There are two kinds of prey in this world—the kind that runs, and the kind that wants to be caught.
She stood at the edge of the ballroom, porcelain-perfect in a sea of monsters. Her dress shimmered like innocence, her eyes darted like fear. But I wasn't fooled.
Not for a second.
Because I saw the way she shivered when I looked at her. Not from fear—but from anticipation.
She wanted to be hunted. She needed it.
The sweet little thing with trembling hands and a wicked, hidden smile. A lamb to the slaughter—but one that begged for the knife.
I hadn't touched her. Not yet. But the bond between us was already drenched in sin.
And when I took her, it wouldn't be soft.
It would be the kind of claiming the gods themselves would look away from.
Because when I chase, I never stop.
And when I catch her…
She'll beg me never to let her go.