But my body doesn’t seem to understand that distinction.
Xavier steps back abruptly, the loss of his warmth making me shiver despite the heated air in the chamber. His hands move to the restraints holding my wrists, and I feel the leather straps loosen.
Freedom.
My arms drop to my sides, muscles screaming from being held in position for so long. I flex my fingers, working feeling back into my hands as Xavier watches.
“Now,” he says, that dark, silky voice taking on a sharper edge. “Be a good girl and run for me again.”
The command hits me like a physical blow. After everything—after reducing me to trembling need and wringing that devastating orgasm from my unwilling body—he wants to hunt me through this maze again.
A dark glint enters his eyes, making ice form in my veins, despite the heat still coursing through me.
“What happens if I don’t?” I hear myself ask, hating how breathless I still sound.
Xavier’s smile is all sharp edges, promising violence.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, taking a step closer. “I have ways to make you run.”
I don’t move.
My legs shake from the aftershocks still coursing through my body, but I plant my feet and stare him down. “No.”
The word drops between us like a gauntlet. Xavier’s head tilts, and I catch the flash of genuine surprise.
“No?” he repeats.
“You heard me.” I cross my arms over my chest, hyperaware of how exposed I am in the torn red silk, how the fabric barely covers anything after his rough handling. “I’m not running anymore.”
Part of me wants to see what he’ll do when someone refuses to play his game. I catalog this as valuable information about his methods and psychology. But there’s another part—a part I don’t want to acknowledge—that’s curious about what other tools Xavier Blackwood has in his arsenal.
“Interesting.” He takes a step back, pulling out his phone with casual ease. “You know, Mira, when someone doesn’t follow the rules of my game, I have to get creative about motivation.”
The screen illuminates his mask as he taps on it. A moment later, the sound fills the chamber—not from the displays showing other hunts but from speakers hidden throughout the space.
Cora’s voice was raw with fear and pain.
“Please, I don’t want this. Please let me go.”
My blood turns to ice. The audio is crystal clear, Cora’s desperate pleas echoing off the metal walls around us. I can hear male voices responding, cruel laughter, and the sound of fabric tearing.
“Stop,” I whisper, but Xavier keeps scrolling through what sounds like a live feed.
“She’s being very uncooperative,” he muses,adjusting the volume so Cora’s cries grow louder. “My fellow hunters are animals.”
A scream cuts through the air, high and sharp with genuine terror. My best friend’s scream.
“You bastard.” The words tear from my throat as I lunge toward him, but Xavier catches my wrists easily.
“The longer you stand here defying me,” he says conversationally, “the less chance youhave of finding her.”
Another cry from the speakers, weaker this time. Broken.
“Run, Mira,” Xavier whispers against my ear, his grip on my wrists tightening. “Run fast enough, and maybe you’ll save her before they permanently damage your precious friend.”
He releases me with a shove, and I stumble backward on unsteady legs. The audio continues streaming from hidden speakers.
“Tick-tock,” Xavier says, checking his watch theatrically.
