Page 152 of Hunted

It’s work.

I mutter that as I clip Widow’s Fang in place, slide a blade into my boot, another at the small of my back. Visible weapons and invisible ones, because a hunter never leaves home unprotected, even when she’s heading to a club with the most powerful being in New York.

The same being who keeps looking at me like I’m his favourite snack and his most dangerous mistake.

I catch my reflection.

Pause.

My eyes look too bright. My mouth too soft.

Dammit.

I swipe on dark lipstick and watch my face sharpen into something familiar.

Better.

The moment I step into Valentin’s penthouse, the air changes.

He stands by the window, jacket on, cufflinks in, untouched glass in hand, pretending he hasn’t been waiting.

Malachi and Luca are behind him.

Valentin turns and looks at me, the silver in his eyes flaring like a match catching.

For one heartbeat, he is perfectly still.

Then he says, very softly, ‘Out.’

Luca’s brows lift.

Malachi blinks. ‘Sire⁠—’

‘Now.’

The word is a guillotine.

Luca goes first, smart enough not to test him. Malachi lingers a fraction, gaze flicking to me with something close to homicide, but one look at Valentin’s face and he follows.

The door shuts.

The silence left behind is thick enough to touch.

My pulse ticks up. ‘You cleared the room because…?’

In a blink he is behind me, hands on my hips, mouth at my neck.

I gasp.

It’s not a kiss at first. It’s an inhale that turns into a growl, as if scenting me is another form of touch he can’t control. His nose drags up my throat, his mouth brushing my pulse, fingers digging into the leather over my ass like he’s checking I’m real.

‘Gods,’ he mutters. ‘How is your scent even stronger?’

‘It’s my perfume. You noticed.’

‘It is not.’ His voice is rough. ‘I notice every fucking thing about you.’

His mouth slides lower, to the top edge of my bustier between my shoulder blades, and he inhales again, deeper, like he’s tasting me through air.