“Careful.” He would find the strongest vines that existed to tie her to him and keep her grounded next time he caught her.
“I can’t help it. Y-you’re confusing me. Those looks of yours… your words… and the way you smell… it’s making it hard for me to concentrate.”
She dropped once more.
He held his breath.
She rose. This time, she floated frustratingly farther from him and closer to the other wall.
He hovered at his perch, another new unpleasant sensation winding through him. He was… unsure. Torn.
Him? He could not believe it.
Before her, he never hesitated or doubted. Before her, he always simply acted, following his instincts.
Except this time, his urges were in conflict: the need to capture her warring with his impulse to keep her safe no matter what.
“Please.” Her voice wobbled. “Just let me be. Let me go.”
It was the wordpleasethat decided him. He had loved hearing it on her lips when he’d had his tongue and fangs inside her. He couldn’t wait to hear it again.
“I cannot let you be and I will never let you go.” He gave her the truth. “But I will give you some space so you will no longer be confused and realize that returning to me before I catch you is the smartest choice. Thehappinesschoice.”
She scoffed. “Interesting logic.”
“True.” It wasn’t as if he could grab her anyway. He’d already assessed all possibilities and determined she was too far for him to snatch.
Every great hunter knew that a direct ambush was not the only way to catch prey.
Gaze locked with hers, he let go, leaping away from the jagged wall so that he landed in a crouch in the center of the cave, her wide-eyes and gasp following him all the way down.
He liked that sound. Not as much as the moans she made when she ground her mound against his mouth, but it was a nice sound all the same. One did not inhale a worried breath when a leaf dropped to the ground. It pleased him to know he rated higher than a leaf in her estimation.
He rose and held out his arms. “Your turn.”
She narrowed her gaze—and floated back towards the center.
It had been worth a try.
He reassessed while he licked the top of his fang.
He’d never tasted anything so delicious as her blood and nectar on his fangs and tongue. He’d torn through the flesh of so many prey, guzzled their blood, and never sampled anything as sweet.
Nor had he ever done anything like that with his fangs, tongue, or fingers before to his captured prey. But she was different, and some new instinct had guided him.
The same instinct that had urged him to be careful to leave only the smallest of nicks when he’d sunk his fangs into her soft flesh. Tiny puncture wounds he’d healed instantly with his saliva, nothing like the slash marks he usually left on his victims.
And yet, somehow, even though they were the tiniest of bites and in no way a show of his great hunting prowess, those marks on her skin filled him with the greatest sense of pride. Made him feel as tall as the highest dalani palm.
And itchy.
As if his claim was almost complete….but not quite.
The appendage between his thighs twitched. It was hard as stone and jutting upward—stretching toward her as if… as if it wanted to sink inside her too.
Like his tongue. Like his fangs. Like his fingers.
More liquid seeped from the swollen, angry tip as if to agree.