Page 75 of Hunted By Valentine

Chapter 29

The Prey

The next time I wake up, the bedroom is cast in light, and I’m surrounded by Valentine. My back is against his chest, he has one arm and leg thrown over me, as though even in sleep he wants to make sure I’m close.

As I look down, I realize he’s still wearing the wrap around his wrist. I’m itching to remove it, or maybe even say that I know what he’s hiding. But I don’t.

I know that if I admit it out loud, I’ll shatter this bubble of… I don’t even know what to call it. But I’m not ready for it to end, not yet.

“I can feel you overthinking, Pet,” he rumbles, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. “How are you feeling?”

Smiling, I turn in his arms so I’m facing him, throwing my leg over his hip. “I’m…” I want to say I’m fine, because I am. But at the same time, I’m not. Every part of me aches, I’m scared about the future, but none of that is at the forefront of my mind. Valentine is, and as long as I’m in his arms, I’m more than fine; I’m perfect.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

“A little,” I admit instead, my voice small and thready to my own ears.

Something flashes in Valentine’s eyes. Concern, maybe. Or guilt. He raises a hand to my face, his knuckles grazing gently over my bruised cheek. His jaw clenches, but his touch remains featherlight as he inspects my injuries.

“He did quite a number on you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

I nod, fresh tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. “It’s not the first time. But this time was different.” Shit, why did I just say that?

Valentine’s gaze snaps back to mine, his brow furrowing. “Why did he attack you, Ruby? What set him off this time?”

I freeze, panic seizing in my chest. Mentally, I wrestle with the decision of whether or not to tell him the truth; that Michael saw his bite mark on my shoulder and flew into a jealous rage, unleashing his fury on my body.

“He…” I take a shaky breath, steeling myself. “He saw the mark you left on me.” My fingers drift unconsciously to my skin, where Valentine left the imprint of his teeth.

His eyes follow the movement, darkening with some unreadable emotion. “I see,” he says quietly. “And what did you tell him about it?”

“Nothing,” I whisper, holding his gaze. Willing him to believe me. “I swear, Valentine. I didn’t say anything about you. I’d never betray you like that.”

The words hang heavy in the charged air between us, an oath of loyalty. Of trust. Valentine studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods. “I know you wouldn’t, Pet.”

It hasn’t escaped my notice that he just called me what should be an endearment, but with the lilt to his tone, it comes across more like a title. It’s not the first time he’s called me that, and just like the other times, I’m not sure I mind.

Actually, scratch that. With the way my ego is preening, I don’t mind it one bit. It even makes me feel proud in a weird way.

Wordlessly, he places a soft kiss on my cheek while he untangles himself from me, and moves us so I’m lying on my back in the middle of the bed with him hovering above me.

“Let me take care of you,” he rasps, his fingers tracing the outline of my bruises. I flinch at the contact, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of his skin against mine.

His featherlight caress steals my breath away, and I fight to keep my eyes open. They automatically want to close, but I don’t want to miss a moment of what he’s doing. Every brush of his fingers sends electricity humming through my veins. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Why do you make me feel this way?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

It might seem like an odd thing to ask since feelings by nature are irrational. But men like him aren’t soldiers of chance. They’re the ones who take charge of every aspect of their lives, including their feelings.

Valentine looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I see a flicker of something in his gaze, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask. “How do I make you feel?” he counters.

“Alive,” I admit. “Wanted, desired, and… seen.”

Splaying his hand on top of my tattoo, he rasps, “To me, you’re all of that.” My heart skips a beat as I hear the revenant undertone.

A part of me feels as though he wants to say more, so I don’t respond. But as a pregnant silence hangs between us, and his touch comes to an end, I decide to play him at his own game by staying quiet.

“I never thanked you for protecting me,” he suddenly says.

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