HuntInk
SCARLETT
I didn’t even realize we’d entered another building until the heavy door groaned open and cool, conditioned air hit my tear-streaked face.
My eyes flew open.
Their dorm room.
Of course.
Where else would monsters take their prize?
The space was enormous, far larger than any student room had a right to be.
Three massive beds dominated the far wall, each one oversized, black sheets rumpled like they’d been abandoned mid-fuck.
The air was saturated with their combined pheromones.
It coated my tongue, sank into my lungs, made my already raw nerves spark and ache.
They’d probably forced the administration to give them one room.
No normal student could survive sharing space with them.
No one would dare complain.
Kane dumped me onto the nearest bed without ceremony.
I bounced twice on the firm mattress, then scrambled backward until my spine hit the headboard. My knees drew up instinctively, arms wrapping around my naked chest in a useless shield. Blood and dirt still streaked my skin. My thighs trembled.
The three of them stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me.
Rhys in the center, calm, golden-eyed, blood still drying on his forearms from the deep scratches that had healed itself.
Kane on his left, shirt torn open, claws retracted but fingers flexing like he was itching to use them.
Saint on the right, still naked, his chest rising and falling in slow, hungry breaths, blue eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing in the universe.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
I couldn’t take it.
“If you want my body,” I snapped, voice shaking but loud, “just get it over with.”
Three sets of eyes darkened simultaneously.
Kane laughed.
“Oh, princess,” he drawled, stepping closer, “if we just wanted to fuck you, we would’ve done it in the pit. Bent you over the couch and knotted you while the whole school watched.”
He leaned forward, palms braced on the mattress, caging me in without touching.
“But we don’t want to rape you.”
Rhys moved next, graceful, predatory. He climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my legs. One hand slid into my hair, fingers twisting at the roots, yanking my head back until my throat was exposed.
He leaned down.
Licked a slow, wet stripe from the hollow of my collarbone to the underside of my jaw.
I whimpered, half terror, half something traitorous and hot.
“We want to mark you,” Rhys murmured against my skin, voice soft and lethal at the same time. “Permanently.”
Kane grinned wider, crawling onto the bed from the side until he was kneeling beside me.
“See, little rabbit,” he said, voice deep and filthy, “you don’t have a wolf. No fangs to bite us with. No mating gland to scar. So we can’t give you the traditional bond.”
He dragged one claw lightly down the center of my chest between my breasts, over my stomach, stopping just above my mound.
“But we can tattoo our initials into your skin.”
My breath seized.
“What?”
Saint moved last, silent, massive. He climbed onto the foot of the bed, knees spreading my ankles apart. He didn’t speak. He just stared, blue eyes glowing softly, like he was already picturing it.
Rhys’s grip tightened in my hair.
“I want my 'R' on your pussy,” he said calmly, like he was discussing the weather. “Right above your clit. So every time you touch yourself, every time you come, you’ll feel me.”
My mouth fell open.
“No..”
Kane laughed again, dark, filthy.
“I want “K” on your left tit,” he said, thumb brushing over my nipple until it pebbled despite my fear. “So when I suck on it, I can trace my own name with my tongue.”
Saint finally spoke, voice gravel-rough from disuse.
“S,” he rumbled. “On your throat. Where everyone can see.”
I stared at them, heart slamming against my ribs.
“Have you all lost your damn minds?”
Kane’s grin turned feral.
“You’re ours, Omega. 'Ours'. We can’t knot you properly without your wolf. We can’t bite you the way we want. But we can ink our names into your skin so deep you’ll never look at your body without seeing us.”
Rhys released my hair, only to trail his fingers down my throat, over my collarbone, between my breasts.
“Choose another place if you want,” he said softly, almost kindly. “But you will be marked. Tonight.”
Saint leaned closer, nose brushing my inner thigh.
He inhaled deeply then growled low in approval.
“Mine,” he rumbled.
Kane’s hand slid between my legs not touching, just hovering, heat radiating from his palm.
“Ours.”
Rhys’s golden eyes locked on mine.
“Say yes, little one,” he whispered. “Or we’ll choose for you.”
My breath hitched.
Tears burned fresh tracks down my cheeks.
But beneath the terror, beneath the humiliation, something else flickered.
A dark, traitorous heat.
Because part of me, the part that had melted under Kane’s kiss, that had let Saint nuzzle me like a puppy, had felt Rhys’s calm possession like a brand…..
Part of me wanted to say yes.
But I couldn't. I wasn’t some whore.
“No.”
The word burst out of me, sharp, desperate, shaky.
I shoved at Kane’s chest with both hands, palms flat against hard flesh. It was like pushing a wall. He didn’t budge. None of them did.
“No,” I repeated, louder this time, voice cracking on the edge of hysteria. “You can’t just… decide to tattoo me like I’m property. I’m not your canvas. I’m not your fucking toy.”
Kane’s grin only widened, eyes glittering black and amused.
“Princess,” he drawled, leaning closer until his breath ghosted my lips, “you’ve been our toy since you stepped into this school. You just didn’t know it yet.”
Rhys tilted his head, golden eyes calm, almost gentle.
“You’re shaking,” he observed softly. “Afraid we’ll hurt you?”
“Yes!” I snapped, tears spilling over again. “You’re talking about carving your names into my skin! That’s not marking, that’s mutilation!”
Saint rumbled low in his throat—a distressed sound, like my fear physically pained him. He shifted closer on the bed, massive hand hovering near my knee but not touching.
Rhys’s expression didn’t change.
“We won’t mutilate you,” he said, voice reasonable, like he was explaining a simple fact. “We’ll make it beautiful. Permanent. So every time you look down at yourself, every time you touch your own body, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”
Kane chuckled darkly, dragging one claw in a slow, teasing line down the center of my stomach, stopping just above my crotch.
“Think about it, little rabbit. My K right here…” he tapped the spot lightly“ so when you spread your legs for us, you see my name staring back at you. Rhys’s R on that pretty pussy, so every orgasm you have is stamped with him. And Saint’s S on your throat like a collar no one can remove.”
“You’re all insane,” I whispered. “All of you.”
Rhys just smiled.
“Perhaps.”
He glanced at Saint.
“Saint,” he said quietly. “Go get the tattoo gun.”
Saint’s eyes lit up, bright, eager, almost childlike. He scrambled off the bed, naked and unashamed, already moving toward the door.
Panic exploded in my chest.
“No…no wait!”
I lunged.
I threw myself off the bed, bare feet slapping the cold floor, bolting for the door like my life depended on it.
I almost made it.
A hard arm wrapped around my waist from behind like iron.
And then slammed my back against the wall.
The air whooshed out of my lungs in a sharp gasp.
Rhys.
He pinned me effortlessly to the wall with his body. One hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. His golden eyes bored into mine, calm, amused, completely unremorseful.
“It seems,” he murmured, “the little wolf wants to play hunt.”
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst.
I didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it but the look in his eyes right now terrified me more than the tattoo gun ever could.
Not because he was angry.
Not because he was violent.
Because he was excited about “hunt”
Like this, me running, me fighting, me panicking—was the most fun he’d had all night.
His thumb stroked my hip bone slowly.
“Run again if you want,” he whispered, leaning in until his lips brushed my ear. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”
My knees buckled.
Kane chuckled behind him.
“Five seconds?” he called. “You’re being generous, Rhys. I’d say three.”
Saint whined from the doorway, eager, impatient, already holding the tattoo gun like a prize.
Rhys’s smile widened.
“Choose, little one,” he said softly, deadly. “Your skin… or your freedom.”
I stared into those golden eyes, bottomless, merciless, obsessed.
And realized with sickening clarity:
There was no choice.