Chapter 34

My heart pounds so loudly, I swear that alone will give away my location. Someone or something is here with me, I'm sure of it.

It has to be him, right?Rational thoughts cease to make sense anymore. My feet pick up speed as I walk faster.

I'm safe. I'm safe. I'm safe.

I remind myself of what Sofia Kent told me when she walked me through the rules of Noire. She looked me in the eye and said I had all the power here. There would be security wearing night vision goggles patrolling the space, out of sight from us but close enough where if I were to scream the safe word or press the button on the sturdy silver cuff affixed to my wrist, they would come and rescue me.

I know I am safe. My mind knows that. Logic tells me that. I'm in a building in the middle of Manhattan.

But my subconscious hasn't gotten the memo, apparently. Because as I'm walking between the towering trees looming over me like monsters in the dark, hearing the rustling of the leaves trembling against the branches, seeing the eerie moonlight casting ghostly shadows on the dark grounds ahead of me, every fight-or-flight response in my body turns on.

Everything feels real.

My breathing is shallow. My pulse is rickety in my ears.

Dark shapes loom in the distance.

More trees? An abandoned building of some sort? I can't quite make out the objects under the inky, gloomy night.

My feet stumble over something on the ground and I let out a screech before my hand flies to my mouth to stem the noise. The underbrush looks dark and foreboding, a devil lurking in the bottomless abyss, its tendrils slithering and swaying, and I knot my hands in fists as the sounds of my ragged breathing escape from my lips.

An owl hoots in the distance, a ghostly echo. I hear faint pitter pattering of footsteps, like some nocturnal animal is scurrying out of my way as I trample on the uneven path before me. There are no animals, are there? There can't be. The wind kicks up, a haunted howl tearing through the tall, menacing trees and sweat beads on the back of my neck.

I fight every impulse to run.

But run where?

Crackle.

I freeze, my ears perking up at the sound.

It's an animal. It has to be an animal. Or is it him?

I swallow as my heart pounds against my rib cage. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. I hold my breath.

Snap. Crackle.

Every hair on my body stands at attention and my hands shake at my sides.

It's him.

The lasered focus of his stare at my back. The familiar heat making the hairs on my neck stand at attention. The hunter, the predator, not the man. His footsteps are stealthy, but I can feel each thump approaching me. It's like he's taunting me. Fear or excitement claws in my throat and my body burns with jittery energy.

The muscles in my legs twitch, my body choosing flight in his presence.

Logic ceases to make sense and I run.

"Oh shit," I mumble under my breath as I flee as fast as my legs can carry me, my simple striped cotton dress plastered against me. "Oh, God."

I don't know why I'm running, but I'm not a slave to my thoughts right now. I just follow the impulses of my body.

It's freeing.

Everything is a sea of murkiness and shadows and suddenly, the ghostly silver moonbeams fade and I glance up, noticing the moon partially obscured by a thick layer of clouds.

My footfalls are resounding as I pound against the grass and dirt, my lungs burn for oxygen, and the wind feels biting against my face.

But I feel alive, the fear mixing with exhilaration, a high I've never experienced before. Everything is heightened and more intense. My body turns heated, my eyesight sharpening. I hurtle through the trees away from the hunter who's trying to catch me, oblivious to the branches scraping my skin, the brushes digging into my cotton dress.

An unusual energy tears through me, and I swallow the urge to laugh.

The rustling is loud behind me now. Whoever is there is no longer trying to hide his presence.

But I know it's him. I can feel him. His energy. His raw focus. His power. I can feel the distance closing between us, but still, I run.

I run and run and run.

Perhaps we all have a bit of prey inside us, that gut feeling, which keeps us all alive.

The imposing dark shape in front of me, which I can finally make out, is a crumbled wall of an abandoned building. I'm so close; it appears within my grasp. It looks like a sanctuary in this madness.

I can hide behind it and wait until the danger has passed, to see if it's really him chasing me, hunting me, or if it's something else. My skin sizzles, every nerve ending on my body awake and attuned to my surroundings. I no longer feel cold but feel very hot instead as I imagine the man behind the thousand-dollar suits and centuries of good breeding coming undone before my eyes.

I feel the telltale pulsing between my legs, my panties dampening.

I never had this with Lloyd, or even in my imagination during lonely nights.

But now, having experienced it, I can't imagine life without this excruciating high.

The sensations are disorienting. The fear, the lust, the excitement, everything which feels familiar yet distinctly unfamiliar, all magnified tenfold. Unbidden, my lips curve in a smile as I careen toward the tall wall ahead, which is just a few feet away from me. It feels like a victory. If I can reach it, I can—

A hard body slams into me and a muscular arm bands around my waist, lifting me off the ground.

I let out a scream, my body automatically fighting as I claw at my assailant, my nails digging into his forearm, my feet swinging and kicking against his shins.

"I got you. You can't escape me." A low guttural rasp. The familiar scent of the great wilderness with hints of citrus sifts to my nostrils. The hard muscles pressed against my back, rippling with tension.

Ryland.

My mind, a swirl of chaos as adrenaline churns through my veins, registers this pillar of heat as the man of my dreams. The man my heart pounds for, the man whose soul calls to mine. The man who infuriates me to no end.

My clit pulses and my core throbs, my body struggling with the warring urges to fight or to give up, to succumb to the hunter or to give it back to him as good as I get.

Then, I think about this past month. His icy demeanor. His cutting words. And suddenly, my blood boils and the choice is clear.

I grit my teeth and thrash against him, even though my clit pulses for his touch and my body aches for him. My hands deliver solid punches to his body, but it's as if I'm hitting the cement wall ahead. He doesn't grunt in pain, doesn't slow his strides. He's moving, carrying me like I weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes. The spoils of war.

He's so powerful.

The thought causes me to break out in a fevered sweat. I want to come undone underneath him.

"Ryland." His name is uttered on a ragged exhale as I scratch his arms, his torso, anywhere I can reach.

He freezes.

His arms band tighter around me and I feel his muscles tensing up. A startled breath rips from his lips.

Then, his head dips toward me, his nose skating to my neck, and he takes a deep inhale.

"Fuck," he rasps. "Millie?"