Page 43 of Primal

Maybe I want him to.

Jessica’s clawing at his chest. “I—please … it’s in my back pocket.”

From this distance, the way her corset digs into her ribs with each breath is obvious. Her head thrashes side to side—not an act. The ‘Oh-shit-I-might-actually-die’ kind of struggling. Those little gasps sound less like pleasure and more like the time Kristy and I tried hot yoga after three margaritas.

“Back pocket.” Her voice cracks. “Please—can’t—breathe—”

Wait. She was asking about her inhaler earlier.

He pats her ass. Slow. Like he’s deciding if saving her is worth the effort.

Jessica’s legs wobble. Another gasp—wet, wheezing.

And he’s still taking his sweet fucking time.

I lurch forward. “Hey!”

The word tears out of me, sudden and stupid—louder than I meant.

The mask snaps toward me. Those dead-eyed, peanut-colored voids. That silent, endless scream.

Then he tilts his head—just a fraction.

My spine turns to ice.

Kade?

Please don’t be Kade.

Please be Kade.

“Give it to her,” I mutter.

He fishes the inhaler out. Drops it on the ground.

Asshole. I’m about to lunge for it when the knife appears.

One quick slash.

Jessica yelps, chest heaving.

No blood. Only her corset sliced down the front.

The hunter tilts his head at me—watch.

The blade flashes again.

This time, a dark gash opens up on her neck.

“No …” My scream comes out as a squeak.

Jessica sputters. Froth. Blood down her bare breasts. She collapses—all fours—and her fingers scrabble in the dirt until they close around the inhaler.

She brings it to her mouth.

Puff.

Wheeze.