Page 31 of The Holy and the Hunted

He gripped my upper arm. Hard enough to hurt. Or it would’ve if a man squeezing my arm—even if the aforementioned man was seriously built—was among some of the most violent things I’d endured.

It was not.

Therefore, the way he held on to me only served to piss me off. Which was his intention.

“Let me go,” I gritted out.

“Let me look at you.” His voice was almost … serious. That couldn’t be right. Dante was never serious.

I glowered at him. “So you can use my injury to sneak a peek at my tits? Hard pass.”

“You could have a collapsed lung, Hadley.” His tone became more forceful. “And yes, I can assess the damage and look at your tits. Unlike other males, I can multitask.”

“I’d rather drown in my own blood than have you look at me,” I shot back, his sudden concern leaving me feeling like I was on uneven footing. “What are you doing, lurking around here in the middle of the night?” I decided to change the subject from my possible impending death. I would literally rather die than accept Dante’s aid. Stupid. Arrogant. I didn’t care. I’d perish on my terms before I let a man—what Dante could loosely be defined as—save me.

Dante didn’t answer right away, still looking at my chest while not checking out my tits, which would’ve been preferable at that point.

Dante leering at me I could handle. Dante worrying about me? Absolutely fucking not.

The energy in the air changed, and though I didn’t believe in such things, I felt the power of Dante’s fury. He entered my personal space, clutching my hips to the point of pain before pulling me close.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Hadley.” His hand rose to brush wayward hair from my face like we were in some fucking rom-com. “Your life is not a fucking joke. Not something to be trifled with.”

For a second, there was nothing but heavy breathing and the weight of this new dynamic between us. One where we were no longer rivals but some kind of other thing. The man saving the woman, speaking in codes that alluded to her meaning something to him.

Absolutely not.

Though it took great effort and a fuck of a lot of discomfort, I lifted my hand so the barrel of my gun rested on Dante’s temple.

“You’re right,” I purred. “I am not something to be trifled with. Nor am I someone you touch without permission. Now get your hands off me before I test whether there is actually a brain between those ears.”

Dante stiffened, hands flexing at my hips for half a second. “You’re bluffing.”

My finger tightened on the trigger. “Am I?” My question wasn’t just for him. I also asked myself. I wondered if I had it in me to kill a human. A man whose sin was trying to protect me—to save me, if I wasn’t mistaken.

A pretty big sin in my book, to be sure, but not a condemnable act. I’d never crossed the line and killed a human before, even a human male with a giant-sized ego.

That would turn me into a monster.