Hunt Me! (I Crave The Chase) - Page 202

Predator and prey.

I couldn’t stop myself though. Couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t even bring myself to breathe for fear of missing a single beat of his sweet humming as the seconds ticked by and the gas siphoning into his car slowed.

He opened his eyes.

Warmth flooded my body as his gaze met mine.

Surprise tinged the air and I couldn’t help myself, my tongue lolling happily as I stared at him, trying to make myself as small as possible to avoid intimidating him.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, his eyes wide and soft. Softening even more as he wiped his hands off on his jeans, forgetting the gas entirely, as he took a half step toward me. “Damn, buddy, you look hungry.”

I always looked emaciated after a full moon. It took a lot out of me. The wounds my claws left on my body that sometimes stayed for days afterward, and the craving for hot flesh—when left unfulfilled—resulted in my body looking sickly for days till I recovered.

I was not at my best.

A thought that made me self-conscious as the tall man bent close, his hand cupped like he was waiting for me to sniff him. I didn’t need to touch him to do it. I’d been inhaling his scent since the moment he parked his car—it’s what had driven me closer after all, away from the hunt I’d been on.

Away from the quiet creak of trees and the rustle of wild things.

Where I belonged.

Correction.

Where I’d thought I belonged. Till that moment. Till the moment those fingers carded through my fur and that sweet voice echoed in the air. “Stay here.” he’d said, and I stayed. I stayed because what else could I do?

When he’d asked so gently?

When he was everything.

So sweet. So pretty. So wonderful.

So handsome. So amazing.

When he returned with a big bag of beef jerky, a water bottle, and a paper bowl, I couldn’t help the way my tail thumped happily against the ground in response. It wagged back and forth, with a mind of its own as my human’s eyes grew soft and he knelt beside me.

“It’s not much,” he said as he filled the bowl with water and tore the pack of meat open. It smelled processed. Cooked. Not fresh at all. But I ate it obediently anyway, lapping at his fingertips every time he offered me a morsel, my heart thudding unsteadily when he laughed—finding my tongue ticklish.

He was kind.

He was kind.

So sweet.

So perfect.

So good, good, good.

My mate.

My perfect, wonderful, sweet mate.

Feeding me because he saw I needed him. Stroking those fingers through my fur till I rolled on my back and offered him my belly—something I’d never done. Not for anyone other than my father. He rubbed me gently there, humming softly under his breath like he didn’t even notice as I let him touch me where I was most vulnerable.

My mate.

My mate.

My mate-mate-mate.