Page 15 of Hunted to the Altar
Didn’t press against me.
He lay on top of the covers, arms behind his head, boots on the floor, gaze on the ceiling. Watching nothing. Or maybe just listening to the tight wheeze of my breath, to the way the mattress creaked every time I shifted to keep space between us.
I hated that the room smelled warm and clean. That the pillows were soft. That the bed didn’t feel like a dungeon, even though it should have.
“Why me?” I whispered.
He turned his head slightly, that eerie blue eye catching the moonlight through the curtains.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
My pulse skittered beneath my skin.
He wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t threatening me. And somehow that made it worse. It made my imagination do all the work.
But then he added, almost like an afterthought?—
“I’ll be here all night. Don’t try anything. You won’t like what happens if you do.”
I didn’t say anything after that.
Outside the windows, the city blinked like a distant dream. I listened to the rise and fall of his breathing—slow, even, like he didn’t have a single regret in the world.
And after a while—long enough that the panic wore itself out, long enough that the adrenaline crashed and my eyes stung from the weight of exhaustion—I started to believe he meant it.
That he really wouldn’t hurt me.
Not tonight.
Eventually, my body slumped against the pillow, one wrist still bound, my thoughts still spiraling... but slower now. Muted.
I fell asleep to the sound of him breathing beside me.
Like the monster in a fairy tale that knew he didn’t have to chase the princess anymore.
She was already his.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the room. I stared out, standing there wondering how this was my life. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this suffocated.
The man who claimed to be my protector sat on the other side of the room, his piercing blue eyes locked onto me like a hawk watching its prey. Samuel said little, but his silence was asoppressive as his presence. Every move I made felt scrutinized, cataloged, and analyzed. It made my skin crawl.
My apartment had been stripped from me, my freedom stolen, and now I was caged in Samuel’s luxurious penthouse. It wasn’t the cramped, suffocating prison I’d expected, but its gleaming surfaces and sprawling views felt more like a trap than an escape. The taste of coffee lingered bitter on my tongue, reminding me of how little comfort even small indulgences offered now.
Samuel’s voice broke the tense silence. “You’ve been quiet.”
I didn’t bother turning to face him. “What’s there to say?”
His laugh was soft, barely audible, but it grated on my nerves. “You’re always full of words when you’re angry, Nina. I find it hard to believe you’ve suddenly run out.”
“I’m trying not to waste my energy,” I replied, my tone icy. “You’re not worth it.”
That brought him to his feet. I caught the subtle shift in his body language from the corner of my eye—the predatory way he moved, his steps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. He stopped just behind me, his presence looming like a shadow.
“You think I’m your enemy,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But the people out there?” He gestured toward the city skyline, his words hanging in the air like a noose. “They’d do far worse than throw you in the trunk of a car.”
