His Little Hunter
Melissa frowned, her intuition clearly screaming that I was lying.
“Well, I hope you are,” Dante grumbled, checking the screen of his phone. “Because your Hunter is on the premises. She was just let in.”
She’s here.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
My body thrummed, a vibration that started in my marrow. I couldn’t decide if it was the thrill of the hunt or the desperate, pathetic need to see her face again.
I leapt off the couch, moving with a speed that blurred the air, and dashed to the balcony that overlooked the chaotic dance floor. My eyes, honed by centuries of predation, dissected the sea of writhing bodies, searching for that familiar mop of red hair.
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