Page 82 of Prey

The thought arrives fully formed, and I can’t dislodge it. Because that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? Not escaping. Not evenreally hiding. I’m setting a stage for my own capture, choosing where I want him to claim me.

Three hours. One to go. My body moves on autopilot now, following game trails deeper into the wilderness. The knife bounces with each step, useless as the wings of a caged bird.

I hate myself for thinking it. Hate him more for being right—I did stay in Chicago hoping he’d find me. I do want this hunt. Want to push him, challenge him, make him work for what we both know he’ll take.

Three and a half hours. My legs burn, and my lungs ache, but I push the final distance. A birch grove spreads before me like nature’s cathedral, shafts of sunlight painting patterns on the forest floor. I slow to a walk, then stop entirely in the center of the grove.

This is where it will happen. This is where I’ll make my last stand before?—

Before you spread your legs and beg him to breed you. Again.

I draw the knife, testing its weight one final time. The blade catches sunlight, beautiful and meaningless. I could run more, squeeze out these final thirty minutes. But what’s the point? I’ve already chosen my stage.

Now I wait for the show to begin.

Four hours.

Time’s up, and I’m done running.

30

NIKOLAI

The forest grows darker as I track her through the underbrush. Four hours of head start, and she’s used every minute wisely. No panicked sprint this time. She’s been laying false trails, doubling back, using the stream to mask her path. My girl learned from yesterday’s hunt.

My cock has been half-hard since she left the compound at seven AM, anticipation building with each passing hour. The conditioning is working faster than I expected. She’s not running to escape anymore—she’s running to make the capture worth my effort.

I pause at a cluster of granite boulders, studying the disturbed earth. Boot prints in the soft soil, heading northeast toward the ridge. But there—a broken twig at waist height, the snap too clean to be accidental. She wants me to find this trail.

Smart. Dangerous. Exactly what I hoped she’d become.

The sun bleeds orange through the canopy as I climb toward the rocky outcropping. My pulse quickens, predatory instincts sharpening. She’s close. I can feel her presence like electricity in the air.

Then I see her.

She stands with her back to the granite wall in the birch grove, the black tactical knife gleaming in her grip. No wild panic in her stance—just coiled readiness, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. The athletic wear clings to her curves, and dirt smudges across her cheek where she’s been crawling through underbrush.

Beautiful. Deadly. Mine.

“Going to fight me this time, beautiful?”

Her lips curve in a feral smile that makes my cock throb. “Going to make you work for it.”

We circle each other like wolves, the space between us crackling with violent tension. She holds the knife properly—blade angled down, ready to slash or stab. The underground cage circuit taught her more than I realized.

“Four hours to prepare,” I murmur, watching her eyes track my movement. “What did you learn?”

“That you like the chase more than the catch.” She feints left, testing my reaction time. “That you want me to run so you can feel like a predator instead of just another broken man keeping a woman in a cage.”

The words hit deeper than her blade ever could. She just named the thing I’ve been calling conditioning for what it is: a broken man building a cage around the only thing that ever made him feel.

I bare my teeth behind the mask. “Careful, Jenna. Truth is a dangerous weapon.”

“So is this.” She lunges without warning.

Fast. Faster than I expected. The blade whistles past my ribs as I twist away, but not far enough—fire blooms across my chest as steel parts skin. Blood wells through the torn fabric of my shirt.

She grins. “Much better.”