Page 72 of His to Hunt

Sebastian gives me a knowing look. "Just be careful. The Club upholds their rules at all costs. Breaking them has consequences. Even for you."

I nod once, grateful for the warning but already calculating next steps. "Keep me posted if you hear anything else."

I turn to head back to Luna, but freeze mid-step. There, across the room, standing near one of the private lounges, is a familiar figure—tall, impeccably dressed in charcoal gray, his silver mask catching the red light. Anthony Baine. One of the Collectors. Watching.

Our eyes lock across the distance, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. He raises his glass slightly—not a toast, but a promise. A signal that the game has already begun.

I hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, making sure he understands that I'm not backing down. Then I turn my back on him deliberately and walk toward Luna.

Her eyes are wide as I approach, questions written across her face that she's too disciplined to ask aloud. I extend my hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation, rising to her feet with graceful precision.

"Everything okay?" she asks quietly as I guide her deeper into the club.

"It will be," I promise, my hand firm against the small of her back. My eyes scan the crowd, looking for threats, forwatchers, for anyone who might be too interested in the woman beside me.

The stakes have just risen considerably, and I need to make sure everyone in this club understands one critical fact. Luna Laurent belongs to me. And I protect what's mine.

The weight of eyes follows us as I guide Luna through the club toward the exit. I can feel Baine's stare burning into my back, cataloging, calculating. Let him watch. Let them all watch. She wears my collar, and that's all they need to know.

My hand stays firm against her lower back, my stride unhurried but deliberate. This is a message to everyone in the room—we leave on our terms, not theirs.

We're almost to the exit when I feel her change beneath my touch.

It's instantaneous—the sudden rigidity in her spine, the slight hitch in her breathing, the subtle tremor that cascades through her body like electricity. Every instinct I possess goes on high alert.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice pitched low. Not a question so much as a demand.

She doesn't answer. Doesn't move. Just freezes completely, her face draining of color as her eyes fix on a point near the entrance.

I follow her gaze, scanning the crowd with calculated precision until I see him—a man standing by the exit. Tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that speaks of old money and careful attention to detail.

Unlike everyone else in the club, his face is bare. No mask. A deliberate choice that feels like a statement. Or a challenge.

I don't recognize him, but I memorize him instantly—the confident stance, the square jaw, the way he carries himself like someone who's never had to ask permission for anything in hislife. His eyes are locked on Luna with an intensity that makes my blood run cold.

And then he smiles.

It's not the polite acknowledgment of a stranger or the warm greeting of an acquaintance. It's the smile of a man who sees something he believes belongs to him in the hands of someone else.

The possessiveness in that smile tells me everything I need to know.

This isn't a random encounter. This is history. This is a ghost from her past that she thought she'd left behind.

I say nothing, but my arm tightens fractionally around her waist—a silent claim, a wordless promise of protection. I keep my expression neutral, giving nothing away, even as I log every detail about this man for later.

His height. His build. The exact cut of his suit. The way he looks at Luna like she's a possession that's been temporarily misplaced rather than a woman who's chosen to be with someone else.

Most importantly, I catalog her reaction. The fear that's made her rigid against me. The way her pulse hammers beneath my fingertips where they rest against her wrist. The slight tremor in her breath.

Whoever this man is, he's important. Dangerous. A threat to what's mine.

And I will find out exactly who he is and what he means to her. After I get her safely away from here.

"We're leaving," I say, voice deliberately even, controlled. Not for her benefit, but for my own. To keep the rage building inside me firmly caged until I can unleash it properly.

I guide her toward the exit, my pace unhurried butpurposeful. We have to pass him to leave, and I feel her tension increase with each step closer to him.

The man doesn't move to intercept us, doesn't try to speak to her. He simply watches, that possessive smile never leaving his face, his eyes never leaving hers.