Predator and Prey
KANE
I stayed leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on the door Saint had disappeared through. The second he’d pushed past us, shoulders set, jaw tight, scent spiking with that stubborn protective sweetness only his scent carried.
Now the night felt hollow. The Pit’s aftermath usually left me buzzing, high on violence and victory and the copper taste still coating my tongue. Tonight? Nothing. Just this ugly, gnawing ache behind my ribs.
Rhys was still breathing hard from the kiss with Saint, lips swollen and bloody, golden eyes half-lidded like he’d just come. He looked obscene. Illegal. The kind of beauty that made people want to dirty him up.
He caught me staring and smirked.
“What?” he drawled, voice wrecked from all the growling and biting.
I pushed off the wall, stepped into his space.
“What was that between you and Kaiden?”
Rhys’s smirk didn’t falter.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was prey that had just said something amusing.
“What do you mean?” he asked, all cold innocence.
I stepped closer. Close enough our chests brushed.
“Don’t play that with me.” My voice came out lower than I meant. “You practically fucked that mixed-breed mutant with your eyes the whole fight. Every time he dodged, every time he snarled back you were *into* it. That wasn’t just a brawl. That was foreplay.”
Rhys’s pupils blew wide.
He leaned in until his mouth hovered a breath from mine, body pressing flush, hard lines, heat, the faint copper tang of Saint’s blood still on his skin.
“You jealous, baby?” he purred.
I growled. “You know I am.”
His grin turned feral.
“Good.”
Then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
He *took*.
One hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so he could lick into my mouth like he was starving. I groaned, shoved him—hard—until his back slammed the opposite wall again. Plaster dust rained down. He laughed into the kiss and bit my tongue just enough to sting.
I snarled, spun us so *he* was the one pinned, my forearm braced across his throat. My other hand shoved under his torn shirt, nails raking down the bloody ridges of his abs. He arched into it, hips rolling shamelessly against mine, cock already hard again through the ripped leather.
“Fuck,” I breathed against his mouth.
He nipped my jaw. “That’s the idea.”
I slammed my palm beside his head, caging him. Kissed him deeper, messy, bruising, all teeth and hunger. He moaned like he was dying for it, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave bruises even I’d feel tomorrow.
I knew exactly what he was doing.
Distracting me.
Shutting down the Kaiden question with his tongue and his body and that obscene, addictive scent of smoke-and-steel-and-Rhys that always made my brain short-circuit.
And fuck if it wasn’t working.
I ground against him, feeling him throb through the layers of torn fabric. He hissed, head falling back against the wall, throat exposed, trusting me with it even while he clawed at my back like he wanted to climb inside my skin.
“Still wanna talk about Kaiden?” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips brushing my ear.
I bit the side of his neck. Hard.
“Not right now.”
He laughed again, low, filthy, triumphant.
“That’s my boy.”
I kissed him harder
Slammed him harder against the wall.
Let the distraction win.
Because the truth was colder than I wanted to admit: the second Saint walked through that door to comfort her, our terrified, trembling mate, I didn’t want blood or bodies under my boots.
I wanted to be in there too.
Wanted to crawl onto that bed, wrap around her shaking frame, bury my face in her neck and breathe until the fear scent bled away and all that was left was *us*.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Not while she still looked at me like I’d rip her apart instead of rip the world apart *for* her.
So I kissed Rhys like I could fuck the ache out of my chest.
And he let me.
Because he felt it too.
We all did.
Even monsters could break.
And ours was already cracking open.
Then suddenly a door a few feet away opened up and…
A tall, wiry alpha stumbled out into the hall, hoodie unzipped, sweatpants slung low, hair still sleep-mussed.
He took one look at Rhys, lips bruised red, golden eyes still molten from the kiss and me, claws half-out, chest heaving, pressed close to Rhys like we were seconds from tearing into each other again and his pupils blew wide with raw, instinctive terror.
He took one automatic step back toward the safety of his room.
Rhys’s head tilted.
That smile of his unfurled slowly, wicked, beautiful enough to stop hearts and cruel enough to break them.
He didn’t look away from me when he spoke.
“Maybe we can have a little fun after all,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, the words meant for me alone.
I felt the shift in my blood instantly, violence calling, hunger waking, the ache in my chest twisting into something sharper, hungrier.
I grinned, teeth sharp.
“First to catch the boy,” I said, voice rough, “gets to Top.”
Rhys’s smirk deepened, eyes glittering like broken gold.
“Deal.”
The alpha made a choked sound, half whimper, half curse and bolted.
Bare feet slapped tile.
Hoodie flapped wildly behind him as he sprinted down the dim hallway, scent spiking pure panic, heart hammering so loud I could almost taste it.
Rhys chuckled.
I felt the predator coil tight inside me.
We didn’t move yet.
Not quite.
We just watched him run.
Watched the distance stretch.
Watched the fear pour off him like blood.
Then, together, we stepped forward.
One synchronized stride.
And the hunt began.
How I picture my Psychos, though they are taller than this. Credit to the creator