Page 155 of Hunted

The door shuts and the quiet that follows is raw with anticipation.

Valentin stands a few feet away, chest rising, eyes dark-shot silver, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together by force. I’m still catching my breath, still buzzing from the rooftops, still throbbing with a need I don’t have words for.

When he walks towards me, it feels like gravity has chosen a side.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says softly.

‘Barely,’ I lie.

His mouth quirks. ‘Like a leaf.’

I swallow. ‘I’m fine.’

His hand cups my face. Thumb drags over my bottom lip, slow and possessive. ‘I will not be stopping tonight, little hunter.’

My throat tightens. Because this is the moment. The one that matters. Past the banter and the dares and the chase.

This moment.

I look up at him and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to. ‘Maybe I don’t want you to.’

Something in his expression fractures and reforms into savage intent, tinged with… reverence.

Before I can explore that surprising second part, he pounces, kissing me with feral lust, all heat and punishment.

And yet something slower, deeper, a pensive claiming that makes my eyes sting for reasons that have nothing to do with lust.

He takes his time unfastening my weapons first – one by one – hands deliberate, respectful, as if even in hunger he understands what those blades mean to me.

Protection.

Control.

Self.

When the last weapon is set aside, he returns to my mouth and kisses me again, and the kiss changes – heat threading back in, urgency building, my hands sliding under his shirt to feel skin and muscle and that mark I can’t stop thinking about.

Then he breaks the kiss with a hiss and looks at my throat.

I stiffen. Instinct. Old fear.

His voice is rough. ‘You know what’s coming, don’t you, Eira?’ he grits out, almost a question.

My pulse trips as Selphine’s warning flickers like ghostly shadows.

Do not let him drink deeply.

He might like it too much. So might you.

I should say no. I should hold the line. But I’m fucking tired of lines. Tired of running, pretending I’m not already in too deep.

And beneath all of it, a darker curiosity curls, hot and inevitable and older than time.

I nod.

Valentin exhales like he’s been denied oxygen for centuries. ‘Verbal,’ he murmurs, gaze locked on mine. ‘I need to hear it.’

Consent.