Page 48 of Mine To Hunt

His hand clamps around her arm, fingers digging in as he yanks her back toward him. He’s shouting now, words spilling fast andloud, invading her space. She tries to pull away, eyes darting, shoulders drawn inward like she’s bracing for something worse.

My stomach knots. This isn’t an argument. This is control.

He slaps her hard, her head snapping to the side. She looks out the window for a split second and our eyes meet. She's sure she saw me, that flash of fear in her eyes.

Rage explodes in me, a burning need to claim what's mine.

How dare he touch her? She's for me to hunt, me to break. No one else gets to lay a hand on her.

The rush I came here to test blooms fast, stronger than I expected, unfurling through me with dangerous clarity. It confirms everything I suspected.

But it’s different now, threaded with something intimate, something absolute. Possession settles into my bones, heavy and certain.

I hadn’t planned to see her today. I hadn’t planned for this. But plans are meaningless once fate rearranges itself. This changes everything.

Some things are not taken. They are chosen. And the feeling that grips me now, unyielding, unwavering, tells me one thing with perfect certainty.

She belongs to me.

I turn back to my car. The street is quiet, unaware. I open the trunk and curl my fingers around the hammer. Its weight settles into my palm like it belongs there, familiar and reassuring, as if it’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have.

I close the trunk and walk back toward the house.

Each step sharpens my focus. The world narrows to the door in front of me, to the certainty blooming in my chest.

When I swing, it isn’t wild. It’s deliberate. The impact shudders through the frame. Wood gives way with a dry crack, resisting just long enough to make the next blow feel inevitable. It doesn’t take much. The door finally collapses inward, broken and useless.

I step inside. His voice carries from upstairs, loud and furious, filling the house like poison. I move toward the stairs, unhurried. The hammer trails behind me, striking each step as I climb. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound echoes, rhythmic and deliberate, feeding the hum beneath my skin. The higher I go, the stronger it grows. Electric, steady, undeniable.

"I said, who is it? Answer me, asshole!" He shouts. Pathetic, scared piece of shit.

I reached the door, my fingers curling around the cold knob as I rattled it softly. A surge of exhilaration peaked within me, the kind that made my blood sing, because finally, she would see me.

Truly see me. It was the same intoxicating rush I'd felt the first time I spotted her, that magnetic pull that had sealed her fate as mine.

I opened the door, and there they were. He charged at me, his voice a frantic bellow. "Get the hell out of here! Who the fuck are you?"

I tilted my head, observing him with detached curiosity, marveling at how pathetic humans became when fear gripped them.

They turned wild, unfocused, their instincts reduced to primal chaos. I didn't even need to raise the hammer high. A precise swing to his kneecap was enough.

The satisfying crack echoed through the room as he crumpled to the floor, crying out helplessly. "My leg! Fuck. You broke my leg!"

My gaze shifted to her, and oh, how her eyes widened in terror. Good. I savored that look, the way her fear acknowledged my power over her. Stepping around him, I delivered a calculated strike to his spine. Just enough to ignite agony without shattering bone.

He cried out again, pleading, "No… no.. please, no more! Stop!"

Her scream rips through the house, raw and unrestrained. It pours out of her in desperate waves, sharp enough to make everything else fade.

She’s begging now, her voice cracking as the words tumble over each other, prayer and panic tangled together. “Leave him alone.” She cries. “Please, God, Just leave him alone.”

She sounds broken. Frantic. Trapped inside the moment as it keeps replaying for her, each second carving itself deeper. Horror holds her in place, even as her body trembles with the need to run, to stop what she knows she can’t control.

I drop to one knee in front of her. Up close, she fills my vision. Small, folded inward, trembling so hard I can hear her teethchatter. She tries to retreat, pressing herself back as far as the space allows, like distance alone might save her. It won’t.

I feel her reaction before I fully see it. The way her breath stutters, the way her body curls in on itself, instinctively protective.