Page 87 of Hunted By Valentine

Squeezing my eyes shut, I do my best to gather my thoughts.

This is no longer about saving Valentine, it’s also about my own survival. Michael and I can’t both live… not anymore.

Mylegs tremble as I take a step forward, meeting Valentine’s gaze head on. “I have to go,” I say, my voice empty as I walk around him and into the bedroom.

He halts me by gripping my shoulder, applying pressure until I willingly turn around and face him. “Go where?”

A shiver runs down my spine as I tilt my head back so I can look up at him; the Hunter. “Does it matter?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Rolling my eyes, I demand, “Why? Why does it matter to you, Valentine?” I want to cross my arms over my chest, but I don’t. He’ll think I’m doing it to shield myself, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Nudity isn’t a big deal to me. Not anymore—not for years. Michael has paraded me in front of his psycho brother and some of his friends more times than I can count, even allowed them to touch me. Not to mention the men he’s asked me to seduce for his own gain.

So no, I don’t get uncomfortable or shy at something as inconsequential as baring my body.

“It matters because I say so,” he says.

His calm tone grinds on my nerves, but it’s the smirk that makes me lose my temper. Without any hesitation or thought, I step closer until he’s close enough to reach. Then I slap him across the cheek, so hard the skin ripples. To my frustration, it doesn’t even feel good. It feels like… like I’m very much the pet he calls me. A pet that’s now turned on its master.

“Ruby—”

I interrupt his growl and take a step back. “No!” I shout, my voice reverberating through his loft. “Fuck you, Valentine. Fuck you and your fucking tests. You wanted me to prove my trust for you, and I did. But you… you…” My breath comes out in angry huffs that steal my voice.

“Ruby—”

“I said no,” I scream, jumping further back as he reaches for me. “You single-handedly broke any trust I had in you the second your fucked up test concluded.”

Turning my back on him again, I angrily march into the bedroom and reach for my clothes. But before I can even pick up the soaked jeans, I’m pickedup and thrown onto the bed. “You don’t dictate the terms of our relationship,” Valentine growls. His tone is as menacing as the look on his face.

“What relationship?” I scoff, not backing down.

He closes his hands around my wrists and drags my arms above my head while using his lower body to pin me to the mattress. “You’re mine, Ruby.”

“The hell I am,” I spit, bucking to get him off me, but he doesn’t budge, not even a little.

I gnaw at my lip, refusing to let my triumph show as he pushes me further up the bed, pushing his knee behind my legs. Where I’m not the strongest, I learn from my mistakes. And trying to fight Michael off taught me a valuable lesson; choose your battlefield.

During the drive back from the cabin, I had plenty of time to think about how Valentine got me there. I remembered everything; the pleasure he gave me, which was followed by the prick of a needle. I might not have been able to recognize it if it wasn’t because Michael has kept me sedated like that on more than one occasion. But he has, so I did.

Earlier, when I was asleep in Valentine’s bed, he woke me up when he got out of bed. And the second he left me alone, I didn’t waste any time. Leaning against the end of the bed, I touched every brick in the wall within reach until I came across a loose one. That’s when I found the small bottle with the liquid, and a spare syringe, both of which are now hidden beneath the pillow he just pushed me up against.

“Stop fighting me,” he growls, lowering himself so he speaks directly into my ear. “There’s no point.”

He’s half right about that, but I can’t give in this easily. So instead, I thrash while screaming for him to let me go. Needing my arms free, I try to kick him. Predictably, he lets go of my wrists and instead grabs my thighs, forcing them wide apart.

Too arrogant to even consider I might be able to one up him, he shifts and buries his head against my inner thigh. He rubs his stubbled cheek across the tender skin, making it burn deliciously. I moan as he runs a finger along my exposed slit.

“Mhmm, you’re so wet for me.” His deep, huskyvoice makes me shiver with delight, and I moan again as he pushes two fingers into me. “I need to taste you.”

Lifting my hips, I invite him closer. It’s not all acting, I’m not that good. I smirk when he moves my legs over his shoulders while kneading my buttocks.

I wait until he’s groaning against my opening, praising the taste of me. Then I forcefully squeeze my thighs around his head, holding him in place while I reach for the syringe. I waste no time pushing myself up and plunging the needle into his neck.

“What the hell?” he roars, jerking so wildly I can’t keep my grip on him. My eyes widen as I watch him pull the needle from his neck while pushing himself up to his knees. “W-what did y-you do?” he demands on a slur.

I’m spared from having to answer when he wobbles, his lids closing. As I scramble off the bed, he faceplants onto the mattress, his face buried in the sheets.

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