Page 63 of Hunted By Valentine

As I twist like a contortionist, I get a glimpse of the way it clings to my scalp where the stitches are, an angry, jagged line across the back of my head. I raise a trembling hand, fingers gently probing the area, feeling the tightness of the skin pulled together. It doesn’t hurt, not as much as the rest of me, but it sends a shiver through me all the same.

I stare at the bite mark on my shoulder, the edges still distinct despite everything. Valentine’s bite. The one thing I should’ve been most concerned about before… all of this. Now, it’s just one more thing to hide.

I turn my head to the side, trying to imagine how I’ll cover it. My heart lurches as the question burrows into me, clawing its way under my skin. How will I explain this to Valentine? How will I keep him from seeing what Michael did to me?

A part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it—worrying about hiding this fromhiminstead of how bad I look. Instead of the searing pain every breath brings, or the way my vision keeps swimming in and out of focus.

I strip the rest of my clothes off, each piece falling to the floor with a soft thud, until I’m standing there, naked, staring at a body that feels more broken than whole. My ribs are black and blue, the bruises running in sickening lines across my torso. My wrists bear the marks of Michael’s hands, red and angry. I touch them lightly, flinching at the memory of his grip.

Then I step into the bath, sinking slowly into the warm water, and let out a shuddering breath as it engulfs me. For a moment, the warmth soothes my skin; the steam filling my lungs with something other than fear. But the relief is fleeting. The water doesn’t wash away the horror. It can’t touch the damage that only exists in my mind and fractured heart.

A sob tears its way out of my throat; it’s raw, guttural, and once it starts, there’s no holding it back. My hands clutch the sides of the tub as I scream, the sound echoing off the walls, bouncing back at me.

I scream until my throat burns, until no sound comes out. The tears come next, hot and unrelenting, streaming down my face, mixing with the water as I curl in on myself. If Jack hears me, he has enough sense to leave me alone.

It’s always the same, isn’t it? Every sliver of happiness, every fleeting moment where I think I might have something—someone—it comes at a price. And that price is always too close to being my life.

The curse. My family’s curse.

It’s not just the bruises or the stitches or the way my body aches like it’s been put through hell. It’s this endless, gnawing feeling that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to escape, it’s never enough. I’m never enough. Valentine was the only thing that felt like a chance at something real, something that wasn’t just survival. But even that... even that comes with a cost.

I close my eyes, my body trembling as the last of my sobs fade into the quiet hum of the bathroom. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe this is what I deserve. But as the water grows cold around me, there’s one thought that keeps stabbing its way through the chaos.

How am I going to hide this from him?

Chapter 25

The Hunter

The classroom I’ve thrived in for years feels suffocating. Normally, the walls are a sanctuary, where control and precision reign. But today, those same walls seem to close in on me. Each breath I take feels heavier, thick with the oppressive weight of Ruby’s absence.

An itch festers under my skin. Not the kind that can be scratched away. No, this is the deeper sort, the kind that twists and gnaws at the bones. I sit at my desk, my eyes scanning the room, but it might as well be empty.

It’s February first, so I should be at the high of all highs, ready to do what I crave. Yet, I’m not. I need to know where Ruby is, I need to know she’s okay.

The students are there, shuffling papers and whispering amongst themselves, but I don’t hear them. All that exists in my world right now is her absence. The empty seat where Ruby should be.

The sound of the ticking watch around my wrist grows louder, an incessant drumming that reverberates in my skull. It’s as though each second mocks me, reminding me that time is slipping away—and with it, my control over her. Time is the enemy now, a clock ticking down, threatening to sever the delicate thread that binds her to me.

I clench my fists under the desk, my knuckles blanching. The sharp edge of unease slices through me. Unfamiliar. Unwanted. I’ve never been one to worry about someone else’s absence. They were always replaceable. Disposable. But Ruby? No. She isn’t like the others.

I hate that I feel this way—I hate her for making me feel this way.

My pulse quickens at the memory of our last encounter, the scent of her skin, the taste of her blood on my lips. The primal urge to claim her, to possess her fully, stirs the darkness inside me. Yet, there’s another emotion there too—concern? No, that’s not it. It’s fear.

Fear that something has happened to her.

The thought of her missing classes because of what happened between us doesn’t sit right with me. Not only am I too vain to even entertain that thought, but she also loves my attention too much to let herself go days without it… at least willingly.

A heavy weight presses down on my chest, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. My instincts, honed through years of calculated manipulation, scream at me that Ruby’s absence is more than just avoidance.

As my mind races with images of her lying helpless, hurt, or worse, I’m unable to shake the anger of the fact that someone has hurtmyprey—mypet.

I palm the phone nestled in the pocket of my suit pants. The impulse to call her, to demand her location, has gnawed at me for days. And yet, my thumb itches to scroll through the contacts. It would be so simple. I could make her explain herself. I could hear her voice and know.

The act of reaching out would solidify the fact that she’s wormed her way under my skin—deep enough that Iwantto find her. Deep enough that the lack of control is suffocating me.

No. I shove the thought aside. She will come back to me on her own. And when she does, I’ll remind her of her place—beneath me. Under my control.

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