Page 35 of Hunted

Pulling her against me, I kiss her with feral desperation. Zara melts into me with a soft moan, her nails scratching lightly at the nape of my neck and sending shockwaves of pleasure down my spine.

When we finally break apart, both of us are panting harshly. Zara's lips are swollen from my assault, her eyes glazed over with pure want. I stare at Zara silently, trying to process my emotions. Emotions I didn't even know I was capable of feeling.

My entire life, I've been taught that showing vulnerability or softness is a death sentence. Yet here I am, utterly disarmed by this beautiful woman and her genuine care for me.

As I gaze into Zara's warm green eyes, something deep within me stirs to life. A part of me I thought was long dead—beaten down by years of my father's cruel "survival of the fittest" mentality.

I was raised to be a ruthless hunter. To take what I wanted without remorse or hesitation. Emotions like empathy or tenderness were viewed as weaknesses to be purged.

But Zara awakens something primal yet oddly gentle inside me. An aching need to protect her, to keep her safe in a way that has nothing to do with possessing her as my prize.

My chest tightens as flashes of my childhood assault my mind. My father's incessant derision and scathing putdowns whenever I dared show an ounce of compassion.

"You want to end up a sniveling little bitch, boy? Emotions like that'll get you killed."

I can still hear the biting tone in his gravelly voice and see the disgust etched into the hard lines of his face. It was as if he was ashamed to even acknowledge that I was his son.

No wonder I turned out this way—a cold, callous killer without an ounce of remorse. Emotions were systematically trained out of me from an early age and replaced by an insatiable hunger to hunt and dominate.

Yet here I am now, trembling on the edge of something. Some vast, terrifying new realm of feelings that part of me craves to explore, even as the rational part screams to shut it all down.

Is this what love feels like? The irrepressible urge to protect and cherish someone, to put their needs before your own? If so, it's no wonder my father always treated it with contempt.

Because love, I'm realizing, is the greatest weakness of all. It makes me vulnerable in a way that goes against every core instinct I have as a hunter.

Zara senses the internal war raging inside me. Her delicate brows knit together in concern as she cups my face tenderly.

“Aksel? What's wrong?" she murmurs, running her thumb soothingly along my cheekbone.

I open my mouth but shut it again. How can I possibly explain the torrent of emotions battering against the icy walls I've spent a lifetime constructing?

Instead, I do the only thing that makes sense. I crush my lips to hers in a searing, desperate kiss.

Pouring every ounce of the rawness and vulnerability into our scorching embrace, seeking solace in the soft curves of her body and the intoxicating vanilla scent of her hair.

This frightening new path I find myself hurtling down is one I cannot turn back from. Not anymore.

Because whether I'm ready or not, Zara has awoken the fragile heart I never knew I had. A heart I thought was ripped out and buried long ago. And I'll be damned if I let anyone—including my own inner demons—take that from me now.

18

ZARA

The tension radiates off Aksel as he remains silent, refusing to answer my question about what's troubling him. Darkness lurks beneath his stoic exterior, a hidden pain I desperately want to understand and soothe. But instead of opening up, he sweeps me into his arms, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing.

Aksel carries me into the bedroom, his piercing gaze never leaving mine. He lays me gently on the bed, his large frame looming over me, making me feel small and delicate in comparison.

Aksel's rough, calloused hands begin to explore my body with a reverence that steals my breath away. His touch is electric, igniting a fire threatening to consume me whole. He lavishes me with attention, his lips trailing scorching kisses along my neck, collarbone, and cleavage.

I arch into his touch, craving more, needing to feel his skin against mine. He strips me slowly, deliberately, his eyes drinking in every inch of my exposed flesh like a man starved. When I'm finally bare before him, he steps back, his gaze raking over me possessively.

"You're mine, Zara," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I won't let anyone take you from me."

I shiver at his words, at the raw possessiveness in his tone.

Aksel strips and joins me on the bed, his powerful body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

His mouth crashes down on mine, hard and demanding. His hands are everywhere, tugging at my hair, gripping my hips, branding me with his touch. I can feel the ridge of his arousal against my thigh, and I moan, rubbing myself against him mindlessly.

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