Page 41 of Stalked
The air between us thickens with each exchange. I shift in my seat, feeling the leather against my bare skin beneath my dress.
“You know,” Vane says, leaning forward, “I've spent fifteen years learning exactly what it means to be a true Dominant.” His eyes burn into mine. “Not just taking what I want, but understanding the exchange of power. The responsibility.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. “Is that so?”
He stands, reaching into his desk drawer. “I'll show you what a real Dom is. Not those New York boys playing dress-up.”
Vane slides a black envelope across the desk. My name gleams in silver calligraphy on the front.
“Your membership to Purgatory is approved,” he says, voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my thighs clench. “On one condition. You accept my invitation inside this envelope.”
“Invitation to what?” I ask, eyeing the black envelope. The silver calligraphy of my name shimmers under the low lighting of his office.
Vane's lips curve. “The Hollow's Hunt.”
My eyebrows hitch up. “What?”
The Hollow's Hunt. I've heard whispers about it during my research into Ravenwood's underground sex scene. An exclusive event shrouded in mystery and scandal, hosted by the elite of the town. The details were always vague, but the implications were clear—it was something dark and erotic.
“Read the invitation,” Vane says, tapping the envelope with one tattooed finger. “Along with the contract and NDA inside. Then decide.”
I reach for the envelope, feeling its weight—heavier than expected, the paper expensive and textured. “And if I'm not interested in your hunt?”
Vane leans back in his chair. The casualness of his posture doesn't match the intensity of his gaze.
“Then no access to Purgatory,” he states. “The Hunt is my vetting process, Lia. We need to know exactly who we're letting into our sanctuary.”
“So it's blackmail.” I curl my fingers around the envelope, fighting the urge to tear it in half and throw it in his face.
“What happens during the Hunt reveals more about a person than any application ever could. We learn what people truly desire, what they're willing to do to get it.” His voice drops lower. “What they're afraid of.”
I clutch the envelope tighter, feeling trapped between curiosity and caution. The desire to return to the scene that drove me here tonight wars with the danger of getting entangled with Vane Blackwood.
“Take it home,” Vane says. “Read it carefully. You have forty-eight hours to decide.”
I rise from the chair, clutching the envelope to my chest like a shield. “I'll think about it,” I say.
Vane stands too, coming around the desk again. This time, I do step back, but my retreat is halted by the wall behind me. He places one hand against the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in without touching me.
“You know what I think?” He asks. “I think you've already decided. I think you came to Purgatory tonight looking for exactly what I'm offering.”
His proximity is maddening. I can smell him—cologne and a scene that is unique to Vane that triggers memories I've spent years trying to forget. The heat from his body radiates toward mine, making my skin prickle with awareness.
“Don't presume to know what I want,” I warn, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
Vane's eyes drop to my lips, lingering there before traveling down my neck, to my collarbone, and lower. “Your body gives you away, wildflower. Always has.”
I follow his gaze and notice my nipples have hardened, visible through the thin fabric of my dress.
Traitors.
“I should go,” I whisper.
Vane leans closer, his lips hovering near my ear. “Before you do, remember something. In that Hunt, I'll be coming for you. And this time, you won't be able to run away.”
His breath against my skin sends shivers cascading down my spine. When he pulls back, our faces are inches apart. For one heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to kiss me—and worse, I'm not sure I'd stop him.
Instead, he steps back, giving me space. “Forty-eight hours, Lia.”
