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

He made it look easy.

Effortless.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” the asshole chanted in a panicked, quaky voice as his arms were twisted tighter and tighter behind his back. “I’m sorry—” Sexy-strange-probably-a-werewolf-man’s forearms flexed, and my stomach went funny for a second—because woah.

I didn’t need to see his eyes to know what he was.

But I knew, the second I did, every doubt I had would disappear.

“Security,” I stammered toward their backs, still shocked. “I’ll, um. Yeah.” I jerked my head toward the end of the hallway. “I’ll be back. In a sec. Yep.”

I raced the fuck out of there.

When I returned with two bouncers and my heart in my throat, Mr. Savior was gone. Asshole was on the floor, tied up with his own nasty t-shirt, shivering and scared, snot running down his face like he’d been crying the entire five minutes I’d been gone. He didn’t put up a fight as he was ushered out of the club to the front where the cops that had been called were no doubt waiting. When his gaze caught mine, one last, final time, the whites of his eyes flashed, and he quickly ducked away.

Like it was me he was terrified of.

Weird.

Weird, weird.

I made my way outside in a daze, using the back entrance because it was closer to where I’d parked. Ignoring the weight of eyes I still felt on the back of my neck and my aching shoulder, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

I didn’t know what I wanted. Maybe to say thank you to the wolf that had saved me?

It’s for the best.

He probably doesn’t want your thank you anyway.

In a weird way, I felt like a little kid. Like I’d just seen my hero in real life—and before I’d gotten a chance to get his autograph he’d fucked off back to saving Gotham or whatever.

Disappointed and paranoid was a new combo for me.

But so was the flip in my belly and the flush to my cheeks.

It was pretty outside. All glittery stars and warm breezes. Summer was my favorite time of year. I liked the heat and the way the night sky seemed to stretch on for miles. Figuring I’d do my best to enjoy it on the walk to my truck, I tipped my head toward the clouds, my shoulder aching, and my teeth on edge.

Halfway through the parking lot, things took a turn.

“Jeffrey Prince,” a voice said, and I jolted, spinning around, ready to face another threat. Only it wasn’t. A threat, I mean. Or at least, I hoped it wasn’t. Because it was…yeah.

It was him.

Mr. Savior Hottie McMuscle Pants.

My disappointment bled away as I ran my fingers over the guitar pick in my pocket and swallowed the lump in my throat.

Respond, dumbass.

He’s waiting.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Big-and-handsome asked. His voice was soft, and low, and sweet. Cheerful and careful, like he didn’t talk all that often and wanted to get it right. There was an uptick to his tone that reminded me of a dog—all hopeful and puppy-like. “I heard you say it. Earlier. He called you a princess. You said “It’s Jeffrey Prince actually.” It was very heroic!”

So, he’d seen me fight the guy before stepping in. That tracked.

But he was the heroic one, not me.

“Uh, yeah.” I squirmed, not really sure why I was squirming. “Thanks for um…” I jerked my thumb back toward the club. “All of that. Not that you needed my help…because obviously you didn’t. I got security to come but by then you were?—”