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He’s not just prey anymore.

No, he’s rapidly turning into the sort of problem that makes me wonder how long my patience is actually going to last.

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to accept it, even if I... if...”

His pupils are huge, swallowing most of the green. His chest rises too fast, blond strands plastered to his forehead by sweat and the first grains of sand riding the wind.

He’s looking at me like he honestly expects an explanation.

“You thought I was talking about money?” I take a step toward him. “When you don’t fucking have any?”

“I...” His throat bobs. “You said... a deal.”

“I did.”

“But I don’t...”

“I know.”

He shifts back, but the tree is already behind him.

And suddenly it isn’t funny anymore.

I grew up around people who hear deal and immediately start calculating what somebody wants from them. Everybody does. Nobody in my world hears an offer without looking for the knife hidden inside it.

But him?

He really didn’t know.

The thought of somebody else getting to teach him what men like me mean when we look at him like this makes my hands curl.

No, I want that lesson.

I want the sweet little liar exactly as he is now, frightened and stubborn and still somehow expecting people to say what they mean. I want to feed that mouth, put something pretty around his throat and keep every other bastard far enough away that they never get the chance to ruin it.

Mine.

The word lands harder this time.

I should tell him what the deal means. Instead, I stare at his mouth and wonder what he’d do if I closed the last bit of distance.

Just this once.

Then I’ll head back before Dad sends out the army to look for me.

I’m about to take a step when the ground shudders beneath my boots. My smile vanishes.

He frowns. “Are you...”

His arm jerks forward and the knife spins through the air, flashing past my shoulder before it buries itself in the pine behind me with a hard thunk. For one heartbeat I simply stare at the handle vibrating beside my head.

Then I look back.

My prey is already halfway up the slope, boots tearing through the leaves, pack bouncing against his back as he runs.

Heat floods my chest, every instinct I’ve spent three days holding on a leash coming alive at once.

Fuck, yessss.