Page 17 of Hunted to the Altar
He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly smug. “You’re not a hostage, Nina. You’re a priority.”
I rolled my eyes, turning my back to him as I stalked toward the window. The city lights stretched out before me, a reminder of everything I’d been cut off from. But even with my back turned, I could feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracing the curve of my spine and lingering on the back of my neck.
“Do you ever tire of staring?” I asked, my voice biting.
“Not when it’s you,” he replied.
My breath hitched, and I hated the way my body reacted to his words. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. He was just playing games, trying to get under my skin. And I would not let him win.
But when I turned back around, the look in his eyes stoppedme in my tracks. There was no teasing smirk, no trace of amusement. Just pure, unfiltered intensity that made my knees feel weak.
“You drive me insane, you know that?” he said, his voice rough.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Good,” I said, though my voice wavered. “That’s the least you deserve.”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine, Nina. Whether or not you like it.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I turned away again, my hands gripping the windowsill so tightly my knuckles turned white. I didn’t trust myself to speak, not with the way my emotions were spiraling out of control. But even as I stared out at the city, I could still feel him watching me, his gaze a constant reminder that no matter how far I tried to run, I would never escape him.
It was nearing dinner time when Samuel decided he’d had enough of my stubbornness. He stood abruptly from his chair, his imposing figure silhouetted against the warm light of the kitchen. I glanced at him warily, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if bracing for whatever he might do next.
“Dinner is ready,” he announced, his voice calm but firm. “Come and eat.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “I’m not hungry.”
He took a step closer, his blue eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a request.”
“Too bad,” I shot back, meeting his gaze with defiance. “You can’t just kidnap me and expect me to play house with you. It’s the principle.”
Samuel tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Principle? That’s what you’re clinging to?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “You don’t get to act like this is normal. Like we’re normal.”
His smirk faded, replaced by a look of steely resolve. He closed the distance between us in two strides, towering over me as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You can starve yourself out of spite. But you will sit at that table, and you will acknowledge the food I’ve prepared. Because whether you like it or not, Nina, this is your reality now.”
My heart raced, my resolve wavering under the weight of his words. But I refused to let him see my fear. “I’m not your prisoner,” I said, voice trembling but defiant.
Samuel reached out, brushing a stray curl from my face. His touch was deceptively gentle, sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. “No, you’re not,” he murmured. “But you’re mine. And I take care of my things.”
He didn’t move away. Instead, his hand lingered near my face, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw. My breath caught, my body frozen under his scrutiny. His eyes dropped to my lips, and for a terrifying second, I thought he might kiss me. My stomach twisted with equal parts dread and something far more dangerous.
But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in just close enough for his breath to graze my cheek, his voice an indistinct murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Come to dinner, Nina.”
And then he stepped back, leaving me standing there, my pulse racing and my resolve in tatters. I stared after him as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t just losing control of the situation—I was losing control of myself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Samuel
The faint clickof my watch as the second hand swept around its face was the only sound in the dimly lit penthouse. The quiet was a fragile thing, wrapped in layers of order I’d meticulously maintained. Every glass surface gleamed, every piece of furniture positioned precisely where it belonged. Chaos couldn’t live here. Not in my space.
I sat at the dining table, fingers running over the edge of my sleeve, adjusting it until the crisp white cuff was perfectly aligned. A small ritual. One of many. My way of holding onto control when the world outside constantly threatened to unravel it.
But then there was Nina.
She sat on the far end of the couch, her body curled into itself like she could fold small enough to disappear. The faintest line of tension traced her frame, from her rigid shoulders to the way her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt. She was myopposite—a storm of raw edges and frayed emotions that didn’t belong in my carefully constructed life. And yet, I couldn’t look away.
I shouldn’t want her as much as I do. It was more than want—it was need. She was chaos, and chaos was something I should destroy, not crave. But my little bunny wasn’t just chaos. She was fragile and strong all at once, like a knife that could shatter or cut depending on how you held it. And I couldn’t stop holding her.
