?
“I can only assume it’s a predator since you’re a prey. The question is: why? Who?”
Shit. Shit.
“Bastille wanted to find them and give you to them.”
Horror squeezed her lungs, suffocating her. Give her to Rohan?Need to escape. NOW.
“Tell me who is after you, Luna,” Sly said.
She did the only thing she could think to do, to distract him.
She stood, grabbed the hem of Kobe’s large shirt, and yanked it off her, leaving her bare, naked body on display for the fox.
Sly’s dark red eyebrows lifted slowly on his face, those tempting lips curling into another smirk as his gaze trailed down her creamy skin. “Little lamb…” He purred a deep, guttural sound of approval. “I was hoping you would do that.”
She was tied to Bastille’s chair.How the heck did I allow this to happen?
But Sly had moved too fast. One second, he sat in front of her. The next, he disappeared somewhere in the cabin and reappeared with rope. She had tried to run, but the predator was too darn fast. He moved in a blur. He had her secured to the grand vinyl chair before she could so much as blink.
“Damn it,” she yelled, trying to rip her arms free of the rope.
He had her thoroughly bound. Ropes secured her wrists to the arms of the chair. There was a line of rope at her neck and shoulders, her bare stomach, and at each of her ankles, splaying her legs open.
“Let me go!”
“So you can try to use your feminine wiles against me? I’m only so strong,” Sly replied.
“Tying me down, naked, is supposed to strengthen your resolve against me?” she huffed. “Just seems kinky.”
He grinned. “Bastille has hypnosis, but I think I can get answers out of you in my own way.”
She scoffed. “Good luck.”
“You don’t think I could get you to give me answers?”
“Not unless the answer is spelled f-u-c-k-y-o-u,” she replied, glaring at him.
Sly turned and strode down the hallway, toward the bedrooms.
“Where are you going?” she called out after him. “You’re just going to leave me like this?”
“Got to get my interrogation toys,” he yelled back.
Toys? As in torture devices?
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
She yanked on the ropes, wiggling and squirming to free herself, but nothing worked. The fox clearly had experience in tying people up. He was really going totortureher for answers? She had severely misjudged the jokester predator. Dangerous; diabolical; no remorse. She should have known.
