Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 15

THE FAWN

His words are a low whisper, a caress against my ear that sends a jolt of electricity through my body. I fight the urge to turn around, to face him head-on. That isn't the game I'm playing.

Instead, I take a sip of wine, my lips curving into a slight smile.

"Lucian."

His name rolls off my tongue like an incantation.

He moves into my field of vision, sliding into the chair across from me with a grace that borders on predatory. The candlelight dances across his chiseled features, casting shadows that only serve to enhance his allure.

He's dressed to the nines, a perfectly tailored suit that hugs his lean frame like a second skin. His crisp white shirt showcases the clean, chiseled lines of his body, the top button left undone in a subtle nod to his rebellious nature. His light hair is artfully tousled, a few strands falling across his forehead.

But it's his eyes that captivate me, those piercing gray orbs that seem to see straight into my soul. They hold a glint of amusement, a challenge that dares me to match his energy. And I will.

Oh, I will.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," he drawls, leaning back in his chair with a casual elegance that belies the tension crackling between us. "You certainly know how to make a man work for it."

I arch an eyebrow, taking another sip of wine before responding. "And you certainly know how to make an entrance."

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic."

"Is that what you call stalking these days?" I counter, my tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

His lips curve into a smirk, a flash of white teeth against his skin. "Stalking implies a lack of consent. You agreed to our little game. And something tells me you're not entirely opposed to this little game of ours."

I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table as I fix him with a steady gaze. "And what if I'm not?"

The words hang in the air between us, a challenge and an invitation all at once. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise that vanishes as quickly as it appears.

"Then I'd say the game just got more interesting."

His words hang in the air, a tantalizing thread that I can't resist pulling. "I know almost nothing about you," I muse, swirling the wine in my glass. "But you seem to know an awful lot about me."

Lucian leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he fixes me with an intense gaze. "I know enough."

"Enough for what?" I challenge, meeting his stare head-on.

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Enough to know that you're not like other women, Aria Moreau. You're not quite like anyone I've met before."

The sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine, a delicious mix of fear and anticipation. "And what exactly do you know about me that makes me so interesting?"

He leans back, his fingers drumming a lazy pattern on the tabletop. "I know about your past, your father. How you turned down the opportunity of a lifetime, gave up a full ride to an Ivy League school for a mediocre life. How you squandered a chance most people can only dream of."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder of the choices I've made. "I gave that up to support my family," I snap, my voice tight with emotion.

"Same thing," he shrugs, seemingly unfazed by my outburst.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "Why me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you choose me?"

Lucian's eyes narrow, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "I didn't choose you," he says slowly, his words measured. "The Order did."

"The Order?" I repeat, my brow furrowing. Maybe he's finally going to give me some real answers. "What's that?"

He waves a dismissive hand that only serves to fuel my curiosity. "A group of like-minded individuals who believe in the survival of the fittest."

"Is that why they chose me?" I ask, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Culling the 'weak'?"

Surprise flashes across his face, his eyes widening slightly. "No," he says, leaning forward once more. "You were chosen because you had the potential to become elite. And you threw it away."

His words hit me like a slap in the face, because they echo the doubts that haunt me when I sleep. The little voice that screams at me from the back of my mind that I had a chance to be happy, once upon a time, and I wasted it.

The weight of my choices, the sacrifices I've made, all come rushing back in a tidal wave of emotion. I close my eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks.

"You don't know anything about me," I whisper, my voice trembling with barely contained rage.

"Don't I?" he counters, his tone infuriatingly calm. "I know that you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. That you've faced adversity and come out the other side, even if it meant giving up your dreams."

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "And what would you know about dreams? A man who leads such a life of privilege that he has to hunt human beings for sport just to feel something?"

A shadow crosses his face, a flicker of something dark and haunted that vanishes as quickly as it appears. "More than you might think," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. The candle flickers, casting dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

I hold his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, any crack in the fa?ade he presents to the world. But his eyes are like steel, unyielding and impenetrable. The question that's been burning in my mind finally spills from my lips, a desperate plea for understanding.

"Who are you, Lucian? Why do you do this?"

His expression shifts, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable that vanishes as quickly as it appears. He leans back in his chair, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world rests upon them.

"I do it because I have to," he says, his voice low.

I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief. "Bullshit. No one has to hunt another person."

His eyes flash with a hint of anger, a warning that I'm treading on dangerous ground. "It's not something I take pleasure in," he growls, his words clipped and precise. "But it is a means to an end."

"A means to what?" I press, leaning forward, my heart pounding in my chest.

He doesn't answer, his gaze locked with mine in a silent battle of wills. And then, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face, a predator's grin that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Would you like to make the game a little more interesting?" he purrs, his voice like silk and sin.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "How?"

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. "You should already know, since I've caught you twice now in a matter of days. The rest of the hunts will pass quickly. You don't stand a chance."

My heart sinks, a cold realization settling in the pit of my stomach. He's right. I'm no match for him, for the resources and skills at his disposal. But before I can dwell on the hopelessness of my situation, he speaks again.

"But I can help. Give you techniques that will make you a more adept prey."

I pull back, searching his face for any sign of deceit. "And why would you do that?"

His lips curve into a smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "For one thing, it would be more entertaining for me."

I let out a humorless laugh, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. Here I am, sitting across from the man who's hunting me, discussing ways to make the game more exciting for him.

But what choice do I have? If he's offering me a chance, no matter how slim, I'd be a fool not to take it.

"Alright," I say, my voice steady despite the fear churning in my gut. "What did you have in mind?"

He leans back, his fingers still drumming on the tablecloth. "First, you need to learn to blend in. To disappear in plain sight. The key is to become forgettable, just another face in the crowd."

I nod, my mind already racing with possibilities. "And how do I do that?"

"Change your appearance. Your hair, your clothes, your mannerisms. Become someone else entirely."

It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. If I can't outrun him, maybe I can outsmart him. Become a chameleon, slipping in and out of identities like a second skin.

It also confirms my suspicions that he's been hiding in plain sight before. That all the times I've felt like he was another face in the crowd weren't just my imagination.

"And then what?" I ask.

His eyes glitter with a dark intensity, a promise of things to come. "Then, you run. And you never look back."

His offer hangs in the air between us, a lifeline that I'm not sure I should grasp. My mind races with questions, doubts, and a nagging sense of suspicion. Why would he help me? What does he stand to gain from this?

Is it really that he wants to make things more "interesting"?

I meet his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, but his eyes remain inscrutable, a stormy gray that reveals nothing.

"Won't you get in trouble with the Order for helping me?" I ask.

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, his lips curving into a smirk. "They won't know."

My brow furrows in confusion. "How can you be so sure?"

He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, almost nonchalant. "I haven't reported that I found you yet, and the second hunt is over."

The revelation sends a jolt through me, a mix of surprise and unease. "Why?"

His gaze intensifies, a smoldering heat that threatens to consume me. "I wanted to give you time to consider my offer."

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "And if I refuse?"

He shrugs, a casual gesture that belies the gravity of the situation. "Then I'll have no choice but to continue the Hunt as is. But if you accept, I can pretend you gave me the slip for a day or so. While I train you."

The offer is tempting, a chance to even the playing field, to gain some semblance of control in a game where the odds are stacked against me.

But still, the question nags at me, refusing to be silenced. "Why are you doing this, Lucian? What's in it for you?"

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, his face mere inches from mine. "More entertaining prey. I want an answer, Aria. Will you accept my help or not?"

The intensity of his gaze, the heat of his breath against my skin, sends a shiver down my spine.

I know I should refuse, that accepting his offer means playing right into his hands.

But what choice do I really have? If I run now, he'll catch me, and the game will be over before it's even begun.

"Alright," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. "I'll do it."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face, a predator's grin that sets my heart racing. "Excellent choice, little fawn."

The endearment sends a flutter through my stomach, a mix of fear and something else, something I'm not quite ready to name. He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine, a feather-light touch that sends sparks racing up my arm.

"And don't think I've forgotten about the other part of the game," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "I still intend to collect what's mine."

The implication hangs heavy in the air, a promise and a threat all at once. I know what he means, what he wants from me. My body, my surrender, a prize to be claimed at the end of this twisted hunt.

Part of me recoils at the thought, the idea of being nothing more than a trophy, a conquest to be won.

But another part, a darker, more primal part, feels differently.

Much differently.

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest, my skin flushed with a heat that has nothing to do with the wine. "I haven't forgotten either," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.

His smile widens, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin. "Good. Because I intend to savor every moment of our little game."

"And yet, you didn't before in the woods," I say, frowning. "Why?"

He pauses, as if he's considering it. "I wanted you to beg for it."

I stare at him blankly, realizing he's serious. With a strained laugh, I ask, "And you think I will? Beg you to take me?"

"I know you will," he corrects me with the confidence only a complete psychopath in his position can muster.

With that, he rises from the table, his movements fluid and graceful. Like a fucking panther. He extends his hand, an invitation and a challenge all at once.

I hesitate for a moment, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a physical force. But in the end, I know I have no choice.

I place my hand in his, his fingers closing around mine in a grip that is both gentle and unyielding.

As he leads me from the restaurant and toward my hotel room—he knows the number already, I'm sure of that—I realize this round is going my way after all.

More than I ever anticipated.