Page 29 of Hunting Harbor

"You need it," I say, each word soft but sure. "Just drink, Harbor. Relax."

She glances up, the liquor heating her cheeks. She needs it, and she needs me, and she’ll have both before this night is done.

"I’m trying," she says, more to herself than to me, but the slight wavering in her voice is all I need. It gives me a new kind of high.

I drink, letting the heat roll through me, pooling, consuming. "Let the creative juices flow. Just give in." But I don’t know what I’m asking her to give into anymore.

Me?

The man in her novel?

The thoughts dancing around in her head? The same ones I can see her fighting right now as she eyes me, her gaze roaming the hard planes of my body.

She sips, tentative and slow, but I can tell it's already working its way through her system, loosening her tight defenses.

"You feel it, don’t you?"

She looks at me, eyes wide, vulnerable. Like she knows exactly what I mean and exactly what she's done. "I'm... I'm not sure I know what you’re talking about."

I stand, feeling the anticipation clawing at my insides, demanding release. She’s so fucking fragile, and I’m so fucking ready.

"Yes. You do."

Her hand shakes, and the drink sloshes over the rim. She looks down, and I feel something primal and dark shift inside me. This is it.

I've waited long enough.

Chapter Twelve

Harbor

Hesitsacrosstheroom, eyes following me like a curse. This bottled fear gurgles down my throat, warm and numbing, nothing like his icy stare. I hold my breath and watch him back, scared of his intensity, scared to look away. The mask he wore flickers through my mind, something terrible and beautiful that whispered I was prey. In this silence, I can hear his patience, but it’s withering, slowly draining. Half of me wonders if he’s going to snap. To claim me like he wants to. Like I want him to. He wants me to crack. He knows I will.

My drink burns as it slides down my throat, waiting for something to happen. His stillness is terrifying, this calculated quiet more oppressive than any chains. Each second feels like a cold hand squeezing my insides, forcing out anything but his presence. The whiskey doesn’t work; my chest is tight, breath shallow. I watch him through the dark. A tiger ready to pounce. A trap ready to snap. Nothing about him gives anything away, not like the thudding of my pulse, the shifting of my body.

I wonder if this is the game he plays—letting silence stretch until it snaps. Letting fear twist itself into something ugly and... inviting. God, I can't even think straight, can't remember why I'm here or why I let him convince me to come.But he didn’t convince you did he? He opened the door and you stepped right in. My fingers are numb around the glass, and I drink like it'll help. Like it’ll wash away the memory of that mask and its eyes, glittering like a promise.

The fire crackles low, its light flickering over his face. There’s something of a challenge there. Something that says: give in. The longer I sit, the more I unravel. I’m drawn to his danger, wrapped in this sinister allure. I want him. But I don't. But I do.

He hasn't moved, and I realize that's the horror of it. He's so damn certain I'll crack first.

The cabin is empty but for us. It could be miles to anywhere. No sound but the fire, the blood pounding in my ears. Time has no shape here, everything drawn out and aching.

Minutes or hours or lifetimes later, I’m crumbling, whispering I'm going to bed, before retreating to safety that isn't safe.

I don’t even know if I say it out loud or just think it a thousand times—I'm going to bed, to bed, to bed. My voice or my breath or just the sound of my own fear filling this empty space. I rise and move to the bedroom, wondering if he’ll stop me, if I want him to stop me. The floor is uneven beneath my feet, or maybe that’s just me. I lock the door, my fingers fumbling on the latch.

Cold slips under the door, creeping like the rest of this place. Despite the fire, the walls seem to exhale frost, chilling me to the core. It mingles with something else, something that burns and smolders low in my stomach.

His presence is too close, too much. His silence follows me, invades every thought. It wraps around me like the shadows, whispering the things it could do to me if only I let it.

I sit on the bed and let my face fall into my hands. Maybe to cry. Maybe to laugh at the impossibility of it all. I listen for any sign of movement, of him coming for me, and feel the disappointment sting when it doesn’t come. I want it. I want him. I want... escape. It's getting hard to tell the difference.

Minutes slip into hours, or maybe seconds, or maybe I'm losing my mind. Then a sound, finally—deep and heavy.

I hear it back in my mind—prey, prey, prey. Maybe that's all I am now.

As vulnerable as it makes me feel, I can’t stop wanting this. Wanting him to force me to give in, force me to be what he thinks I am.Prey.What I want to be, maybe. Just once, I want someone to know what I need better than I do.

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