Page 75 of Hunting Gianna

“We’re moving,” I say, interrupting his search for clothing.

He laughs, a single, bitter bark. “Right. I’ll call the movers. Get a place with more natural light. Maybe a fucking balcony.”

I shake my head. “No. Not the city. Not anywhere with a lease and a mailbox and a name on a deed.”

He looks at me, really looks, eyes narrowing to the predator’s slit I remember from the woods. “What are you saying?”

I stand up, stretch until my spine cracks, and walk to the window. I pull back the corner of the blackout curtain, let in a slice of dying sun. I turn to him, holding that gold in my palm like a dare.

“I talked to Kairo,” I say. “Cabin thirty-three. Pine Ridge. We leave right now. Pack your shit baby, we’re going home.”

He’s still for a heartbeat, maybe two. Then he’s up, crossing the room in three steps, hands in my hair, mouth at my ear.

“You’re serious,” he says. Not a question.

I nod, and he makes a sound—a low, guttural thing that’s almost a growl. The city dies in him all at once. His eyes sharpen, his hands get rougher, and he presses his body to mine until my breath comes up hard against my ribs.

He laughs again, but this time it’s joy. “You fucking maniac. You want to run wild again?”

I dig my fingers into his shirt, bunching the fabric at his waist. “I want to see you alive again,” I say, and the words almost choke me. “I want to see you hungry.”

He kisses me, open-mouthed and brutal, teeth clashing. He tastes like beer and blood and the promise of something better than survival.

He lifts me, pins me against the wall. My legs wrap around his hips, and I can already feel the monster waking up under his skin, desperate to be free.

“We leave as soon as I’m done fucking you half to death,” he says, voice hoarse.

I nod, biting his lip until he shudders. “Fuck me until I forget my name.”

His hands go everywhere—waist, thigh, throat. He marks me with every touch, as if we didn’t already belong to each other in ways that can’t be undone.

We fuck against the wall, hard and desperate, like we’re already in the woods, like there’s no one in the world but us and the hunger that gnaws at our bones. When it’s over, I let him hold me, even though neither of us will ever say the words. His breath is ragged in my ear, heartbeat wild against my back.

I close my eyes and count the seconds until we’re ready to get up and go.

I know he’s doing the same.

God, I love that man.

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