I turn to find Theo Winters sliding into my personal space. His dark eyes hold that familiar hunger, and his full lips curve into a knowing smile.
“Theo,” I acknowledge, maintaining enough coolness in my tone to establish boundaries without completely shutting him down. It’s a delicate balance—one I’ve perfected over years of navigating Ravenwood’s elite circles.
He places a hand on my forearm, fingers tracing the fabric of my tailor made suit. “I was hoping we might... reconnect this hunt. Last Hunt was quite memorable, wasn’t it?”
Images flash through my mind—Theo bent over, taking everything I gave him with enthusiastic abandon. He has certain talents that rival those of most women I’ve been with. There’s something about the way he surrenders completely while maintaining his dignity that’s always been intriguing.
“It was,” I admit. “But I have other plans this time.”
His eyes flick toward Elliot, then back to me with newfound understanding. “Ah. Fresh meat? I should have known. You always did enjoy a challenge.”
“Something like that.”
Theo leans closer, his cologne filling my senses. “When you’re done with him, my door is always open. The women will be claimed early as usual. The Blackwoods and those three conspiring over there,” he nods toward Dominic, Liam, and Ryder, “they’re particularly hungry this year.”
“And you’ll be waiting to console the unsuccessful hunters,” I observe dryly.
He doesn’t deny it, simply smiles. “We all have our niches in the Hunt. Mine happens to be... cleanup duty.”
“Not this time for me,” I say, my eyes drifting back to Elliot, who’s watching our interaction with poorly disguised interest. “I’ve found my prey already.”
Theo follows my gaze toward Elliot and chuckles. “You’ll struggle with that one. I’ve tried.”
“You have?” This piques my interest. I hadn’t realized Theo had already made attempts.
“Several times.” Theo sips his drink, eyes glinting with amusement. “Elliot’s clearly bisexual or perhaps even gay, but he’s too closeted to admit it. I’ve seen how he looks at men whenhe thinks no one’s watching—especially at my club’s more... uninhibited events.”
I study Elliot across the room, noting the tense way he holds himself, like a man perpetually afraid of giving something away. “What happened when you approached him?”
“Panic. Denial. The usual.” Theo shrugs one shoulder. “He practically ran from me, then showed up the next week with some blonde on his arm, making sure I saw them together. Classic overcompensation.”
The information only makes the challenge more enticing.
“His gallery shows are fascinating,” Theo continues. “He curates these exhibitions with such obvious homoerotic undertones, then gives the most painfully heteronormative explanations during interviews. It’s like watching someone build a cage around themselves piece by piece.”
“Perhaps he needs the right incentive to step outside that cage,” I murmur.
Theo gives me a knowing look. “And you think you’re that incentive?”
“I know I am.” The confidence in my voice isn’t feigned. I’ve seen the way Elliot responded to me—the visceral reaction he couldn’t hide.
“Well, the Hunt certainly creates... opportunities.” Theo traces the rim of his glass. “When the normal rules of society are suspended, even the most tightly wound can unravel.”
I nod, already mapping out my approach. The women will scatter through the club’s extensive maze, hunters in pursuit. But I’ll be hunting different prey altogether.
“Just don’t break him completely,” Theo adds, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. “Some cages protect as much as they confine.”
I leave Theo with a parting nod. Elliot is standing alone near the bar, feigning interest in the profiles on the screenwhile sneaking glances in my direction. The moment he realizes I’m walking toward him, his muscles tense. His fingers tighten around his glass, knuckles whitening with the pressure.
How fascinating to witness someone’s internal conflict displayed so clearly on their exterior. His eyes dart around, seeking an escape route, but he knows running would only confirm what he’s trying so desperately to deny. The prey’s instinctive response to approaching danger—yet he remains rooted in place.
“Elliot,” I say, my voice deliberately smooth as I close the distance between us. “Enjoying the selection this year?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Just—just scoping out the competition.”
“Is that what we are? Competitors?” I position myself beside him, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. The subtle flinch that ripples through him is delicious. “I was under the impression we might have mutual interests.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, but his eyes betray him, dropping momentarily to my lips before jerking back up.
