Page 142 of Hunted

Do so.

But even as I move to the door, issuing orders in my mind before I speak them aloud, my thoughts are no longer on Rafael Navarro’s imminent arrival.

They have swung back, maddeningly and obsessively, to my little hunter.

29

EIRA

By the time I make it back to my apartment in the Tower, my nerves feel sanded raw and dipped in honey.

Absurd combination.

Accurate as hell.

I close the door and stand with my hand still on the handle, breathing like I’ve run a mile, even though the walk here was a controlled glide through polished corridors that whispered expensive danger. My heart is still sprinting, my skin still remembers him, and my brain keeps trying to reboot into normal functioning as if I didn’t just spend the afternoon in Don Moretti’s bed learning far too much about my own body and nowhere near enough about how to stop my life imploding.

I take two steps in.

Stop.

Because I’m smiling.

A real, stupid smile, the kind I haven’t worn in Gods know how long. It sits on my mouth, uninvited and shameless, all because of his last warning. His growl. The way he caught me by the throat, reminding me of rules while his eyes said he liked the way I kept breaking them.

My face warms. ‘Get it together,’ I mutter.

Then the smile dies, because Tezra is still dead.

The reminder lands like a slap, shoving heat, humour, everything soft into a drawer and slamming it shut.

Then I remember the fancy package.

My gut says it’s Selphine’s promised delivery, although the old crone has never indulged in gift-giving despite charging me to the eyeballs. I set the slim black parcel on the table near the window. Matte wrapping. Unmarked seal. There’s a familiar residue, herbal-metallic and old magic.

My fingers hover.

Then I open it.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, is a single vial of deep red-black glass sealed with wax stamped by a sigil that makes my skin prickle.

No note.

Of course.

I’m already calling before I decide to.

Selphine answers on the second ring. ‘There you are, child.’

‘Try not to sound so smug. You sent me a potion I didn’t ask for. I’m assuming this is the stronger fortification?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I was hoping for a lovely bracelet, or even a magic wand. I’m not taking more mystery fluids without at least a warning label and a vague threat.’

‘You’re taking it,’ she says mildly, ‘because you like living.’

I stare at the vial. ‘What is it? And don’t say help.’