Page 59 of Hunted

Valentin’s jaw tightens, but his gaze stays on my face. ‘Bring him to me.’

As Malachi disappears, I finally find my voice. ‘What the hell is this?’ I demand, anger overriding caution.

He doesn’t look defensive. He looks bored. Or tries to. The fury beneath that mask grows clearer by the second.

‘I invite women of a certain age and profile into Umbra’s private mentorship circle,’ he replies calmly. ‘They are offered elite patronage that can alter the trajectory of a life in a single visit.’

‘A fancy description for a casting call for your missing obsession? Or do you always feed like that in front of an audience?’

His gaze drifts over me slowly. ‘I conduct searches. Efficient ones. They are aware that an interview will take place.’

‘And the bite is, what, complimentary?’

‘It’s… expedient.’

I shake my head, hating how slowly the alarm and other emotions are leaving my system. ‘So the Black Twelve manage the invitations?’

‘They filter candidates and ensure compliance. Anyone who declines is flagged for quiet review because declining proximity to power often indicates concealment. If they agree, they become both interview and meal.’

My stomach tightens. ‘You’re turning your food source into a search engine.’

‘I am conserving effort.’

I fold my arms. ‘And why exactly did I need to be here to witness that?’

His gaze shifts to me. There’s something colder beneath it this morning. ‘You needed to understand the scale of my investment.’

‘In blood? Or theatre?’

‘In inevitability.’

The answer is as savage as the unapologetic look in his eyes.

‘You could have handled this without me. Sent me the Cliff Notes.’

‘Indeed.’ No apology.

Of course.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ I ask coolly. ‘Did you wake up on the wrong side of the coffin? Did you even sleep? I’ve heard some of your kind don’t.’

‘Did you?’ he returns smoothly but something flickers in his eyes.

The question is light. The intent behind it is not.

A thought slices through me. The dream. The psychic brush against my mind. The possibility he left something behind and felt the thread tighten while I slept.

My voice stays level, even as my pulse stumbles once, traitorous and loud. ‘Yup. I slept just fine.’

His gaze narrows. ‘And was it a good sleep, little hunter?’

He’s studying me. Waiting. For what, I can’t tell. I shift the conversation before he digs deeper. ‘How many women have you sampled?’ I ask flatly.

‘Enough to confirm absence,’ he replies.

‘Clearly. Are you sure you’re doing it right?’

The corner of his mouth tics. ‘You misunderstand. I am no longer searching for presence. I am searching for concealment.’