Page 60 of Stalked
“This time, wildflower, I'm carving my essence into your very cells—a signature so profound that your body will reject any other touch as counterfeit.”
It's not just a promise but a biological certainty I intend to fulfill. Lia Morgan exists in perfect symmetry to me, and during this Hunt, I'll ensure that equilibrium becomes permanent.
25
LIA
My body still trembles as Vane carefully lowers me from the rope harness. His fingers work to unravel the intricate knots that had bound me. Each brush of his skin against mine sends aftershocks through my oversensitive nerves.
“There you go,” he murmurs, supporting my weight as the last rope falls away. The indentations in my skin form a beautiful pattern—his mark on me.
I expect him to pull me close, to claim me again, but instead, he takes a step back. His eyes glint as he studies me.
“I want you to run again,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Let's see where the chase gets us.”
I stare at him, confusion mingling with the lingering pleasure clouding my mind. “What?”
“You like running, don't you?” There's an edge to his words now. “Ran pretty far fifteen years ago. All the way to New York without even saying goodbye.”
I've been expecting this particular grenade since our paths crossed again, but the detonation still steals my breath. The truth in his words is undeniable.
“I couldn't face you,” I admit, finding my voice. “I couldn't face what happened between us.”
“You avoided me for three weeks after prom, Lia. Then disappeared.”
“I was eighteen and terrified of what I felt,” I counter, straightening my spine despite my nakedness. “But I'm done running, Vane.”
His mouth curves into that familiar smirk. “Running makes the Hunt more fun. Besides, I've already caught you once.” He takes another step back, giving me space. “Don't you want to see if you can outrun me this time?”
The dynamic between us shifts like tectonic plates—subtle but fundamental. What was pure predator and prey moments ago now carries undertones of mutual challenge, of consensual pursuit rather than mere capture.
“Fine,” I say, surprising myself with a smile. “I'll run.”
The truth settles in my chest: I've always wanted him. Even when I fled to Columbia while he stayed behind despite the scholarships he'd earned—sacrificing his future for brothers who needed him. I couldn't reconcile the brilliant, dangerous boy with the feelings he stirred in me then.
“Ten-minute head start,” Vane says, eyes never leaving mine. “Make it count, wildflower.”
I feel a rush of boldness sweep through me, standing naked before him with his marks still fresh on my skin. The power dynamic between us shifts constantly—a dance we've been performing since high school chemistry class.
“You better make it good when you catch me again,” I say, arching an eyebrow. My voice comes out huskier than intended, betraying my arousal despite my attempt at nonchalance.
Vane's eyes darken. A low, primal sound rumbles from his chest—half growl, half laugh. He steps forward suddenly, closingthe distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“The fact that you're standing here with my cum still dripping down your thighs and already wanting more tells me all I need to know.” His hand moves lightning-fast to grip my chin, tilting my face up to his. “It already was good, wildflower.”
My breath catches. I can't deny it—the evidence of our encounter is still warm between my legs, my body aching pleasantly from his possession. My cheeks flush with heat, but I refuse to look away from his intense gaze.
“Maybe I just want to see if you can do better,” I challenge, even as I lean subconsciously toward his touch.
His thumb traces my lower lip, a gesture both tender and possessive. “Eight minutes left of your head start. I suggest you use them wisely.”
I wink at Vane before turning away, my naked body still tingling from our encounter. I don't rush—there's something powerful about walking away from him at my own pace, letting him watch me leave.
“Tick tock, wildflower,” he calls after me.
The cool air of the corridor raises goosebumps across my skin as I make my way deeper into the maze. I take a left turn, then a right, putting some distance between us. My fingers trace the marks the ropes left on my skin—reminders of how completely I surrendered to him.
Only when I reach an intersection of three different hallways do I start to run. Not frantically, not desperately—but with purpose. My bare feet pad quietly against the floor as I navigate the twisting passages.
