Chapter 22 Landon
LANDON
The weight of Sadie’s head on my lap feels right as she sleeps, her breathing steady and deep. I trace the curve of her cheek with my finger, admiring the marks I’ve left on her skin.
Mine.
The word echoes in my mind.
Vane appears at the edge of the platform. He nods at me, his expression flat. “Time’s up. We need to leave them alone now.”
I glance down at Sadie’s sleeping form, her body curled against me. An unfamiliar reluctance grips me. Usually, I can’t wait to disentangle myself from whoever I’ve been with, the pursuit more satisfying than the aftermath. But with her...
“Landon.” Vane’s voice hardens. “The protocol is clear.”
“I know the fucking protocol,” I snap, but he’s right. The Hunt has specific rules, even for us. The women get time alone between phases—it’s part of the game we’ve designed.
I ease myself from beneath Sadie’s head. Her face twitches in her sleep as I slide free, a small sound escaping her lips that sends an unexpected pang through my chest. I dress quickly, eyes never leaving her.
“You’re acting strange,” Vane observes.
I don’t answer him. I don’t understand it myself.
We make it through the exit doors just before the final blare—the signal marking the end of the Hunt’s first phase. The harsh sound echoes through the chamber, designed to disorient and reset the participants’ mental state.
In the monitoring room, I find Sadie on the screens. The sound jolts her awake, her body tensing as consciousness returns. She bolts upright, eyes wide and searching. Her hands reach out to the space where I had been, fingers grasping at nothing.
A tightness seizes my chest as I watch her realize I’m gone. Her expression shifts from confusion to anger, eyes narrowing as she scans the empty platform. She pulls her knees to her chest, huddling into herself like a wounded animal.
“Look at that,” Vane says. “She’s actually looking for you.”
I don’t turn around. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Fascinating,” he continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your toys miss you before.”
“She’s not a toy,” I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice.
My eyes narrow as I scan the monitors. Xavier is still in the orgy room with Mira, stretched out beside her on one of the platforms. His hand traces lazy patterns across her skin while she stares up at the ceiling.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “The protocol—”
“Doesn’t apply to X,” Vane finishes, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “You know that.”
I do know that. The rules Xavier created don’t seem to constrain him. Still, it’s jarring to see him so openly flout them, especially after Vane practically dragged me away from Sadie.
I shift my attention to the other screens, searching for Knox and his prey. Nothing.
“Where’s Knox?” I ask. “And the artist?”
Vane shrugs. “Haven’t seen them in a while.”
That’s odd. Knox is usually the most visible during these events, turning everything into a spectacle. His absence is conspicuous.
“Time for the baths,” Xavier’s voice comes through the intercom, though he clearly hasn’t bothered to follow his own directive.
We file out of the monitoring room and down the corridor to the bathing chambers. Each prey has a private section—six identical spaces with sunken marble tubs filled with steaming, herb-infused water.
I check the time. The women should be here by now. My fingers drum against the marble edge as minutes tick by. Where is she? Did she try to leave? The thought sends an uncomfortable jolt through me.
The door finally opens, and Sadie steps in. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her torso, eyes downcast. The marks I left on her neck and shoulders stand out vividly against her pale skin. She doesn’t look at me; she just hovers near the entrance, as if uncertain whether to approach or flee.
“Come here, little butterfly,” I say, the endearment slipping out naturally.
She stiffens, eyes flashing with hurt beneath the anger.
“What’s going on?” Sadie demands, not moving closer. “What twisted plan do you have now?”
Her voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before. Not fear or submission, but genuine anger. It shouldn’t be arousing, but I find myself hardening.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, though I already know.
“What’s wrong?” she repeats, incredulous. “I fell asleep on your lap and suddenly you were gone.” Her cheeks flush. “One minute you’re holding me, and the next I’m alone with strangers watching me. Was that part of your sick game?”
I approach her. She takes a step back, but I’m faster, catching her wrist and pulling her against me.
“I had to follow the rules,” I murmur. “Even I have constraints in this place.”
Her body is rigid against mine, but she doesn’t pull away. I feel her breath quicken, her pulse racing beneath my fingers where they encircle her wrist.
“You didn’t like waking up without me,” I observe. “You missed me.”
She opens her mouth, likely to deny it, but I don’t give her the chance.
I pull my mask down and capture her lips.
The kiss is a little depraved, my teeth grazing her lower lip as I press her back against the wall.
Her initial resistance melts as her mouth opens under mine, her hands fisting in my hair.
I pull away from her, savoring the flush on her cheeks and the dazed look in her eyes. My hands slide down to encircle her throat, not squeezing, just holding—reminding her who she belongs to now.
“It’s time to bathe,” I say, releasing her throat to trace my thumb across her lower lip. “We don’t want to be late for the feast.”
Her brow furrows. “What feast?”
I smile, enjoying the way she hangs on my every word now.
How quickly things have changed between us.
Just days ago, she was nothing but data on my screens—patterns to analyze, weaknesses to exploit.
Now she’s flesh and blood and mine. The possessiveness that surges through me is almost painful in its intensity.
“The feast is the next stage,” I explain, guiding her toward the steaming bath. “The Hunt has four phases—hunt, orgy, feast, and finally the claiming ceremony.”
I slide into the water, pulling her with me.
The heat makes her gasp, and I catalog the sound, storing it away with all her other reactions.
My hands move over her body methodically, washing away the evidence of our activities while deliberately leaving my marks on her skin.
The contradiction pleases me—cleaning her while ensuring she remains visibly mine.
“You enjoyed the orgy room, didn’t you?” I ask. “You’ll enjoy the feast, too. I’ve made certain arrangements to ensure it.”
The way she tenses tells me she understands the threat beneath my promise. Good. She’s learning to read between my lines, to anticipate the darkness I’m capable of. I press my lips to the bruise on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, little butterfly,” I murmur. “I won’t let anyone else touch what’s mine.”
I slide deeper into the bath, pulling Sadie between my legs, her back against my chest. The warm water laps at our skin as steam rises around us like a veil, isolating us in our own private hell—or heaven. I’m no longer certain of the difference.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” My hands slide soap across her shoulders. “The bathing is usually separate. But I find I don’t want to let you go just yet.”
My fingers trace the curve of her collarbone, dipping lower to cup her breasts. She tenses, then melts against me with a whimper that shoots straight to my core. That sound—half surrender, half protest—is becoming an addiction.
“You’re marked everywhere,” I observe, tracing a bruise on her inner thigh. “Everyone will see you are claimed.”
The water ripples as I pour warm water over her skin, washing away the soap while my other hand slides possessively across her stomach. Her head falls back against my shoulder, exposing the column of her throat.
“I should be repulsed by you,” she admits. “Why am I not running?”
I laugh softly against her neck, teeth grazing the tender skin there. “Because you recognize a darkness in me that matches your own.”
My hands move with a tenderness that surprises me. I’ve never bathed anyone in this way before. In previous hunts, it was quick, rushed, and not thorough. The intimacy of the act is unexpected and more penetrating than our coupling in the orgy room.
When she whimpers again as my fingers brush between her thighs, I feel a fundamental shift that I don’t have words for.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge.
Her response is to press herself more firmly against me, another broken sound escaping her lips. The surrender in that simple movement is more intoxicating than any words could be.
I pour warm water over Sadie’s shoulders, watching rivulets cascade down her back. My fingers trace each mark I’ve left on her skin. The act of cleaning her feels significant, as if I’m both erasing and reaffirming my claim with each touch.
“Turn,” I command, rotating her to face me.
She complies, eyes downcast. I lift her chin with my finger, forcing her to look at me as I continue.
After ensuring she’s thoroughly clean, I quickly wash myself, aware of her eyes tracking my movements. When we’re done, I stand and step out of the bath, water streaming down my body. I reach for her, lifting her from the water as if she weighs nothing.
She gasps, hands instinctively gripping my shoulders for balance. I set her down gently on the marble floor, reaching for one of the plush towels stacked nearby.
“Stay still,” I murmur, beginning to dry her, starting with her hair and working my way down.
Her expression shifts as I attend to her—confusion, wariness, and an emotion I can’t quite name passing across her features.
“Why did you choose me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Was it just because I am... damaged?”
The question catches me off guard. I continue drying her arms, buying time as I consider my response.
“I chose you because your mind fascinated me,” I admit, wrapping the towel around her before reaching for another to dry myself. “The damage... that was a convenient weakness to exploit.”
A flicker of hurt enters her eyes, and I find myself adding, “But there’s more to it than that.”
“What more?” she presses.
I feel a familiar wall rising inside me, the protective barrier I maintain between myself and others. The momentary vulnerability closes off as quickly as it appeared.
“We should get dressed,” I say, my voice turning cold again. “The feast won’t wait.”
I turn away from the question in her eyes, uncomfortable with how easily she almost breached my defenses.