by Jayla Kane
“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”
“Sure.” I held perfectly still as he wrapped it around me, swaddling me like an infant, and then sat beside me again. Another half an hour passed before I trusted myself enough to try and talk again. “So,” I said, relieved as soon as I heard myself and I didn’t sound like I was going to cry. “Tell me about this place. Do you have neighbors? Do you like it?”
“The neighbors are a different sort,” he said in his vague way, something in his eyes telling me he was choosing to keep some things private. “I like it though. I like ‘em alright. I went down and did some work on the garage in town—that’s what they call Buckeye, although there’s only four shops.”
“Sounds like Ashwood.” I was glad I could smile. His face softened, just the slightest bit, and it made my breath hitch.
He was beautiful. I’d forgotten that too.
“Guess so. No Ashwood Institute,” he said, and I felt a pang in my chest. He didn’t even blink—as if the name of that place didn’t signify so much pain and suffering for him that he could barely think. Not like it did for me. “No Witch’s Brew.” He gave me a quick sideways glance before looking at the laptop screen, his lips twitching. “Nobody near as pretty as you.”
“Well, good,” I said, and he allowed himself a small smile, the one that best showed off his dimples. I felt my cheeks flush, and then I—
I froze. I shut down.
We sat quietly for at least five minutes, as I willed the lingering tension in my body to dissipate, as I waited and waited for my breathing to return to normal. Hunter watched the screen, impassive and still as ever, one ankle slung over his knee. He stretched when the credits rolled on the screen and the laugh track faded away, then hunched over and rubbed his hand over his chin. “You ready to get some shut eye?” I felt my hands clench under the blankets, my knuckles cracking with the pressure. He kept talking as if I hadn’t moved. “I washed everything for you—it’s all fresh, miss. Even the pillows. Went all the way out and bought new ones from Target.” He gave me a reassuring nod, then stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you where the bathroom is, the towels and all that, and I’ll make sure the fire in the bedroom is just the way you want it.”
I stared up at him. What… What was he expecting? Did he think we should… Was it time, already? “Hunter, I don’t—I can’t—”
“Don’t worry,” he told me, taking a careful step back. “I’ll be right here. You need anything, I’m not even ten feet away.”
And I blinked, staring up at him, as his words all sank in; he went and got new pillows for his bed—for me. He was fixing the fire for me. He was sleeping out here… For me.
Because he saw it. He knew.
I couldn’t help the tears that ran down my face; it was so impossibly kind—and such a horrible reminder of how wrong everything was. How wrong I was. And I felt… So sad. Terribly sad.
“Or we can watch a movie right here, if you’re not ready to sleep yet,” he said, taking another step towards me, then halting. “We can do whatever you want, sugar. Anything.”
And that was it. Then I couldn’t stop myself from crying.
I didn’t even notice it at first—I was so sad, so overwhelmed, that I sobbed. I’d kept myself from crying for weeks—weeks of pretending to be myself, as much as I could, of hiding how rotten inside I was from everyone I loved, so they could concentrate on all the other rotten things happening. I hadn’t done a good job. Hell, I’d done a shitty job of it—my hair was fucking orange. I was a gigantic bitch to everybody. I said things I didn’t mean and meant things I couldn’t say. I hadn’t been myself since—
I didn’t notice it at first, but then I felt his arms around me, and I cried harder, and he tightened them around me some more, and I crawled into his lap and tucked my head under his chin, and he held me. Held me so tight. And I cried, and cried, and cried. I cried exactly the way I needed to, each day that we were apart, when I was all alone with these rotten ghosts in my head.
I don’t know how long he held me. The computer was off, and there was no noise but the ones that kept erupting out of my body. When I was able to catch my breath, I started to apologize; Hunter pulled me back against him, silently, as if his body were telling me to hush. Not to worry, to just rest, finally—finally, I was safe, and I could stop caring about everybody else for five minutes.
It took another good long while for me to get it all out, and when I did, I sat up and looked him in the face. He watched me with those twilight eyes of his, and ran one broad thumb along my jawline before cradling the back of my head. I leaned forward so our foreheads rested against one another, the way they had back in the cell, and then we stayed like that for a long time too, just breathing one another’s breath.
And I felt better.
I don’t know why. Raven and Zelle and Charlie would all die for me three times over; they wanted to make sure I was okay, and they’d been terrified of me cavorting off with Hunter Black—and I can’t say I blame them. But Hunter and I… How do you explain what we went through? The blackmail, the kidnapping, the rape, the murder, the magic—how the fuck do you explain to someone that it didn’t matter how brief the time actually was? I knew him. I trusted him, completely.
And this was why. Because I’d been waiting to be with someone who knew me too—knew me in a way that I could never share with anyone else. It was an intimacy that belonged to us and could never belong to anyone outside of that experience.
“I’m glad I have this stupid power,” I whispered, my eyes clenched shut. He had one arm around my torso, cradling me, and the other one gently stroked my hair back from my face. “I’m so glad you’re not dead. And all for selfish reasons.”
“There’s my girl,” he whispered back, and I felt myself smile genuinely for the first time since the night I brought him back to life.
“That show was dumb. I didn’t understand the plot.”
“Well, we’ll have to watch it again so you can really get into it—”
“I want to watch scary movies. Lots of them.”
“Nope,” he said, his whisper full of gravel. “It’s that show or nothing. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, so I—”
“You liar,” I said, rearing back and giving him my full-on fake horrified expression. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You have Netflix on there. I saw. And HBO.”
“Nah.”
“Yeah you do.” I twisted in his lap and pointed at the laptop, so goddamn grateful to be able to just joke with another human being. And he was teasing me—no one else had teased me. No one else had the balls. They were all walking on eggshells around me, and I didn’t blame them one bit. “I’m going to throw that damn thing in the snow if you try to make me watch that—”
“Then we’ll be stuck with books,” he said, raising his other eyebrow. “And then, you’ll be stuck listening to me read out loud. Military history, at that—Shen Tzu, all that shit. You really want that, miss?” He tilted his head, his eyes mischievous. “Think about it.”
“You can’t read,” I said, nestling against him again as he kissed my forehead and wrapped me up tight.
“Well, you’re mostly right. But it wouldn’t be torture if I could.”
I turned and looked up at him, watching his face. “Was that a joke? I thought we were settling in to banter, but that didn’t sound like a joke.”
“I’m dyslexic,” he said, and I winced. “It’s alright, I know you didn’t know.”
“Now I feel like an asshole.”
“Well, you are an asshole, miss,” he said lightly, and I slapped his chest and frowned up at him, all feigned offense. “Do you want me to start now? I have The Art of War right over—”
“No!” I started to giggle. He made me giggle—I’d forgotten so many things. “No I do not want to listen to you read the goddamn Art of War out loud, Hunter Black.”
“It’s pretty good,” he said, his big body beginning to move as if he were reaching for somet
hing behind the couch. “I think it’s just back here—”
“No!” I was laughing out loud now, twisting on his lap and batting at his arm. When he turned back towards me, both silky black eyebrows raised, our faces were level for the first time. I swallowed hard and sat back. He didn’t miss a beat.
“Horror movies, huh?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?” He wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t say werewolves.”
“Werewolves are kinda hot,” I said, giving him a flirtatious smile that felt mostly effortless—and I could only pull off because I was looking at Hunter--but he just shook his head.
“Not so much. At least not around here.”
“What?” I stared at him. This was the same not-banter vibe he had a minute ago. “Hunter, are you serious? I know Tristan said, but I just... I never imagined...”
“Oh yeah,” he said, looking like we were talking about a particularly pesky lug nut or whatever problems he mulled over when he wasn’t busy protecting any and everything. “Vernon Telon is just about toothless—not sure how that works. And the sheriff is good-looking, sure, but I don’t want you knowing about him.”
“Honey, you sound like…” I’d forgotten that too.
God bless Hunter. Hunter, the Unruffleable. “That’s why Tristan has this place. It’s in their territory. The Guild isn’t welcome, for the most part.”
“Then why is Tristan? He worked for them, before, right?”
“No. Not exactly, I don’t think,” Hunter said, his eyes clouding. “And I don’t think he was welcome, at first, either. He’s got some kind of status with the pack now. They leave him alone. But part of that is because he isn’t a Guild member. Or a Coven member, for that matter. He’s just… Whatever he is.”
“Like me.”
“Hmm?” Hunter watched me for a second, and I realized he hadn’t heard that part of the conversation between Raven, Tristan and I, and launched into a brief synopsis. Me and Tristan were one of a kind; he called his magic a curse, and I understood the feeling. I shouldn’t, though.
“I should probably be a doctor or something,” I muttered. “Mother frickin’ Theresa.”
“Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I sighed. “I can cure cancer, for all we know—strokes, heart attacks. I can bring your loved ones back from the dead. That’s worth a reality series, right?” When I looked up at him, Hunter’s eyes were dark. He exhaled slowly.
“Are they sure you’re safe with Jake?”
“I don’t think any of us are safe,” I told him, snuggling in against his chest again. “At least, not in the traditional sense.”
“I feel safe up here,” he said, and I recognized the tone. I sat up to look him in the eye.
“Good. Then you’ll stay here.”
“For now, sure,” he said, meeting my gaze. I was suddenly flooded with memories—fighting with Hunter. Slapping Hunter. “I can’t stay here forever, Baby.”
“Why not?” I shivered, and he noticed, of course. He tugged the blanket around my shoulders as if that would do some good.
“I have things to do too,” he said softly, but I shook my head at him.
“Please don’t,” I said, my stomach like a pit of ice. “Hunter, you died. I saw you die—I felt it, felt your death with my hands. You can’t…” New tears, fresh ones, from a newer hurt. He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair.
“I’m not going anywhere until we’re all in agreement about what to do,” he said, and I could tell from the way he spoke that he’d thought this through. Hunter wasn’t planning on showing up at the Institute, guns blazing, with no idea of what he was up against. I should’ve known that; it wasn’t his way. Now, Jake, on the other hand… “There’s no way the Guild is going to let me live, once they find out I’m still alive. And I think we should operate as if they will—they’re fucking magic. They can find out anything.”
“We’re safe at the mansion,” I said, looking at him. “There’s some really creepy spells on that place. Like, way crazy magic from centuries ago. You could… You could stay there.” I felt impossibly shy. “With me.”
“Maybe later,” he said softly, gazing at my face in a way that made my heart pick up speed. I took a deep breath, and he resettled me on his lap, reading me instantly. “But Raven, Jake, Tristan—Molly. You. Morgan. And the rest of the people that signed that goddamn book without knowing what they were really agreeing to—Percy fucking Hatchett, and all those other kids. They didn’t know.” Hunter sighed. “There’s going to be a fight, Baby. A bad one. You know that.”
“Isn’t there any other way?”
“If there was, you, Raven and Jake would’ve thought of it.” Hunter brushed my hair back again, his fingertips rough and warm. “Molly is clever too, but not like y’all. She’s too young, and I want her to stay that way.”
I gave him an update on Molly—he called her all the time on that burner phone, anyway—and the latest drama with the Warfields. Jake missed Hunter terribly, and I realized, watching Hunter, that he missed him too. “Do you talk to Jake at all?”
“Talk?” He cocked his head, his expression mildly confused. “’Course I talk to Jake.”
“I mean on the phone. Like, do you call him?”
“No,” Hunter said, still baffled.
“Jesus, Mr. Masculine Stereotype. Pick one up and give him a lil ring-a-ding sometime. He’s still… This whole thing with Tristan is really hard on his evil, mean-spirited ass. And now he’s the head of the family, or whatever, and he and Raven are working over-time trying to figure out how to deal with the rest of the coven…” I sighed. I hated feeling sympathy for Jacob Warfield. “I’m just saying. He could probably use a friend.”
“Hell, who couldn’t,” Hunter said softly, and I could tell from the twist in his lip that he meant it. He caught my expression. “I’m not much good on the phone, miss.”
“So?”
“Alright,” he said, sighing. He looked over my shoulder at nothing for a minute, his eyes wandering over the room. It took him a bit longer to work up to saying the words. “I was wondering… Has anybody been by to see my dad?”
“Not me,” I said truthfully. “But Jake set up cameras. Even more than you had. And Molly hacked into the feed from the old ones too, so they monitor him all the time.” I sighed and laid my palm on his cheek. “He’s been… He sleeps a lot. Jake has somebody bring groceries out there. He’s eating.” Most days, anyway. “And Molly visits him.” Not alone, though; never alone. Hunter had been very clear on that. “He’s alright.”
“He is what he is,” Hunter said, a grim set to his mouth.
“He’s fine, considering he’s mourning the death of his son,” I said quietly, and Hunter met my gaze. “He’ll never get over it. But he has been nice to Molly when she and my family go out there.” Jake waited nearby. He had as much desire to see Roddy Black as Roddy Black desired to see the devil. From what little I was told, Hunter and his father had gotten in more than one dangerous fight that Jake interrupted in the past, and this didn’t seem to be the time to ask questions about what was obviously a difficult relationship. I rested my hands on either side of his lovely face. “One day, you’ll tell me how it is that you and your father are so completely different. But tonight, I want to watch some movies about hot werewolves.”
“There are no horror movies about hot werewolves,” he said, his chest rising and falling as he shook off his thoughts. “There are horror movies about werewolves, and movies about hot werewolves, and that’s it.”
“Nope,” I said, “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, let’s find a list,” he said, leaning over me. “I hear that’s what the internet is for.” I felt myself temporarily enveloped by his heat and scent and sighed with contentment, before the inevitable terror swept in. He leaned back, resting the laptop on the couch beside us, and carefully averted his eyes as he asked, “You want to do the honors?” I knew he felt it; my whole body went rigid. But he was
n’t going to make me talk about it. He would wait.
I forgot that most of all—Hunter was very good at waiting. A patient man.
“Sure,” I whispered, focusing my attention on the screen, and we spent the next three hours bickering, staying up too late eating popcorn, and it was the most fun and the most food I had since the night before he died.
He carried me to bed, the same way he carried me out of that place. It didn’t feel bad by then, though; it was hard to say goodnight to him.
I laid there under the covers. Hunter didn’t make a big deal of it. He kissed my forehead and walked out of the room, leaving the light on in the bathroom; I listened to him lay down on the couch, the creak and settling of the cushions and wood. There was no door, and I was glad. It was good, I thought, my eyelids getting heavy, that this was Tristan’s house. He was probably the only person big enough to have furniture Hunter could actually use.
And I imagined him laying beside me in that big bed, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Seven
Baby
I smelled pancakes when I woke up. And snow. I stretched my arms out over my head and looked at the tiny digital clock on the bedside table and blinked. It was almost ten o’clock in the morning. I slept for nine and a half hours.
I hadn’t slept for more than three at a time since it happened.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching out as I went; I’d slept in the clothes I wore, yoga pants and a waffle knit tunic. My sports bra was digging in to my skin, and I wished I’d remembered to take it off. I sighed and walked out of the bedroom, blinking again at the bright world outside. The snow reflected in from the windows and made everything clear and crisp; Hunter was moving around in the kitchen, flipping pancakes like a pro and padding softly back and forth on giant bare feet.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
I stood stock still for a minute, looking at him; I knew he knew I was there. Hunter just knows. He’s the kind of person that is aware of every entrance and exit immediately, who tracks everyone that comes and goes, and that was before he could turn into an overgrown man-beast. But he let me adjust in silence, as I listened to the rhythm of my body race through all the attendant responses one might have when greeted by such a sight: a flash of overwhelming desire. Lust, dark and deep. And then… Terror. Fear. Horror, even… And then disappointment, and a different fear—the idea that I may never be able to look at a man so handsome, so perfectly made, and simply enjoy the view. That I will never get better.
