Page 91 of Hunted to Be Mine

For a beat, the sting grounded me, but I felt myself sliding. Worse, my body geared up without me: muscles tensing, combat routines coming online. If I went under, Specter might take the wheel.

Training sessions. Killing without thinking. Not learning—remembering. Muscle memory they kept because they needed it.

“He’s responding well to conditioning,” a voice noted. “The existing framework helps.”

Existing framework. They didn’t build me. They repurposed me.

“Get away from me,” I warned, trying to shove her back. “Not safe.”

She didn’t move. She grabbed my face and kissed me, hard. Another shock—no pain this time. Her mouth demanded an answer.

Slowly, it eased. Not gone, but enough to breathe. I slumped into her, shaking.

“Wolfe,” she whispered against my lips.

The name still hurt, but dulled now. A bruise instead of an open wound.

“I don’t know who that is anymore,” I said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Selina said, pressing her forehead to mine. “Not everything tonight. But we will.”

I wanted to believe her. Wanted a path through the split, through the blood. But the weight of it all pressed down hard.

“Stay,” she said, feeling me fade. “Keep your eyes on me.”

I tried to answer. The dark pulled anyway. Last thought: I’d chosen this long before Oblivion chose me.

Relief flickered, and the world went dark.

Chapter 21

Specter

I woke with my head splitting and copper on my tongue. Blinking hurt. A water-stained, unfamiliar ceiling slid into view. Hotel room. Zagreb. I tried to put last night in order, but the pieces wouldn’t fit.

I shifted. Pillow under my head, a blanket over me. My body felt heavy, disconnected. Bits of last night surfaced: the warehouse. Files. A photograph.

A name.

Pain jabbed my temple, duller now. Manageable.

Movement drew my focus. Selina sat on the floor, cross-legged, papers in neat stacks around her. She hadn’t noticed me yet. Hair tucked behind one ear. Brow tight in concentration. Shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept.

I tried to sit up. Muscles protested; the rooftop chase and the seizure had left their mark. The movement made her look up. Papers slid as she abandoned them and crossed to me in three quick strides.

She looked me over. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

I let her check me, remembering how she’d kept me grounded through the collapse. When her cool palm touched my forehead, I leaned into it before I could stop myself.

“Like someone took a hammer to my skull. How long was I out?”

“Almost six hours. It’s almost morning.” She grabbed a glass from the nightstand. “Here. Drink.”

I tried to take it, but my hands didn’t track right. She slid an arm behind my shoulders and helped me up. The water cut the dryness in my throat. She stayed close, shoulder against mine, steady as I drank.

She took the empty glass. “Better?”

I nodded. Last night flashed through my mind: her holding me while I seized, refusing to step back even when I told her to.