Vane pulls up on my other side, green eyes glinting with amusement even in the dim streetlight. “Let me guess. Urgent business to attend to?”
The light turns green. I gun it, but Knox matches myspeed effortlessly, weaving through the sparse late-night traffic like the reckless bastard he is.
“Xavier!” Knox’s voice crackles through my helmet speaker, the motorcycle intercom cutting through the wind noise. “It’s against the fucking rules! Twenty-four hours, no contact with the prey. You know this!”
I know exactly what I’m doing. And I know exactly why Knox is trying to stop me. Because he can read me better than anyone, and right now, I’m transparent as fucking glass.
Mira’s been gone for four hours. Four hours since she walked out of Purgatory with Cora, both shell-shocked and silent. Four hours since I watched her climb into that taxi without looking back.
Four hours, and I can still feel her hands on my chest and hear her voice saying my name like a prayer.
This is bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit, and I know it.
I’ve never chased a woman. Never felt this gnawing ache in my chest when they were not within reach. I’ve never given a single fuck about the twenty-four-hour cooling-off period we’ve always enforced after a Hunt, as I rarely claimed women. Sometimes, I might have had them for a day or two.
But Mira isn’t just any woman. She’s not like the others who’ve warmed my bed and disappeared from my thoughts the moment they left. She’s under my skin, in my blood, rewiring a fundamental part of my brain that I didn’t even know existed.
“Xavier, don’t do this!” Knox’s voice is getting moredesperate. “You’re losing your fucking mind over a woman who probably hates your guts!”
Landon and Vane have dropped back, recognizing a lost cause when they see one. Smart brothers. They know when to pick their battles.
But Knox? Knox never knows when to quit.
“The rules exist for a reason!” he yells, swerving around a late-night delivery truck to stay beside me. “Give them space to process! Let them?—”
I cut him off by taking a hard right toward Mira’s neighborhood, leaving him cursing.
Knox’s bike fades into the distance, his parting shout lost in the wind. Smart bastard knows when he’s beaten.
I pull up outside Mira’s building, the familiar weight of obsession settling in my chest like a stone. The windows are dark. Every single one.
My helmet hits the pavement harder than it should when I yank it off. The building’s entrance buzzes me through—money talks, even to sleepy doormen at three in the morning.
Her hallway smells like coffee and old carpet. I stand outside 4B longer than I care to admit, listening for any sound from inside. Nothing.
The lock picks easily—a skill that’s served me well over the years. Her apartment opens to darkness and silence. Empty.
“Fuck.” The word echoes in the space she should be occupying.
I flip on the lights, taking in her world. Books everywhere—journalism awards on the mantle, a laptop stillopen on the kitchen counter, half-finished coffee in the sink. Evidence of a life interrupted, but no Mira.
She’s supposed to be here. Processing. Thinking about what comes next. About me.
Instead, she’s... where? Some bar, drowning her sorrows? Another man’s bed already?
The thought makes my fists clench.
No. Not after what happened between us. Not after the way she said my name when she came apart in my arms.
Then it hits me. Obvious, really.
Cora.
Of course, she’d stay with her best friend. The same friend who got herself entangled with three vengeful individuals because she couldn’t stay out of business that didn’t concern her. They’re probably holed up together, comparing notes.
I should drive to Cora’s place. Drag Mira out of whatever pity party they’re having and remind her exactly who she belongs to now.
But Knox’s words echo in my head, stopping me.
