Hunter's Need by Shiloh Walker Page A

That’s what he was supposed to do.
    Aren’t you feeling bitchy today ? she thought darkly. Without another word, she grabbed the handle of her carry-on and headed toward the staircase by the garage door.
    “Yeah, taking off when things get dicey, that’s your way of handling things,” he said, sardonically, following along behind her.
    Too close, too. She could feel him, feel that big, warm body, the heat he put off, shadowing along close enough that if he just lifted a hand, he’d touch her. Halfway up the steps, she stopped and shot him a narrow look over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
    “Following you. What are you doing?”
    “I’m going to my apartment. I’m tired. I want to take a shower and go to bed.”
    He glanced over her shoulder toward the door at the top of the stairs. “Sorry, princess, but you got some explaining to do before you can go to bed.”
    “Explaining.” Ana sighed and then started back up the steps. She’d already tried explaining to him and he’d mocked her, laughed at her. Told her to handle it herself and she’d tried, failed miserably and now he was here. Hell, that had likely been his plan all along—get her worked up and then show up in the flesh and save the day.
    Of course, she doubted he really would have expected her to actually try to handle it. Abruptly, she was pissed.
    Not just irritated, not just tired and grouchy, and not just edgy because she felt so damned guilty for what she’d done to him. She’d made huge mistakes in her life, but damn it, she’d done her best to rectify them, and she was sick and damned tired of having to pay for it in their eyes.
    Seething, she stormed up the rest of the stairs and jammed her key into the lock, undoing the lock with a vicious twist of her wrist.
    He followed her inside and she shot him a dirty look as he dropped down on the couch, settling down with lazy, feline grace.
    “Make yourself at home,” she drawled. She left the carry-on by the door and shut it, turning the lock on the doorknob and then the deadbolt.
    “Those locks suck,” he said, flicking a glance at her door.
    “I’ll make a note of it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “Whatever you need me to explain, fine. Ask away so I can explain and get your ass out of my home.”
    A grin curled his lips. “Ana, you’re swearing. What’s got you so pissed?”
    “I’m not pissed,” she lied.
    “You know, even if you did do some kind of number on my instincts, I don’t know why in the hell I ever fell for any of your lines,” he mused, shaking his head. “You’re a lousy liar.”
    “I didn’t hand you lines .”
    Then, as something flashed through his eyes, she wished she hadn’t said a word.
    The last thing she needed to do was think about ancient history, not when he was here. Not when he was so close. Not when he could smell every subtle change in her body, whether it was because she told a little white lie, or because her body went all hot and achy with need, getting worse with very damn second he was there.
    “Didn’t you?” He came off the couch and paced toward her, that big, hard body all fluid, sexy grace and long, powerful muscles. His golden hair fell around his face and his gray eyes glittered in the dim light.
    “You fed me all sorts of lines, and then I get a knife shoved into my chest and I wake up and find out the pretty blonde princess who had me twisted up inside was the puppet of a fucking psycho. Maybe that’s the difference . . . when somebody’s pulling your strings you do just as you’re told. Did Cat tell you to get hot for me? Is that why you seemed to want me so bad?”
    Stop it. Duke stared at her, watched as the blood drained from her face, leaving her pale, her haunted, dark purple eyes all but black.
    Stop.
    Cat was dead. She didn’t fucking matter anymore, and if Ana was any kind of threat to them, every single last Hunter around would know. She’d be watched—or already dead. She