Page 51 of When He Hunts

Teenage Luna. Still fragile, but with pink cheeks. Thick hair. Wide eyes. On a stage, with lights behind her, and tears on her cheeks.

Luna…

In New Orleans.

At Café du Monde. A picture that Ronan had snapped to confirm her ID before he’d approached her. He’d sent the image to Gray. Her dark hair slid against her cheek. Her eyes were down, staring at the beignets before her. He’d watched her the entire time she’d been at Café du Monde. Seen her quick smiles to the staff. Enjoyed the way she seemed to savor the powdered sugar on her beignets.

She’d hummed along to the jazz music that played on the speakers. But her nervous gaze had kept darting around, as if she feared that someone was waiting. Watching.

I was.

He tapped on the mouse and closed the files.

Even as the screen went dark, Ronan realized that his gut was still knotted. His heart still pounded too fast. And…

Luna nearly died when she was eight years old. She’s known death longer than most and better than many, and yet she seems to be the most alive person that I’ve ever met.

He shut down the computer. Stared in silence at the closed laptop.

She’d been so damn brave. Getting away from me at the cabin. Running into the night.

And she’d told him that she wanted to live.

Because she hasn’t gotten to live the life she wanted yet.

With heavy steps, he climbed the stairs and went back to Luna. She still slept in the bed, her chest rising and falling softly. He eased in beside her. Stared up at the ceiling.

And then she snuggled against him.

The twist in his gut seemed to ease.

“Ronan.” A whisper of his name.

His breath came a little deeper.

She began to inch on top of him, and Ronan could feel a faint smile tugging at his lips. It didn’t take long before Luna was completely on top of him.

Sprawled.

Not hell this time. Heaven. Exactly where he wanted her to be.

Luna was gone.

Ronan jerked up in bed. He’d been reaching for her, only she wasn’t there. Wasn’t sprawled on top of him like she damn well should have been. Wasn’t beside him. Wasn’t in the room. “Luna!” He bolted from the bed and hurried for the bathroom door. He flung it open.

Not there.

Adrenaline and fear poured through his veins. A half-forgotten nightmare tugged at him. Luna had been missing. She should have been with him, but he’d been running in the dark, and he hadn’t been able to find her. He’d woken, reached out—and she’d been gone.Just like the dream?

He grabbed his gun—he’d tucked it into the nightstand drawer before bed—and hurried out of the room. “Luna!” Ronan raced down the stairs, and his pounding steps seemed to echo all around him.

There’s no way someone snuck in and took her while I slept. No way.

There should also have been no way for Luna to have gotten out of the bed without waking him. He was the lightest sleeper in the world.

She hasn’t left you. She hasn’t run away. Luna wouldn’t have sex with you and then run. It’s not some plan to catch you off guard so that she could give you the slip.

It wasn’t, right?

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