Page 76 of Hunted

His silver gaze almost lights up in the semi-darkness, reminding me of how they looked in that lurid dream I’m absolutely not going to thing about right now. ‘Uninvited? Perhaps.’ His voice drops. ‘But I am not unwanted. Or undesired. Am I, little hunter?’

Heat floods my face, and I despise him for how easily he draws it out. ‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘I am rarely wrong about hunger,’ he replies, gaze drifting with painful deliberation. ‘And matters of the flesh.’

My pulse betrays me.

One stutter.

Then faster.

Of course he notices. His eyes drop to my throat, then to my breasts, currently peaking like traitorous little idiots, before the corner of his mouth shifts in quiet acknowledgement of advantage.

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Why are you here?’ I demand, because if I don’t seize back some ground, I’m going to start thinking about the way he said hunger. And flesh.

Instead of answering, he rises.

The movement is unhurried, controlled, almost courteous, which makes the next second infinitely worse. One moment he’s across the room. The next, distance ceases to exist.

His hands settle at my waist, and he lifts me cleanly off the floor. Ceramic crunches under his shoes as he carries me over the wreckage and sets me against the wall beside my bed with careful precision.

My breath escapes in a startled rush.

‘You repeatedly place yourself in danger with your taunts and defiance.’ His voice is low enough that I feel it more than hear it. ‘You’re either breathtakingly brave or maddeningly foolish. Which is it, Eira Cross?’

‘I’m tired of being accused of recklessness,’ I mutter before I can cage the words.

His eyes gain an uncultured gleam I’m sure the devil would love to imitate as he plants thick arms beside my head.

‘Who accused you?’ The question is edged with the same touch of mania he showed when Malachi touched me.

Sweet holy saints.

He’s jealous. Over a throwaway comment.

I push away how that makes me feel… all kinds of hot, and embrace relief. If he’s asking this, he wasn’t inside the house. He didn’t hear my call with Selphine.

‘Does it matter?’ I say lightly.

‘It matters.’

The word sounds like a blade pressed to my ribs. ‘Maybe I’m tired of being handled like fragile cargo.’

His jaw tightens. ‘You are not fragile.’

‘No,’ I agree, holding his gaze. ‘I’m not.’

The silence that follows is thick with everything neither of us is saying.

‘What do you want?’ I ask finally. ‘And how did you even find me?’

I was careful.

Meticulously, expensively careful.

His gaze digs into mine without glamour. ‘I instructed Malachi to trail you when you left the Tower.’

Of course he did.