Page 122 of Gilded Locks
Marigold’s pulse kicked against her throat like a trapped bird throwing itself against cage bars. “What are you talking about?”
“You sat there, so fucking judgmental, questioning why anyone would enjoy being hunted.” Hunter’s voice dropped to a growl. The threatening implication of his words vibrated through her chest, settling low in her belly where it bloomed into liquid heat. “That’s an arrogant position for a trembling little fox to hold.”
“Hunter—” Ash started, but the warning died when Hunter’s gaze cut to him.
“She needs to understand what we offer. What we protect her from.” He turned back to Marigold, and her breath caught at the dangerous glint in his eyes.
Every instinct screamed run even as her body softened in refusal to move. “You won’t hurt me,” she said, reminding herself as much as the others.
“Are you sure?” He took a step and she immediately mirrored it with a backstep of her own.
“Out there,” he pointed to the tall window, “at the Feast, women are prey. They beg for the opportunity.”
She shook her head, finding his claim impossible to imagine.
“You don’t believe me?” He looked at his brother. “Tell her, Stone.”
Stone shrugged with zero misgivings to such claims. “Our office is littered with applications. Essays from women all over the world pleading to attend the next feast.”
“You see, Lisichka, they want to be one of the fallen.”
“Why?”
Ash’s low chuckle distracted her, but she quickly returned her focus to Hunter. In the split second she took her eyes off him, he moved closer without making a sound.
“They’re chased by men who paid millions for the privilege, men who don’t know them, don’t care about anything beyond the thrill of a catch. Here?” He stepped closer, and she felt the heat radiating off his massive frame, smelled the masculine scent of cedar and something darker, something that whispered of violence barely leashed. “Here, you’re mine to hunt. Mine to catch. Mine to claim. And, like them, you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”
Stone released her wrist, stepping back with a dark smile that sent electricity crackling across her skin. “You better get going, Goldilocks.”
“Going where?” Her eyes widened as all three men began rolling up their sleeves and loosening their collars.
“Thirty seconds.” Hunter cracked his neck, the sound sharp as breaking branches. “That’s all the head start you get.”
“To do what?” Marigold staggered back, her head shaking in protest, but arousal already pooled low in her belly, mixing with genuine fear in a cocktail that made her dizzy, made her thighs clench.
“Run.”
Her wide eyed stare turned to Ash, but there was no sign of teasing in his eyes. Only raw hunger.
She backed into the door, her hand fumbling behind her back for the brass knob.
“Tick-tock, Lisichka. That’s the sound of time running out.” Hunter’s smile was all teeth, all threat, all promise. “Because when I catch you—and I will catch you—I’m going to fuck that pretty little ass until you scream my name loud enough that even the servants will hear.”
Heat flooded her face, her chest, between her legs—everywhere at once. Her mouth went dry while other parts of her grew wet with twisted curiosity. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He tilted his head, studying her like a wolf studies a rabbit, calculating which way she’ll bolt, how fast she’ll run, exactly how she’ll taste when he tears into her soft flesh. “Clock’s started.”
Frozen between arousal and disbelief, between the urge to run and the equally strong urge to surrender right here, she couldn’t move.
“Twenty-nine.”
“Hunter, this is insane?—”
“Twenty-eight.”
Ash stood, moving to block the other exit with his considerable frame. “You’ll want to get moving, printsessa. Unless you’re trying to make this easy for him.”
“Twenty-four.”
