Page 103 of Prey

“Like what?”

“Like normal. Like a family that isn’t built on shared trauma.” I pause. “Like being someone’s father instead of just their nightmare.”

She tilts her head to look at me. “You’re already someone’s everything.”

The simple truth of it settles the restlessness in my chest. Maybe I can’t create life yet. Maybe my seed won’t take root this month or next. But I have this—Jenna choosing me, staying with me, seeing humanity in a man built to be inhuman.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I promise.

“And the day after that,” she says.

“And the day after that.”

Until we succeed. Until her body carries proof that even weapons can create instead of just destroy. Until I become more than what they made me.

The negative test lies forgotten in the bathroom, but the hope it couldn’t kill burns bright between us.

37

JENNA

The knife feels natural in my grip now, weighted perfectly for my hand. Three weeks of training with Nikolai have rewired my instincts—where once I saw shadows as threats, now I see them as cover. Where once I calculated escape routes, now I map hunting grounds.

“Your stance is still too defensive.” Nikolai circles me in the compound’s training room, his movements predatory even without the mask. “You’re thinking like prey.”

I adjust my feet, lowering my center of gravity. The blade becomes an extension of my arm rather than a foreign object. “Better?”

“Better.” His approval sends warmth through my chest. “But hunting isn’t about the weapon. It’s about the mindset.”

He’s been drilling this into me for weeks—teaching me to track, to read micro-expressions, to predict behavior patterns. Not because he wants another captive, but because he wants a partner. An equal.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes my pulse quicken with anticipation.

“Tomorrow we go into the forest,” he says, stopping in front of me. “Real hunt. Real stakes.”

“What kind of stakes?”

His eyes darken. “If you catch me, you get to keep me for the night. Do whatever you want with me.”

Heat pools between my thighs at the promise in his voice. “And if you catch me?”

“Then I remind you why you belong to me.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “But I don’t think I’ll need to.”

That night, I lie awake planning. Nikolai taught me his methods, but he also revealed his patterns. His confidence in those patterns might be his weakness.

By dawn, I’m ready.

The forest stretches endlessly in morning mist, dense enough to swallow sound. Nikolai gives me a thirty-minute head start—longer than usual because today, I’m the hunter.

I move northeast, leaving obvious tracks for the first quarter mile before doubling back along a stream bed. The water masks my scent and footprints while I establish a wide circle around the compound. Nikolai will expect me to pursue him, to rely on the tracking skills he taught me. Instead, I’m going to use what he couldn’t teach me—the survival instincts of someone who learned to disappear.

Twenty minutes into my hunt, I find his first marker: a broken branch at shoulder height. He’s heading toward the ridge, probably planning to use elevation and sightlines to his advantage. Classic Nikolai.

But I know something he doesn’t know that I learned. During our sessions, I watched how he moved when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. He favors his left ankle—an old injury that makes him unconsciously adjust his weight distribution on uneven terrain. He’ll avoid the steepest approaches and choose paths that minimize strain.

I abandon his trail and cut directly toward the granite outcropping two ridges over. If I’m right about his route, he’ll emerge from the tree line exactly where I’ll be waiting.

The climb burns through my calves, but months of training have built endurance I never had before. My breathing stays controlled as I reach the rocks and settle into position. Through the scope on the tranquilizer rifle he insisted I carry for “safety,” I scan the forest below.