The Hunt (Fate’s Bite #7)

Chapter 1

THEODORE

I can scent her arousal.

This decadent perfume is kissed by cherries and vanilla with the sensual tang of her blood. It calls to me with its heady and rich notes, the melody drawing a map only I can follow.

A private siren’s song. Only mine.

It coils around me, sinking its claws into my restraint, and my fangs drop. They tear through my flesh as my nostrils flare and my tongue swipes across the sharp incisors—

She giggles.

Indulgently. In anticipation.

Because my pretty girl knows.

Tonight is a sacred night for our kind, a celebration for most, but for me, it’s a sacred honor.

Every Hallows’ Eve, I give in to nature’s demand that I hunt.

A tradition I never paid attention to. Never heeded its call…until her.

My mate. My queen.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply while picking up the slightest noise. There’s the chime of an old grandfather clock she loves and I hate, the raking of a branch across a window—my head shifts in the direction of the stairs where her delicate footfalls seem to be in a rush.

I’ll give her efforts a passing grade, but we both know it’s useless.

“Motherfucking adorable,” I croon, counting slowly from one to thirty before opening my blood-red eyes again. I’m nothing if not generous. “I’m coming for you, pretty girl.”

The corridors are silent except for the low hum of chandeliers, their gold filigree dripping shadows across black marble floors. My subjects have already fled the royal ground, heeding my warning. They know what tonight means. Know and accept that for her, I will kill.

I’ve done much worse over the last century without remorse or hesitation, and they expect nothing less from their king.

Gabriella Astor is in every stone of this castle, her scent embedded in the woven tapestries and linens—in me. She’s mine to protect, to cherish, to ruin if I wish—she’s my world.

Always has been. Always will be.

Licking my bottom lip, I catch traces of her wetness in the air surrounding me.

The tethers of her magic and arousal lash across my senses as a snarl tears loose from my throat.

The echoes of it vibrate against the wall like thunder rolling through a gothic cathedral, booming and ominous as I take my first step in her direction.

Because the beast in me wants to play.

Show her who she belongs to. Who’s worthy of owning her.

“Run, little witch.” As if she heard me, my pretty girl laughs and dances ahead, the sound high and wicked. The sound feeds me. Her scent also sharpens. It’s sweeter, thicker, and intoxicating in a way nothing else will ever be. No blood or cunt will ever satisfy or soothe this demon.

Another five steps, and something flies by my shoulder, crashing into the dark walls behind me. On impact, it shatters into small crystal shards, pinging off skin it will never damage.

Bad girl baiting her mate.

Reckless little witch.

I picture the gleam in her eyes as she runs barefoot through my castle, wearing nothing but a thin satin slip the color of midnight.

Dark. Soft. Barely there. The fabric shifts with her movements, accentuating every dip and curve—her perky breasts and soft thighs—that I’ll mark with my bite before the sun greets the sky in a few short hours.

“I can scent your arousal, pretty girl,” I call out, voice low and amused as the words slide along the walls until they reach her. And when they do, her soft gasp is my reward, a beautiful little tell she tries to smother and fails, forgetting that sound belongs to me.

Her moans. Her pleas. Her cries.

Every single one is mine.

My footsteps are slow at first, boots heavy against marble, and each one is deliberate as I move closer to the staircase landing. There, I stop. From the highest floor overlooking the elegant foyer, I find her…

Hair a blaze of red against gold and black décor.

Her back is to me, and her head is tilted to the side.

A slow shiver runs down her spine as lightning cracks outside the windows.

I smirk at the tiny beauty. Compared to me, she’s a doll.

A very naughty one, as my nose twitches and eyes focus on a trail of sanguine beads stopping at her feet. There, they create a small pool; I notice a cut on her wrist where she’s nicked herself on purpose.

And when she turns, looking at me from over her shoulder, I find my answer.

Challenge in her eyes. Lips stained red and curved up into an alluring smile.

A hybrid. Part witch. Part vampire.

The best of both worlds, and her small fangs slick with blood, is a challenge I accept.

“I love you, Gabriella.” My voice is deep, the visceral manifestation of the demon she’s taunted.

“You are my world and the owner of this dead heart, pretty girl, but tonight…” I trail off, my chest vibrating with her purr as I remove my shirt and then pants, the tattered remains landing on the floor.

I’m naked before her. Every inch of me is hard and throbbing.

“Tonight, I will fuck you like my whore and bathe you in my come. I will feed from you, my mate. I will hurt you.”

Her smile is as dangerous as she is. Red lips are lush. “I’m not afraid of you, Theodore. Do your worst.”

“Good girl.” My lips curve into a smug grin, but it drops a second later. My little prey has made a brave, yet very silly mistake. Eyes on mine, Gabriella lifts her wrist to her face and drags the bloodied mess down her cheek and the curve of her throat.

Over her pulse point.

The scent is powerful and rich. The literal definition of provocation.

“Are you okay, my king? Is there something you need?” she sing-songs, but I don’t respond. Instead, I fight back the need to satiate this pulsing hunger. Not yet. Because if there’s anything a monster enjoys more than his meal…it’s the chase.

To stalk. To revel in the scent of fear.

For one hundred and twenty seconds, I just stand and watch her.

I catalog the changes in her breathing and the nervous twitch of her fingers. How her breathing accelerates and the smirk on those red-stained lips becomes a pout.

Plump fucking mouth.

“Run.” One word. A promise and a threat.

And it has its desired effect. I’m not her mate and husband at the moment.

The door slams open, banging against the wall as my pretty girl sprints through the rain.

There’s a small, kittenish sound that leaves her as I count to ten.

I let her put distance between us. Feel the thrum of her powers as her magic tries to weave false trails, yet the bond between us denies each one.

There isn’t anywhere in this world my pretty girl could hide from me.

“Eight…nine…ten.” Then I move as the world narrows down to her scent and the soft padding of her bare feet running across the wet field heading toward the forest. A rush of adrenaline pulses through me at that; I grip myself and give two slow pumps, savoring the moment.

Pre-come beads and slips from the engorged head, the drops staining the marble floor as I slowly walk down each step.

A twist of my wrist and then the slide of my thumb heighten my need as I listen to her run.

I fuck my tight fist until reaching the final landing, and only then do I let go.

“Sanguis venari.” Blood hunt.

Shadows bend around me as I run out the door, making it to the center of my guard’s training field as she crosses into the crops of trees lining the forest. She hides within its darkness as the light mist turns into steady rain, small peaks of red catching my eye as the moon slips through the cropping.

Gabriella is cunning and clever, I give her that.

She’s trying to mask herself again, but the decadent bloom of wetness pooling between her thighs is a beacon no amount of magic can hide.

You can’t hide from me, pretty girl.

Once past the treeline, I study the ground for a second, my eyes taking in her footprints.

They make no sense, and I smile. “Tricky little witch forgets who I am.” They’re almost in a circle, a few last-minute changes in the direction meant to confuse me, but there’s one set that points straight ahead past our tree.

The only time I’ve lost to her in a skill challenge, we threw knives.

Fifty blades each, and the game? See how many we can embed without them falling out.

My mate cheated, but the blame is mine. The moment her small, delicate hand slid my zipper down and then slipped inside, gripping me, I fumbled the last throw. It’s impossible for me to deny her anything, and more so when those soft lips moan for me.

She won: fifty knives to my forty-nine.

A chuckle escapes me as I pass by the embedded blade that sealed her win and tap the handle. “All’s fair—”

“In love and war.” Gabriella’s voice comes from a few feet away, and my head snaps up, meeting her eyes.

Her slip clings to her skin, soaked silk glinting like shadowed starlight.

From her perky tits with hard nipples poking against material, to her wide hips and lithe legs, she’s absolutely gorgeous.

A temptation in female form. “Although I don’t think you’re hungry enough. ”

“Dangerous words, sweetheart.”

“Or are they honest truths?” At her words, I let out a low hiss. In the past, that sound has made grown men whimper and plead, but my queen merely winks. Slowly. Deliberately. “Did I hit a nerve?”

My cock jerks at the provocation; I feel each bead of pre-come as it slips from the engorged head onto the forest floor below. The demon in me is marking his territory, but it’s not enough.

Nothing but her pinned beneath me or sliding down my cock will ever satisfy this burning need...

Moreover, whatever my pretty girl sees on my face shakes her.

I feel her emotions as if they were my own.

There’s excitement and a little fear, but more than anything it’s...greed.

My pretty girl is just as obsessed with me as I am with her. Lovingly. Brutally.

It’s always us. Only us.

Thunder cracks seconds after lightning strikes the open field behind us, but I pay it no mind.

Nothing and no one exists outside of this moment.

Another hiss slips past my fangs, and she answers with a kittenish sound dripping with approval—

“Catch me, Theo. I need you to break me.” No sooner has the last word passed through her lips, my little mate turns and runs deeper into the woods.

Drops of water run down her lithe body, the fabric stuck to her upper thighs, yet each pump of her legs moves the hem higher and higher until it’s bunched just below the curve of her ass.

Round. Soft. Mine.

Her taunt is both cruel and brilliant. Fire lashes against my skin.

I don’t say anything and watch her slowly get further away from me, a crime in itself, but I’m here to please, and if a bloody chase is what she wants, it’s my honor to draw her blood.

My lips curl into a grin that feels more like a snarl, my limbs vibrate with need, and the air seems still with anticipation.

Her magic. My power.

It’s in the mist rising from the ground and the sway of tree limbs, but it’s the heady scent of crimson cherries that drives me wild.

Delicious. So sweet. My cock throbs and jerks, the engorged head sensitive as I throw my head back while a guttural growl builds inside my chest. The sound rolls through the forest, echoing off the trees—her squeal comes a second later.

I take off toward the sound, tracking the trace of her scent and the faint shimmer of our bond. It’s pulsing faintly in the dark, like tiny heartbeats of crimson light that fade as I approach.

A twig snaps a few feet from me, and my head snaps up. “Gotcha.”

“Not even close, King Astor.”

“So bratty.” I stalk forward, my bare feet silent against the cold ground.

The tension coils tighter as she sprints toward another tree, hiding behind the thick trunk.

Her head peeks out from around it a second later, gasping when her red eyes land on my cock.

Immediately, her hands grip the bark, sharp nails digging in, and I use her distraction to my advantage.

On her next blink, I’m close enough to skim fingers across her plump mouth. Warm. Soft.

My pretty girl trembles, yet her expression is defiant. “You’re making this too easy, my love. Lost your nerve?”

Her laughter rings out, faint and wicked. “Or maybe I’m letting you think you're winning.”

“Then prove it.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” Stepping forward, Gabriella opens her mouth and pulls my fingers into her mouth, my nails drawing blood on her bottom lip. The sight is obscenely beautiful. My wife is my perfect match in every single way. “Now make it hurt.”

She steps back, and my fingers drop, dragging down her chin and to the edge of her slip before she turns and runs away again. This time, though, my pretty girl doesn’t look back.

Her low giggles fade into the rain, but the echo that answers is mine.

Low. Certain. Feral.

“Always, my pretty girl.”