Chapter 13
THE HUNTER
I watch her from across the busy street, my body hidden in the shadows of an alley.
She's walking with purpose, her stride confident and her head held high. For a moment, I think she's spotted me, her eyes flickering in my direction with a hint of recognition.
But then she turns away, continuing down the sidewalk like she hasn't just locked gazes with the man who's been hunting her across state lines.
I frown, my brow furrowing as I study her retreating form.
Is she playing dumb, pretending not to see me in some misguided attempt at throwing me off her trail? Or does she really not know I'm here, watching her every move like a hawk stalking a rabbit?
I'm inclined to believe the latter. My little fawn is clever, but she's not that good of an actress.
If she knew I was this close, I'd see it in the tension of her shoulders, the quickening of her step.
No, she's oblivious to my presence, lost in her own thoughts as she navigates the crowded streets of Syracuse.
I push off the wall, melting into the throng of pedestrians with practiced ease. I keep a safe distance between us, my eyes never leaving her slender form as she weaves through the masses.
It's almost too easy, tracking her like this. A part of me is disappointed, hoping for more of a challenge from my wily prey.
But I suppose I can't blame her for letting her guard down, just a little. After all, she has no idea just how far ahead of her I am.
While she was hitching rides and hopping trains, I was jetting across the country, cutting the distance between us to mere miles. It felt like cheating, in a way. Like I was breaking some unspoken rule of the Hunt by using my resources to gain the upper hand.
But all's fair in love and war.
And this little game of ours is a bit of both.
Besides, I never said I would play fair. The only rule that matters is the one that ends with her in my arms, broken and begging and utterly mine.
I watch as she slips into a department store, the automatic doors swishing shut behind her. I pause outside, my eyes scanning the display windows with feigned interest. I can just make out her form through the glass, moving between the racks of clothes with a determined air.
She's in there for a while, long enough that I start to wonder if she's slipped out some back exit and given me the slip. But then she emerges, a shopping bag dangling from her wrist and a satisfied tilt to her chin.
I fall into step behind her once more, my curiosity piqued by her little shopping spree. What could she possibly need that's worth risking exposure? A change of clothes, perhaps? A disguise to help her blend in with the city crowds?
Or maybe something more practical.
A weapon?
The thought sends a thrill down my spine. Oh, the games we could play with a little extra edge to our dance. But I dismiss the idea as quickly as it comes.
She's not ready for that. Not yet.
Right now, she's still clinging to the illusion of control, the belief that she can outsmart me with clever tricks and evasive maneuvers.
She has no idea just how out of her depth she truly is.
I tail her to a high-end hotel, watching from across the street as she disappears through the revolving doors. I can't help but chuckle, a low sound of amusement and approval.
Smart girl. She's learning.
A place like this, with its sleek marble floors and well-dressed staff, is far more likely to protect the privacy of its guests. The clerks here won't be so easily bought, the security not so lax as to let a predator slip through unnoticed.
Not that it will stop me, of course.
But I have to admire her ingenuity, her quick adaptation to the shifting rules of our game.
She's growing bolder, more confident in her ability to outfox me.
It's going to make breaking her all the sweeter.
I linger outside the hotel for a while, watching the comings and goings of the guests and staff.
I could go in now, flash a charming smile and a black credit card and get her room number in a matter of minutes. But where's the fun in that?
No, I'll let her have this small victory. Let her think she's safe and sound, tucked away in her ivory tower while the city bustles on below. Let her rest and recover, gathering her strength for the next round of our little game.
After all, I want her at her best when I finally claim my prize.
I want her quick and clever and full of fight, not worn down and broken by exhaustion and fear. That will come later, in the sweet aftermath of her surrender.
For now, I have other plans for my little fox. Plans that involve a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine, a dance of words and wits across a white linen tablecloth.
I want to see her dressed up and dolled up, playing at being a sophisticated city girl instead of a frightened little fawn.
I want to watch the way the candlelight plays across her skin, the way her eyes sparkle with defiance and desire as we verbally spar. I want to feel the heat of her gaze, the brush of her leg against mine under the table, the electricity crackling between us like a live wire.
And then, when the night is over and the check is paid, I want—need—to follow her back to her room and press her up against the door, my body caging hers as I claim her mouth in a bruising kiss.
I need to feel her melt against me, all that stubborn pride and fierce independence giving way to the primal need that simmers just beneath the surface.
I need to peel away her layers, one by one, until she's bare and vulnerable and utterly at my mercy.
I need to map every inch of her with my hands and my mouth, learning her secrets and her sweet spots until she's writhing beneath me, begging for more.
It's a delicious thought. I can almost taste her on my tongue, feel the silk of her skin beneath my fingertips. It's enough to make me want to storm the hotel right now, to hell with the game and the Hunt and the carefully laid plans.
But I resist the urge, tamping down on the hunger that claws at my gut.
Patience, I remind myself.
Patience and control, the twin virtues that have served me so well in the past.
I will have her—in every way that matters.
But I will have her on my terms, in my own time.
With a final glance at the hotel, I turn and melt back into the city crowds, just another face in a sea of strangers. I have preparations to make, a chessboard to arrange to my liking.
But first, a visit to my own hotel room, to shower and change and don the armor of the suave city gentleman. Lucian Voss, international playboy and connoisseur of the finer things in life.
It's a mask I wear well, one that fits like a second skin. But beneath the polished veneer and the charming smile, the predator still lurks. Watching, waiting, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
And tonight, at a candlelit table for two, I will begin to peel back the layers of Aria Moreau. I will learn her hopes and her fears, her dreams and her desires. I will find the cracks in her armor, the soft spots where my claws can sink deep.
And then, when the time is right, the wolf will strike.