Primal Pursuit

Even if he wasn’t responsible for my family’s deaths, how on Earth could anything actually work? It can’t. Can it? He’s a terrible person, and yet, why the fuck am I so drawn to him? Why am I seeing other things in him, other facets? Things that shine and glitter, almost like a different form of goodness.

Then again, I’m no judge.

I started this game wanting to kill him. Do I still want to?

I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure about anything.

I know I want to avenge my parents’ murder. I know I want revenge against those who wronged my family, wronged me. But him? It’s like he no longer fits the mold of the monster I’ve dreamed of killing.

Goddammit, Poppy. Pull your shit together.

Whether he was paid to do it or not, he still pulled the trigger.

And he would have killed me too if he knew I was there.

This need for revenge has given me purpose, kept me going. I can’t let it go.

I’m just…so tired. Tired of fighting what I’m feeling. Tired of trying to analyze and label it. I’m tired of holding on to the hate, the grief, and all I want is to be held. Desired.

And this man has magic.

I don’t know if it’s good or dark, but it’s magic that works on me. It makes me feel. It takes away the cold I’ve been living with almost all my life.

He returns and holds out his hand. “It’s late, Rabbit. Time for bed.”

I want to take his hand, desperately.

But I don’t. I turn away because I can’t look at him without…feeling.

Davian sighs. “I don’t fucking know, Rabbit. In a different world, yeah. Maybe. I guess that would be my fucked up way of asking for exclusivity. But what I doknow is we’re perfect for each other, yet we’re better off without each other. But I don’t…I don’t want to let you go.”

I lift the glass to my lips but don’t take a sip, instead, I set it down and rise to my feet. “What do you want?”

“To take the game to its real center. All the fucking way.”

“What does that mean?”

“To make you mine.”

“To do with what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Chase me, hurt me? Share me?”

A small smile appears. “You like the pain, a certain kind. You like the challenge, you like being tested. Would I do something bad?” He shrugs. “Depends on your definition. Would I share? Depends on you, but I’m not inclined. You have sharp teeth and a strong arm, Rabbit. You have a taste for blood. You don’t want other women touching me, and I’m not sure I should let an innocent woman bleed out for your vindictive needs. And—” he lifts a brow “—that sweet, tight cunt of yours isn’t something I’m ready to let anyone else sample.”

“Who said let?”

“Goes both ways.”

I’m about to throw words at him, about his doing something bad comment, when it hits me. He’s asking me to trust him. That’s my definition, anyway.

Do I trust him enough to go down into the blood and bones of this game we play and hand it all to him? My safe word. My trust? My life?

What the fuck am I meant to do with that? I don’tknow. What I do know is I want more of what happened tonight. It’s a craving in my blood. A need I want to crumble in front of.

I let him fuck me with that knife handle. I let him cut me. Chase me. I let him tattoo me, and he chose a cute little bunny. I get the significance of it, the fact he’s stamping me as property, but I like it. That fucked up, screwed up part of me loves it.