Page 28 of Hunted

His presence presses in, intimate and controlled, awareness of him skimming my skin without crossing the line. Then he leans closer, just enough for his breath to brush my ear.

A second shiver follows the first, hotter, heavier, threaded with adrenaline and something wet and slippery.

‘Don’t let me down, Miss Cross,’ he says quietly. ‘Or there will be consequences.’

Then he’s gone.

The pressure vanishes so fast it leaves me dizzy.

I suck in a breath as he reappears by the window, back turned, the city reclaiming him like nothing happened.

I don’t look back.

I open the door and leave, fingers locked around the file.

My file.

My legs move on muscle memory until I’m out of the tower and the night air hits my lungs like freedom and threat at once.

Only then do I let myself breathe.

6

EIRA

I don’t bother with Maribel this time.

She doesn’t care for it.

‘Wait! Where are you going⁠—?’

I walk straight past her desk, ignore the furious glare and waving arms, and keep going until I reach the corner office one rung above hers.

The door is closed.

I knock once, then open it without waiting.

Victor Hale looks up from his desk like he’s been expecting me.

He’s polished in the way men get when they’ve survived too long by knowing exactly when to bend. Early sixties, silver at the temples, expensive suit untouched by violence but well-versed in a thousand compromises.

He doesn’t invite me to sit, probably because of the sweat dotting my brow and trickling down my back from the power walk here.

I resisted the urge to run from Valentin’s tower because I refused to give the vampire the satisfaction, and I was too keyed up for a cab. Not with the memory of those last minutes replaying like an unwanted reel.

‘Tell me why,’ I say, planting my palms on his desk. ‘Tell me why my contract just turned into a fucking leash.’

He exhales slowly. ‘Close the door, Cross.’

I take three steps back and kick it shut with my boot, then lean against it, arms crossed.

He grimaces, realising he’s just locked himself in with a feral employee who can take him down with a single punch to the throat.

‘There’s pressure,’ he says, twirling his fountain pen before dropping it on the desk with a quiet huff. ‘From on high.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

‘It’s the only one I’m allowed to give.’ His gaze flicks to the walls, the ceiling, the corners where nothing should be listening. ‘This assignment is a drop-everything. Priority override. No substitutions and absolutely no delays.’