18. Blood Ballet

CHAPTER 18

Blood Ballet

WREN

I can almost taste her fear, bitter and electric in the air, burning its way through my veins. Each jagged breath she takes fuels me, heightening the primal rush that surges with every beat of my heart.

Her footsteps crash through the underbrush, a staccato rhythm that pulls me forward. She’s nearby, and the anticipation of closing the distance, of seeing her breath, sends a shiver of satisfaction down my spine.

Monty and Nico are doing their part well, herding her like prey into the clearing ahead. But I stay back, hidden in the trees, tracking her every desperate move. The rush of watching her without her knowing, of being the unseen predator, stokes the fire burning inside me.

She bursts into the clearing, and the moonlight wraps around her like a spotlight. Her hair catches the silvery light, and for a moment, she looks otherworldly—like something torn from a dream, fragile and feral all at once.

She stumbles, but recovers quickly, her body shifting with the same instinctive grace that captivated me in the ballroom. Even now, even with terror coursing through her, she moves with a precision that feels deliberate. Like she was born for this dance.

And this is a dance. The chase, the fear, the way she falls only to rise again. It’s all part of the performance. A performance meant for me .

"Beautiful," I whisper, loud enough for her to hear. My voice carries through the clearing, a string pulling her tighter into my web. "Even now, you can't help but move like you're dancing."

She whirls toward the sound, wide eyes scanning the darkness. Her chest heaves, blood streaks her arms and legs, and her movements are more erratic, less controlled. But even her exhaustion is beautiful to watch.

She stumbles, caught off guard by how close my voice is. The way fear ripples across her face thrills me, a dark pleasure coursing through my body. It’s intoxicating, a heady elixir that heightens my senses. Others have run through these woods, but none of them moved like her. None of them have ever made terror look so exquisite.

She bolts for the trees again, and I follow her. I’m savoring the moment, the way she fights against the inevitable, the way her body betrays her, stumbling, trembling, giving me glimpses of her fear.

"Tell me, Ballerina." I move parallel to her path. "Is part of you enjoying this? Do you like being pursued?"

Her pace falters, her breaths growing more frantic, and a dark excitement courses through me. Her fear is real, but there’s something else. Something she doesn’t want to acknowledge. And I want to drag it into the light.

"Your heart must be racing. But is it just fear? Or is there more? A hunger you don’t dare to name?"

Her body reacts before her mind can. She’s running on instinct now, her desperation a living, breathing thing that fills the air between us.

My heart is hammering. The power I have over her—the way her body moves in response to mine, the way her fear and exhaustion make her vulnerable—it's heady, almost overwhelming. My breath comes faster, the need to close the distance between us almost impossible to ignore.

A branch cracks beneath my foot—on purpose. She spins toward the sound. Her eyes are wild, her pupils blown wide with adrenaline, her hair a chaotic halo framing her flushed, tear-streaked face. Blood from various scratches marks her skin like war paint. She looks untamed, like something that belongs to the night … and I can’t look away .

Desperate, fierce, and devastatingly beautiful.

Heat coils in my stomach, burning low and hot, spreading through me with visceral intensity. I’m hard, my body aching with the need to touch her, to feel her trembling beneath me. I clench my jaw, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out, to take, to claim. The chase is intoxicating, yes, but the moment I catch her … that’s what I crave most. This isn’t just a hunt. It’s an obsession. A need that consumes me, that demands I take her, break her, make her mine.

I circle her silently, staying just out of sight. "Isn’t this what you've always wanted? To matter? To be seen? To be alive?"

"Stop it!"

The sound of her breaking sends lust surging through me, intense and exhilarating. She’s unraveling, but there's something else beneath it.

My lips curve into a smile.

"Why? Because I'm right?" Another deliberate sound, this time from her other side. She whirls again, searching the darkness, her fear palpable. "You've spent so long in the shadows, and now you're out in the open. No hiding, no masks. I see you, every part of you, and you can't escape it."

Monty's flashlight beam cuts through the trees, and she spins away from it, only to stumble back toward me.

"I saw how alive you became in the ballroom." I let my voice drop lower, more intimate, meant only for her. "How you gave yourself to the music despite your fear. Because someone was finally paying attention. And it felt good, didn’t it? It felt good to be wanted."

She runs again, but her steps are uneven now. I follow easily, savoring each stumble, every ragged breath.

My body is alight with sensation, the rush of the chase mingling with a darker, more primal instinct. It sends a shiver of pleasure through me. My fingers flex, the anticipation almost unbearable. I want to catch her, to feel her against me, to drag submission out of her.

"You could stop running." I make the offer in a whisper. "Face what you're really feeling. But being chased … it's addictive, isn't it?"

A small sob escapes her, her shoulders shuddering with her failed effort to hide it, but she doesn't slow. Her foot catches on a root, and she trips. Before she can fall, I'm there, catching her arm. I spin her around, pinning her against a tree. The impact forces the breath from her lungs, her gasp morphing into a whimper as I press my body against hers, trapping her in place.

The contact sends electricity through me. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and it sets me alight. Desire roaring to life, demanding more. I move even closer, enjoying the way she struggles against me.

"There you are.” My voice is a mix of triumph and hunger. "Found you."

Her chest rises and falls as she tries to catch her breath, each inhale making her breasts brush against my chest. Her eyes are enormous, glistening with fear, locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re scared.” My lips brush against her ear. “So helpless. So perfect.”

I trace my finger down her throat, the delicate line of her neck, feeling her pulse racing beneath her skin, like a hummingbird struggling to escape. The sensation sends a rush of heat through me, my control slipping.

How long can I keep myself from taking what I want?

The heat of her body, the way she shivers against me … I can't get enough. I want to strip her bare, and fuck her where she stands.

"Let me go." Her voice is breathless, trembling as much as her body.

"Why would I do that?" I stroke along her jaw with my thumb, tilting her head back. "When catching you feels this good? "

She’s shaking, and I savor every shiver, every hitch of her breath. This close, her scent is overwhelming—the light, floral fragrance mixing with sweat and fear, clinging to her skin. My blood burns with it, roaring through my veins, demanding more.

"Please—"

"Please what?" I lower my head, my lips kissing a path along her jaw. "Please let you go? Please stop making you feel things you don't want to admit?" My lips cover the pulse beating at the base of her throat. "Your heart is racing. But is it just terror? Or is it the thrill of knowing you can't hide from me? Of knowing I see you in a way no one else ever has?"

I lick over her skin, tasting her fear.

"You can't hide from me, Ileana, no matter how hard you try. You’re mine."

I step back. She stumbles, her body sagging with relief and confusion. The moment I release her, my body aches to pull her back, to feel her warmth pressed into me once more. But I force myself to hold back, to let her go, the anticipation only fueling the fire inside me.

"Run." The command is sharp, making her flinch, her gaze snapping up to meet mine. "Show me again how fear makes you dance."

For a moment she stays frozen, her back against the tree. Then, survival instinct kicks in, and she bolts into the darkness.

I give her a thirty-second head start, counting each second out loud, my voice echoing through the stillness, my body almost vibrating with the need to chase. To claim. To possess .

"Ready or not." The words drip with dark promise, resonating through the night. "Here I come."