Page 89 of Hunt Me

“Yes.”

“You’re going to take her out there?”

I look over at the dark vines. “I have to do something. We can’t go on like this.”

Klyn snorts. “That’s for damn sure.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I glare at him, but that only makes him grin wider.

“Your blue balls are making us all grumpy. Go get laid, boss. The world will still be waiting for you to burn it down when you get back.”

Chapter 22

Tori

Ilie awake well past midnight, the memory of Legion’s touch still lingering on my aching body. Instead of sleeping nude like usual, I dress in a thin layer—just in case. Part of me hopes Legion will show up for an encore and touch me like he did in the library. But the other part knows that would be way too dangerous. Alone, I retrace his movements with my own hand. The thin fabric of my panties offers the same delicious friction from earlier, and I send myself over the edge into orgasm quicker than I expect. But it’s not the same. And it’s not nearly enough.

Legion’s promise from earlier replays in my mind. I can’t deny I want what he’s offering: to break this curse and let him make me come with his bare hands.

I know I should hate him for what he did to me, and maybe I do. Maybe I’m just tainted by my own poisoned heart, but I want Legion despite knowing he did this to me. And despite knowing what he’s done in his past. Maybe that makes me a monster too.

When I finally drift off to sleep, my dreams are filled with him. I’m at the primal hunt, being watched by a crowd, though I want him so badly, I don’t care. He chases me down—hunts me—and I let him catch me, my entire body yearning for what comes next. He kisses me, touches me, his hands and his tongue tracing the dark veins on my skin—right up until the moment he succumbs to a slow death. The last thing he whispers in my nightmare is “You win.”

In the morning, I shove aside the guilt that pricks at me. It’s stupid to feel bad for killing a guy when it was only a dream. But the idea of hurting Legion even if it means saving myself leaves me strangely off-balance today.

Kendall’s already gone when I check her room. I find her in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour as Chaya and the cook instruct her on forming the dough for bread.

“Hey,” I say, relieved to see her settling into this place so easily. “Have you seen Legion?”

“Not since breakfast,” Kendall says.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I missed it.”

“By about an hour,” the cook says with pointed disapproval.

“Sorry. I guess I overslept.”

The awkward silence leaves me feeling like a fourth wheel, so I excuse myself and snag some fruit for a quick breakfast on my way out.

Legion isn’t in his study, nor do I run into him in the library. My gaze lingers on the spot where I stood while he touched me last night. My body heats at the memory, and I pull myself away reluctantly before continuing to wander from room to room.

While I explore, I find myself imagining a life here. In Tartarus. In this house. Wearing gloves and scarves for the rest of my life. Unable to touch another. And while I want nothing more than to be free of this stupid curse, for a fleeting moment, I almost convince myself I could be content like this. I could live out a quiet life, no more need to kill anyone. Or maybe I could go back to growing poisons. I’m certainly better at it than ever. I’d contract myself to the king rather than the outlaws this time. No more looking over my shoulder. Kendall and Chaya could be together. The idea of it feels almost peaceful. Almost enough.

Until that future vision is shattered by a familiar deep voice that somehow reaches all the way inside me and yanks away the lie that I could ever be happy not touching him.

“Looking for me?”

I whirl where I stand inside an empty guest room and find Legion standing in the doorway. The fact that I didn’t hear him arrive is evidence of how distracted I am. But the way my entire body reacts to the sight of him is proof that what happened between us isn’t something I can ignore.

Whatever we’re doing here, it’s changed.

“I… this room is beautiful,” I say, trying to find my bearings.

He doesn’t look away from me as he says, “Chaya chose the furnishings. I’ll tell her you said so.”

My stomach tightens as jealousy spears through me. Ridiculous. She’s fourteen? Fifteen? There’s nothing between them. Still… she takes care of him. Of this place. I don’t like how it feels to imagine it. A life without me in it.

“Why?” I can’t help but ask. “Why do you furnish the rooms so beautifully? Why do you stock them with clothing and toiletries?”

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