Page 102 of In Shadows We Dance

Fucking. Perfect.

Now the real hunt can begin.

I track her easily, my knowledge of the woods allowing me to cut her off whenever I need to. Each time I get close, I let her get away—prolonging the game, savoring how she fights to keep her composure. My camera captures it all. Her determination, her desperation, the way the dress falls apart tear by tear.

She bursts through the trees into a clearing, and I follow slowly. Let her see me approach. Let her see that it doesn’t matter where she runs, I’ll always find her.

The dress hangs in tatters, her skin marked by scratches. I want to run my tongue over them. I want to taste her more than I’vewanted anything in my life.

“Nowhere left to run, Ballerina.”

She backs away, eyes never leaving mine. There’s a fire in her gaze now, rebellion burning brighter than fear, and it calls to something inside me. My camera lifts one more time, capturing her in this moment. Wild, disheveled, refusing to break.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t get to decide that anymore.” But then she turns, the skirts of her dress flaring outward as she bolts back into the darkness.

A laugh breaks free.

Oh, I like this.

She’s learning to fight back, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want her more.

“Run, Ballerina,” I call. “Run. Make me chase you.”

I give her a head start, counting the seconds out loud, my heartbeat matching the rhythm of the hunt. And then I move.

She’s fast. But not fast enough. These woods aremine, and every step she takes only makes me hungrier. She stumbles, her foot catching on a root, a soft cry escaping her lips, and my smile widens.

“Keep going.”

Her head snaps up, eyes locking on mine, that same determination still burning in them.

“Run, pretty Ballerina.”

She hesitates, then she takes off running. When she next stumbles, her knees hit the dirt. I circle her, stop in front of her, and reach out to press two fingers beneath her chin and tip her head up.

I take a photograph of her like that. The straps of her dress hanging off her shoulders, tears in the material giving me glimpses of perfect skin beneath. My hand moves down, my fingers curling around her throat, and I squeeze.

“Tell me who I am.” She grits the words out, still fighting even now.

I laugh, and she shivers. “Oh, pretty Ballerina. By the time I’m done with you, who you were won’t matter anymore.” I use my grip on her throat to pull her to her feet and into my body, letting her feel how hard my dick is against her stomach. “All that matters is what I turn you into.”

My mouth claims hers, swallowing her gasp. She tastes like fear, defiance, and desire all at once.

She tastes perfect.

She tastes like mine.

This hunt might not have been in tonight’s plan, but the outcome was inevitable. She came to me willingly. Now she’ll learn exactly what the choice means.

“You want answers? What are you willing to trade for the truth?”

Her eyes meet mine when I lift my head, something fierce and desperate in her gaze. "What do you want?"

"Everything." The word comes out before I can stop it.

I want her fear. I want her trust. I want her body. I want her soul.

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