Page 78 of The Hunted

“I think I might know exactly what you sound like,” he continued, his boot scuffing against the dirt before he shifted the pile of white fabric from one hand to the other, “but it really doesn’t matter now.”

Lies.

It absolutely did matter.

And if he thought that was what would make her talk, then she had a surprise in store for him. Arelle remained silent even when that heat in his gaze bled away the longer the two of them stared at one another, leaving him back with his cold rage.

He was not very good at hiding it.

Not at all.

Though it ached to do it, Arelle dropped his gaze. He was near, and she only wanted him to come closer. Until she breathed in his air and felt his heat soaking into hers. But that was the bond, and she wouldn’t let herself forget it, either.

“I heard you speak that night—in your tongue from the sea, yes, but I heard it. Or did you forget about that night? Was it just one of many for you?”

Arelle blinked, her tongue peeking out to wet the seam of her lips.

Still, she said nothing.

That was what pulled the final straw for Eryx.

His next words came out sharp, harsh, and fast. They impacted the same way a slap to her skin would. A warning, certainly, but they also wrapped around her heart like it was his fist clenching so damned tight. The exhale rushed out of her lungs because for the first time …

He demanded.

Her mate made a demand.

And she rushed to obey.

“Tell me your name.”

“Arelle.”

Silence surrounded the stables, but this time, it wasn’t from just her. No, he quieted, too. The animals stopped their movements, even the mice at the far end that had been squeaking all morning. She swore even the wind stopped blowing for a second.

He’d demanded.

She’d had to answer it.

Not that he knew, but he would have to do the same. That was the bond.

Arelle lifted her gaze in just enough time to watch the sight of Eryx closing the small bit of distance between them in the stall. His boots barely scuffed the floor. With a hand raised like he might strike her, she tipped her chin up.

Forever defiant.

She’d have to be.

He didn’t hit her, though.

No, that hand of his found her throat. His fingers wrapped around the delicate column, pressing into where her gills flared out with every breath, but it wasn’t enough to stop the air from dragging hard and heavy into her lungs. He pinned her in place.

With his stare and his touch and him.

All of him.

Having him this close was good, but just as bad, too. Because it made her want more. When he looked down between them, surveying her nakedness and the state of her captivity. He could do whatever he wanted to her shackled and vulnerable like she was.

Part of her wished he would.