Page 43 of Hunted to Be Mine

“We won’t let it happen.” Correction made.

The grip tightened, a lifeline after trauma.

I continued kneeling, our connection held, aware how exhaustion pulled at us. The crash had left me hollow, instincts suggesting dry clothes and sleep. We needed rest to process, recover strength.

But Specter didn’t let go. His eyes zeroed in on my neck, narrowing at what must be darkening marks. Self-hate carved lines around his mouth, jaw tight with barely contained anguish.

The bandaged fist lifted toward the bruise, hovering above skin. I felt the heat emanating from his fingertips, the tremor through him.

Before he could touch evidence, I caught the movement. His eyes widened as I brought bandaged knuckles to my lips, kissing the soft gauze.

“Don’t,” I whispered against his skin.

Something shifted in him, rigid control fracturing. I maintained contact, kissed there again, lips lingering on rough gauze. He breathed in, then let out a shuddered sigh.

The small release encouraged me. I turned the arm, pressed lips to the wrist where his pulse raced. Warm flesh, alive with heartbeat. I let my mouth travel over the fabric of his shirt, each kiss a deliberate absolution.

“Selina.” My name was like a prayer on his lips.

I didn’t stop. My lips traced the bicep, shoulder slope, mapping to the hollow where neck met collarbone. When my mouth pressed there, he groaned, his voice torn from somewhere deep, unguarded.

The sound vibrated against my lips, raw, honest. The uninjured palm found my waist, fingers in my shirt, not pulling or pushing, just holding like he might drown.

I pulled back to look. Those pupils had darkened, dilated with something far from the operative’s clinical emptiness. This was Specter, human, flawed, wanting. The man who had fought impossible conditioning to find his way back. To me.

“I’m choosing this. Choosing you.”

Before doubt could take him, I leaned in and kissed him. Gentle first, offering myself, demanding nothing in return. He remained impassive for one heartbeat, two, then something broke. The grip went from waist to back, drawing me close as lips parted.

The balcony’s hesitancy gave way to something deeper. He moved with desperate hunger, like he could erase what had happened through this. I met the intensity, fingers in dark hair, holding him.

We broke apart, our foreheads touching, breaths mixing. His lids were closed, but tension had drained from his shoulders, leaving a different kind of vulnerability.

“Stay with me tonight,” I said in a barely audible whisper. “Just stay.”

His eyes opened, raw honesty evident in them. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Then trust me.” I stroked that cheek, feeling stubble. “I trust you enough for both of us.”

Chapter 11

Selina

"I need you." His voice cracked. “Need to lose myself in you. Make up for hurting you.”

I pulled back, the doctor in me taking over. “It’s too dangerous. If you seize again …”

“I won’t.” His uninjured hand cupped my face, thumb making gentle circles on my cheekbone. “I know it. And if I’m wrong, then bring me back like you did before. I only want to exist right here.”

My chest hurt. His words tore me.

“We should rest,” I managed, trying to convince myself as much as him. “You’re injured, we’re both exhausted.”

“Selina.” Just my name, but it made my breath catch.

His bandaged hand rested on my knee, the white gauze a reminder of everything broken between us. The red marks on my throat throbbed, but when I met his eyes, I saw only the man who’d fought his way back, not the weapon who’d put them there.

“Please.” The word left his mouth on a breath. “Let me feel something real again.”