Page 26 of Hunted

‘Not always.’

‘With most people,’ he replies.

‘I’m not most people.’

‘No,’ he says, his gaze moving over me again with unsettling precision. ‘You are not.’

The room seems to deepen around that quiet admission.

Outside the window, the city dims as the sun finally slips below the skyline. The change is subtle but unmistakable, like the world has shifted to accommodate him rather than the other way around.

Night has claimed him again.

This is when his power settles fully into place. When creatures like him stop tolerating uncertainty and start correcting it. Does Selphine know about the age and daylight issue? If so why didn’t she tell me? Cos I sure could’ve done with a heads-up about that. The oldest vampire I’ve bagged was 158 years old and that fucker had been so terrified of getting sun-fried he’d offered me a pouch full of precious gems to wait out the day with him before hauling him in. If Valentin Moretti could brazenly stand in the light, then he was… very old indeed. A very disturbing thought.

If this goes wrong, there will be no one to intervene. No rules. No witnesses that matter.

Good thing I’m very good at saving myself.

I’m already recalculating my next move when his voice cuts cleanly through the room.

‘Come here, Miss Cross.’

My heart stutters.

Tiny. Barely there. A brief spike of awareness before irritation rushes in to smother anything that might look like weakness.

Reflexive obedience. Old and unwelcome.

I straighten, jaw setting, then turn towards him with one brow lifted and a look that’s earned me scars and respect in equal measure.

‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I say. ‘I don’t take orders. And I don’t come when I’m summoned like a poodle.’

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s sharper than amusement. His eyes gleam, silver catching low light, and for a fraction of a second my nerves scream a warning I’ve learned never to ignore.

Glamour.

I brace for the pressure behind my eyes, the subtle slide of someone else’s will trying to overwrite mine.

Nothing happens.

No drag. No intrusion or distortion.

Whether that’s Selphine’s potion doing its work, Valentin choosing restraint, or worse, toying with me, I’ve no way of knowing. Every option unsettles me as he reaches for a slim folder on the desk and holds it out, presenting it less like an offer and more like a test.

‘I assure you, you’d much prefer to come here and take this from me than for me to bring it to you.’

I look at the name on the leather tab.

Lyra Hannigan.

The irony hits harder still and I almost laugh.

Instead, I cross the room and take the file without letting my fingers brush his.

Investigating myself. Tracking my own disappearance. Hunting the ghost I became.

Professional detachment has never felt thinner. ‘I’ll be in touch when I have something.’