Page 17 of Hunted By Wraith

I enter first, carefully stepping through what appears to be a kitchen. Keir and Dario follow, their footsteps controlled, silent. I listen intently, scanning the sounds of the house.

Then—

Thud.

I freeze. The distinct sound of a body hitting the floor sends a shiver of anticipation through me.

“You fucking bitch!” A man shouts, his heavy Russian accent thick with rage.

I don’t hesitate. My skin tingles with excitement as I move toward the action.

“Here I thought you liked calling me sugarplum.”

My heart stutters.

That voice.

We enter an open area of the house silent and cloaked in the dark, and there she is—standing in the center of the room, surrounded by four Russian men.

Maybe five foot two. Long black hair with blonde streaks at the front. Steel gray eyes.

A man crumpled at her feet.

A sadistic smile on her bruised and bloodied face which makes my cock harden in my pants.

My moon.

Chapter 8

Selene

I got lucky tonight.

The bastard responsible for my kidnapping was right in front of me, staring at me with the same shocked expression I had when I spotted him. But unlike him, I adapted fast. He was coming with me—alive.

I had already taken down most of his men patrolling the area. Now, soaked in blood, I stood face-to-face with him and five others.

Well… four now.

The last one had been dumb enough to charge me, and I slit his throat before he could blink.

“Cat got your tongue, big man?” I taunt, tilting my head, my dagger dripping red. “Or is your life flashing before your eyes?”

The Wraith’s signature sadistic smile hasn’t left my face since this all started, and I’m over the moon with the bloodshed.

His nostrils flare. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you, whether you take me out now or not.” His roar lacks the terror I crave.

Jesus. This guy is a walking cliché. The villains in my books are more terrifying.

Bored of the slow escalation, I lift my gun and pull the trigger.

Right between the eyes.

Not his—his goon’s.

All hell breaks loose.

The remaining two charge me. The first swings for my head—I drop to my knees, slicing my dagger across his shin, feeling the blade bite through muscle and tendon. He screams, stumbling and dropping to the ground, but the second one is faster.