Page 32 of Hunted By Valentine

“Exciting, huh?” he says slowly. “That’s an interesting way to describe a professor.”

I busy myself with my food, avoiding his gaze. “I just meant academically,” I mutter, but even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.

Jack leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Is there something you want to tell me about Professor Valentine?”

My heart pounds in my chest as I struggle to find the right words. How can I explain something I barely understand myself?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. “It’s nothing, Jack. Really. He’s just different from other professors I’ve had.”

Jack’s eyes don’t leave my face as he asks, “Different how?”

I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation as I begin to tell him about Valentine. “He’s intense,” I admit, fidgeting with my fork. “Brilliant, but also… I don’t know. There’s something about him that’s hard to explain.” As the words spill out, I realize with startling clarity that my fascination with my enigmatic professor goes far beyond academic admiration.

Sure, I’ve suspected since I considered getting myself off to thoughts about him while I was soaking in the bathtub. But I didn’t, and I somehow thought that proved differently. That’s a lame excuse since the real reason I didn’t is because it takes more than some clit rubbing to get me off. A lot more.

I’ve also tried to tell myself that I only let him touch me at the restaurant because of Michael’s orders, that’s a lie, though. I wanted it, a lot.

Jack leans forward, his expression darkening. “Ruby, listen to me carefully. Men like that, the ones who are hard to explain? They’re usually the most dangerous.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words, but it’s not from fear. No, it’s excitement. “What do you mean?” I ask, eager to hear more.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of people in our line of work,” Jack says, his voice low and serious. “The ones who are truly dangerous are the ones who can charm you, challenge you, make you feel alive. But underneath? They’re cold, calculating. They’ll use you and discard you without a second thought.”

I swallow hard, trying to reconcile Jack’s words with the image of Valentine in my mind. “He’s not like that,” I protest weakly, but doubt creeps in.

Jack reaches across the table, taking my hand. “Just be careful, okay? You don’t want to give Michael any reason to invoke the contract.”

Where I never confided in Nick about the damn marital contract, Jack knows everything about it. And to say it covers almost every base of my existence, from what I can eat to what happens if… well, let’s just say it coverseverything.

Realizing I never answered Jack, I say, “I am being careful, and I haven’t done anything.”

Jack sighs audibly. “You asked me about the curse, Rubes. And the truth is, it’s all I fucking think about.” He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Maybe my death meant I’ll die a second time and that you and Nick are in the clear—”

I barely register I’ve moved until I’m standing, the chair I just vacated now lying on the floor. “Or maybe it means you’re safe, and I’m…” I can’t finish the thought.

Jack stands, coming to wrap me in a tight hug. “Hey, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up. We’re all still here, right?”

I nod against his chest, but the weight of the curse settles over me like a shroud. As I pull away, I catch sight of my reflection in the window—pale, haunted, a woman marked by fate.

Pulling back, I rub my hands against my jeans, trying to dispel my nerves. “Wow,” Jack whistles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear jeans.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah, well,” I quip, repeating his words from earlier. I don’t want to tell him that it’s all because of Valentine and the way he liked me in them at the charity meeting. I also don’t mention that I’m now changing clothes at Holloway, since Michael doesn’t want me wearing jeans.

As Jack bends to retrieve the chair, I move so fast I beat him to it. “Nuh-uh,” I snap as I shift it back to standing and sit down. “You’re not meant to lift anything or move or even bend more than you need to.”

Jack just scoffs, but I don’t miss the small smile playing on his lips as he sits down and immediately serves himself some more food.

“Well,” he says, not bothering to finish chewing. “I guess I’ll get to re-meet Valentine in a couple of days.” He says it like he’s picking up our conversation where we left off rather than starting a new one.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, not sure what else to say.

He nods. “Yeah, at the charity for goldfish that are about to be extinct. Or maybe it’s a flower no one’s ever heard of. Can’t say I remember.”

Laughing softly, I lean back in the chair and fold my arms across my chest. Ignoring his words, I focus on watching him. I like watching him eat something I’ve cooked; it makes me feel like I’m good for more than whatever my life has become.

And that’s exactly how Valentine makes me feel as well.

The curse may claim me, Michael may control me, but this—these feelings, this connection with Valentine—it’s mine. And I’m going to chase it becauseIwant to.Notbecause Michael said so.

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