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

Jeffrey picked at the peeling linoleum on the table, his eyes on me—but he didn’t speak. His knuckles had crusted over, the blood no longer fresh. I was tempted to lean across the table to lap at them to help them heal, but he looked so serious I didn’t want to break his focus.

He watched me.

Like he was trying to figure me out, and he wasn’t certain how.

I sat up straighter, my ears and tail perking up as I puffed up to my full height so he’d have something to look at. He snorted in amusement, like he somehow knew what I was doing. Then he cocked his head to the side, and leaned his chin on his palm.

“What’s your name?” he asked, voice soft.

“Mutt.” I jolted a little, tail thumping as my hands grew slick with nerves as I revealed to him the name I’d chosen.

“Mutt, hmm,” he repeated, his brow furrowing a bit in thought. Just hearing my name on his tongue sent me spinning. It sounded like music. Jeffrey had the kind of voice that was prettier than bird song. Smooth, melodic, natural in the way only a rushing stream or tinkling waterfall could be. “You got a last name, Mutt?”

“Last…name?” I blinked, not sure what he meant. “I guess I don’t…like it when my brothers call me stupid.”

“Wh—” Jeffrey snorted out a laugh. “That’s not what I—You know what? Never mind.” He grinned and it sent butterflies rioting in my belly. His shoulders flexed as he moved, and my mouth went dry. “I don’t like being called stupid either.”

“That is why it is the name I like last,” I explained, in case that was why he smelled and looked so amused. “It is awful.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jeffrey agreed, because he was smart and good and lovely. A lock of his copper hair fell across his brow, somehow only managing to make him look even more handsome. Like a prince in one of the fairy tales I used to watch.

He was a prince in a tower built from his own fear, and I wanted to save him.

He moved gracefully, like a dancer. There was power in each flick of his wrists, in each twist of his powerful upper body. Though leaner than I was, there was no denying the muscle that was packed tight to Jeffrey’s body. It was the kind of muscle that took years to build, especially on someone like him who—while tall—had a more willowy figure.

Despite this…he was self-conscious.

He held himself now, like he was frightened of being seen.

And I ached for him.

Ached for what had to have happened to him for him to feel this way.

“Why are you sad?” I blurted, even though I knew. I just…maybe I needed to hear it confirmed? Or maybe I wanted to offer solutions. I don’t know.

“My dog ran off,” he said, picking at the table, eyes downturned.

“W-why?” God, if he were a wolf I’d have been so screwed. He’d have been able to sniff out my deception in a heartbeat.

“I…don’t know,” he said softly. “Well,” he amended, shrugging. “The vet maybe? I dunno. Not like he could know that’s where we were going. Dogs don’t read.”

“Smells,” I offered immediately—because I couldn’t help it. “He could smell it.”

“He could…smell it,” Jeffrey repeated, frowning. “Huh. That’s what I worried about.”

“Vets smell like chemicals,” I offered helpfully. “Very bad. Gross. Awful. And all the different animals. Maybe he got overwhelmed?” The smells hadn’t been what had overwhelmed me. But I just…I wanted to give him something. Something that would help him feel less alone.

“Too bad there’s no such thing as an at-home vet,” Jeffrey huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face, looking dejected. “Could’ve avoided this entirely.”

“I could help,” I blurted out. Jeffrey’s eyebrows shot up. “Not me,” I amended quickly. “I know…a vet. Or at least—someone who works with animals.”

“Huh.” Jeffrey eyed me warily.

“When your dog comes back I could send him over.”

“You mean if?” Jeffrey sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “If my dog comes back.”

“No, I mean when,” I corrected, voice soft. “He’d be stupid not to.”