Page 42 of The Hunted

Arelle looked back, quickly finding the spot on his body that bled. A cut along the side of his calf, but that wasn’t really the problem. He wasn’t entirely like her, landwalkers couldn’t mate with her kind, but he wasn’t entirely human, either. Not if his mother had come from the sea. This was how the matings started. The scent all around, blood from the struggle, and then when it mixed …

She closed her eyes, letting out a slow exhale.

With the scents of their blood mingling in the air, her stomach clenched.

In a good way.

A promising way.

Still, she ignored it.

She had to.

Because if she allowed her mind to become lost in the scent of their mingling blood, what came next would be … well, she wouldn’t be able to come back from that. Instinct would take over—it already was; she could barely breathe from the sudden need that surged through her bloodstream to make her hot and hazy—and she would be fucked.

You already are.

Thrumming deep in her veins, she could already sense that change.

Arelle fought it.

So fucking hard.

Like the storms in the sky and the unpredictable sea, everything changed in the blink of an eye. Or rather, the opening of a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

His.

He stared up at her, unblinking and wide, his mouth opening to say something … but no words came out. Only a choking sound before his hands that had previously been limp at his sides flew up to his throat. He struggled under her, his body lifting as he choked out another sound that she couldn’t understand.

Arelle’s shock kept her pinned on top of him as he grabbed at the side of his neck, his fingers digging into the three little scars there.

And finally …

Finally, she understood as she watched his throat pulse every time his chest heaved upward like he was trying to take in a breath.

His gills.

She bet his body looked different on the outside. But inside, it still worked just like hers and every other person of the sea.

Arelle didn’t even think about it.

Not what it would mean.

Not what might happen …

None of it.

She simply slipped her hands in with his, her fingernails digging deep into the scars there. Filed into sharp points that she could use to eat, hunt or protect herself if needed, her fingernails tore through the soft tissue at his throat, ripping open the scars. For the first time, he made a sound. Or rather, grunted out in the pain she caused him, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until … there it was. She felt the water and blood pour through her fingers, and she breathed deeply.

Because she could smell him.

And her.

Purple mixed with thick red.

He exhaled.

Water and blood poured down from his opened gills.