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I say nothing, just listen to the slow rise and fall of each breath behind my chest.

"She's been off the radar for a while. After graduating from Rhode Island School of Design, she painted on the side while bartending at an upscale lounge near the college. Odd for a child of such a wealthy family to keep a job. For the past two months the family has been quietly trying to locate her. It's clear that she's trying to disappear. There are rumors swirling about an arranged marriage, but nothing's been announced publicly."

Well that explains her demands for a studio and paints.

"Are her parents aware of what happened? That it was Luna who attended and not Genevieve?"

"I would imagine so, considering her parents would want to know which Collector possessed her."

He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower.

"Sir, her father is a member of the Club. A Patron. He never managed to rise to more than that, but he is well connected."

I hang up without answering, the implications sinking into my skin like a brand.

Luna Laurent.

Knowing what I know of her now, I'm not surprised that she'd walk into a room built to break her and look at every man like she could break them first.

And that alone is the reason I chose her.

I throw her name into a search engine in my phone,wanting to see what comes up. At first glance, it looks like nothing. But I know better. With a few more clicks and some more digging I find her name on a blog post from her college. What I wasn't prepared for was the beautiful paintings displayed on my screen.

Each stroke a deep cut of emotion, each color a scream of her soul.

I lift my head and stare at the hallway again, jaw tight, body still humming from the way she felt grinding on my lap not ten minutes ago. I don't know if she came to the Hunt to be claimed to escape her arranged marriage or was foolish enough to think she could make it through the night.

I do know she's mine now.

And if her family wants her back to complete whatever engagement plans they have? Well, they're going to have to live with disappointment.

I make my way into the bedroom. Luna's sitting on the edge of my bed when I walk in. Bare legs crossed, spine straight, hands braced behind her like she's casually lounging—but her eyes? Her hazel eyes are locked on mine the moment I open the door.

She's not relaxed. She's waiting. And I hate how fucking well she reads me already.

I don't say anything at first. I move to the closet and pull clothes from the hangers, before getting dressed with my back to her. Slow. Controlled. Like nothing's wrong. Like I didn't just learn the girl in my bed has people trying to erase her existence.

Because that's exactly what they'll do. The Club exists in the shadows. Someone like her clearing the smoke? They won't allow it. Maybe they won't kill her, but she'd be moved to a faroff country with no means of return. Not like I'd ever let that fucking happen.

Her voice cuts through the silence before I can stop her. "Are you leaving?"

I button the shirt methodically, one after another. "Yes."

"Where?" Her question hangs in the air, deceptively simple.

I glance over my shoulder, meeting her eyes. "Somewhere I need to be."

She tilts her head slightly, a gesture I'm already learning means she's assessing, calculating. "That's not an answer."

"And yet, it's all you're getting." I keep my voice level as I continue dressing.

She doesn't flinch at my terseness. Instead, her eyes narrow, searching my face.

"Something's changed," she says. "With that call."

I finish the last button, reach for the watch on the nightstand. "You're imagining things."

Her laugh is soft. Dry. Nothing like the breathless sounds she made against my chest earlier. "Right. Because I'm just here to be kept pretty and quiet."