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Lucian goes still beneath my touch, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he simply stares at me, those stormy eyes searching mine for something I can't quite name.
Then, slowly, he raises his hand to cover mine, his fingers curling around my wrist in a grip that's both gentle and unyielding.
His silence stretches on, heavy and thick, as he considers my words. I search his face for any hint of what he's thinking, any flicker of emotion, but his expression remains inscrutable.
The weight of his gaze bears down on me, intense and penetrating, as if he's trying to see into the very depths of my soul. My heart pounds in my chest, a dizzying mix of anticipation and uncertainty coursing through my veins.
What is he thinking?
Does he see this as a weakness, a crack in my armor?
Or does he understand the unspoken plea beneath my bold invitation? That there's a part of me that craves more. Craves him.
The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity as I wait for his response.
His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, his touch searing my skin like a brand. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us, the heat of his body seeping into mine, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath his suit.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, he speaks.
"Lead the way, little fawn."
The words are low, almost a growl, but there's a hint of something else beneath the gruffness. Something that sounds almost like acquiescence. Like surrender.
I release a breath, my lips curving into a small, triumphant smile. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I step back, my hand slipping from beneath his as I turn toward the door. I can feel his presence behind me, looming and powerful, as I lead him out of the dressing room and down the dimly lit hallway.
The click of my heels against the floor echoes in the silence between us. I can't help but think it sounds an awful lot like the ticking of the clock that's been running since the moment we met.
As we step out into the cool night air, I'm struck by a sense of unreality. Is this really happening? Am I really leading Lucian Voss, the Hunter, the monster, back to my hotel room? It feels like a dream, a fantasy born of too many late nights and too much pent-up desire.
But the weight of his hand on the small of my back as he guides me toward his car is real. The heat of his gaze on my skin as he opens the passenger door for me is real. The tension that crackles between us, electric and alive, is real.
I slide into the leather seat, the door closing with a soft thud behind me. Lucian climbs into the driver's side, the engine purring to life beneath his touch. As we pull out onto the empty streets, I let my head fall back against the headrest, my eyes drifting closed.
What am I doing? What am I getting myself into? These questions swirl through my mind, but I push them aside. For now, in this moment, I don't want to think. I don't want to analyze or strategize or second-guess.
I just want to feel. To lose myself in the heat and the hunger.
Because beneath the fear, beneath the unease, there's a dark thrill in this. In pushing him, challenging him, drawing him closer to the edge. It's a dangerous game, one that could consume me if I'm not careful. But I can't seem to stop. Won't stop.
As the city lights blur past the window, I let myself sink into the moment. Into the anticipation, the excitement, the delicious ache of wanting. Whatever happens next, whatever consequences the Hunt brings… I'll face them.
But for now, for tonight, I'm exactly where I want to be.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE HUNTER
The elevator doors open with a soft ding, but the silence between us is deafening. Aria's heels click against the marble floor as we walk down the hallway, the sound echoing off the walls.
I keep my eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the way her coat hugs her curves, the way her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. Her real hair now that she's lost the wig, not that fake blonde imitation.
I shouldn't be here.
I shouldn't be doing this.
But I can't seem to stop myself.
