Page 69 of Hunted to Be Mine

An announcement rolled through the station. We were wasting time.

“Zagreb,” I said. “We go together. You follow my lead exactly. No arguments. No heroics.” I tightened my grip on her hand, too possessive, too protective, but true. “I need you alive, Selina.”

Her expression softened. “Then we should move.”

I rose with her. We held on a second longer before I let go. As we gathered our things, my fingers skimmed the small of her back.

We headed for the ticket counter. I took a step behind her, close enough to read as a couple. As we walked, one thing settled in my mind. Whatever I was before, I’d keep her safe now, even if it meant walking straight into every ghost waiting for me.

Chapter 16

Specter

I stepped into the cramped sleeper first and sighed. One narrow berth, a fold-down table, barely enough floor to turn around. The walls pressed in, upholstery worn by too many strangers. Not ideal, but it was what we could get with a last-minute change.

Small for one. Tight for two trying to pretend we had space. But defensible. One door. A lock. No roommates.

The train jerked as I spoke, metal grinding on rails. The motion offered a thin illusion of safety. Moving targets were harder to pin than stationary ones.

Selina slipped past me, careful of my bad side. The bruises from Blackout’s beating had gone purple-black. Every breath counted. She looked as tired as I felt, washed out, eyes shadowed. It pinched something in me.

“Home sweet home.” She dropped her bag on the lower berth. Humor tried and failed to mask the strain.

I watched her tuck hair behind her ear, noted the tremor in her fingers. She’d been running as hard as I had—cleaning my cuts, keeping watch, not complaining.

“You should rest.” I locked the door and tested it twice.

“So should you. Those ribs need time.” She settled on the edge of the mattress.

The rumble traveled up through the floor into my boots. Prague’s outskirts slid by, giving way to white fields. The air smelled stale, tinged with metal from the heater. Down the corridor, quiet voices settled in.

I stayed standing, unsure where to put my body.

“You can sit.” She scooted, making space. “I promise not to take advantage of your weakened state.”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what? That I’ll snore? Can’t promise I won’t.”

I hesitated, then lowered myself beside her. The thin mattress dipped, forcing shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. No place to hide. Whatever professional distance we’d pretended to keep had burned off in Munich.

“At least we can lower our guard for a few hours.” She let the rail rhythm fill the space. “Nobody knows we’re on this train.”

“Nobody we know of.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

I felt every contact point: shoulder, arm, thigh. Small shocks under my skin that had nothing to do with conditioning. The compartment shrank.

“We should run the plan again.” I reached for strategy instead of the scent of her shampoo or the heat next to me.

“We’ve covered it three times.” Her head tipped back against the wall. Her eyes slid shut, fight draining. “Zagreb. Surveillance. Wait for Damon’s team.”

Her breathing slowed, not asleep—just letting her eyes rest. My body throbbed from the fight. Muscles barked. My mind refused to sit. Bad mix. It keyed me to Selina at my side.

She shifted, half-drifting, head landing on my shoulder. The easy trust caught me off guard. Her hair brushed my jaw, soft, faintly smelling of the hotel shampoo. I lifted a hand and brushed a strand from her face. My fingers stayed a beat too long.

Munich washed over me, her body against mine, her skin under my hands, my name on her mouth.