Page 58 of Hunted

His power floods the room, ancient and absolute, reminding every living thing present exactly where it stands in the hierarchy. He’s holding the entire room in thrall, and I’m forced to acknowledge, with unwilling awe, that I’ve never before stood this close to such unfiltered dominance and remained upright.

My lungs still work, my thoughts still move but my limbs refuse.

I strain against the invisible constraint, searching for a seam in the pressure.

The sharp-eyed man smiles faintly. ‘Struggle if you like,’ he murmurs, pitched only for me. ‘It changes nothing.’

I drag my attention back to Valentin just as his fangs sink into the woman’s throat.

There’s no gore. No frenzied tearing. Only a steady, measured intake.

Almost mesmeric.

The woman doesn’t fight. Her body softens instantly, tension melting into bliss as the venom floods her system and rapture replaces fear.

Controlled feeding. Compliant prey. Disturbingly intimate.

He drinks briefly, then lifts his head and brushes his thumb across the wound to seal it. She sways, dazed but intact.

Without acknowledging me, he moves to the next.

Fuck this.

I fight the paralysis harder, not even sure why I hate that he’s doing this in front of me.

Then I hate myself twice as hard, because beneath the alarm is something worse.

Jealousy.

Sharp. Ugly. Irrational. Real.

I tell myself I’m reacting to the violation, the spectacle, the sheer arrogance of it. But watching his mouth on another woman’s throat sends heat low and immediate through my body, and I despise myself for it.

The second woman sighs softly as he drinks.

The third tilts her head eagerly.

The fourth trembles but doesn’t pull away.

He moves through them with clinical precision, each bite brief, over in seconds. I’ve seen vampires feed more times than I care to, some with finesse, most without.

This isn’t sustenance. Or pleasure.

He’s… searching. In his own efficient, brutal, elegant way.

The paralysis releases the moment he straightens and inhales sharply.

I don’t have time to flex my frozen limbs before he turns.

His eyes are black as tar. And he is not happy.

As one, the Black Twelve step away from the wall. Two of them guide the women out with quiet efficiency, and the room empties within seconds.

Only one hesitates.

Valentin’s gaze flicks to him, silver hardening. ‘Leave, Malachi.’

Malachi takes another step back but doesn’t retreat entirely. ‘Sire, the man you requested found is here,’ he says evenly.