Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

There had been no foe he was fighting, not like the other night when I’d broken my own rule and approached him. How could his hands be so torn up, unless?—

Unless he…

Unless he?—

Oh.

He’d hurt himself.

It was the only logical conclusion, but one that was illogical all the same.

Normally, I knew better than to approach a wounded animal if it could still move on its own. They could smell what I was from a mile off and though I’d always been gentle with my paws, and hands, I knew what sort of effect my bulk and overall essence had on creatures smaller than I was.

I was frightening.

I knew that.

But still—I approached, unable to help myself as Jeffrey continued to stare at me, and my heart threatened to beat right out of my chest.

I knew this was my fault.

I knew he’d been looking for me.

I just…hadn’t known what to do.

He wasn’t supposed to find me at all. Last night I’d been there to protect him, as promised, but when he’d opened the front door it was like every plan I’d had melted away. He’d welcomed me in, because of course he had, and like an idiot, I’d thought things would be fine.

That I’d leave the moment I could, and go back to watching over him from the shadows.

But then he’d looked for me.

Even now, he was looking for me.

And I couldn’t do this to him.

Which was why I’d enlisted Butters and his pants for help, and why I was here—now, hunting him back, even though it was stupid. So fucking stupid. And he couldn’t help me. Couldn’t save me. Couldn’t be what I needed.

But maybe I could be what he needed.

At least, today.

“Fuck off,” Jeffrey’s voice was rough and quaking as I slowly, carefully crossed the empty alley. When I stepped into his space, close enough our chests brushed, his nostrils flared. His mouth said “fuck off” but his eyes said, help me. They said, I’m lost, lost, lost. And his scent was relief-please-lonely-lonely-lonely.

I had never met anyone in my life who needed an alpha more than Jeffrey Prince.

The tremors in his body were more obvious up close. As was the haunted, wild look in his eyes—like there were demons flitting behind them. Beneath the riot of emotions that flooded the air, I caught his comforting musk, the salty burst of sweat, the effervescent bubbly orange of his natural scent.

I wanted to roll around in it.

To lick and rub and stick my dick inside it.

I wanted to bite and nip and lick and suck—to taste and smell, and feel every inch of his body. But I didn’t do any of those things. Because it wasn’t what he needed. And once was already more than I’d told myself I could have.

“It is okay,” I reassured. And then I wrapped my arms around Jeffrey’s body and pulled him in tight. He didn’t go willingly—stiff as a board at first, his bloody hands hanging limply at his sides. “I am here.”

For ten agonizing seconds I worried I’d gotten this wrong.

That he didn’t feel the same relief I did when we were together.