Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  Hallie’s phone pinged, and she retrieved it from the nightstand. She had a few emails, which she scrolled through while Matthew got dressed. She paused at one from her biology professor titled “Final Grade.”

  Dear Hallie:

  This email is to inform you of your grades for the final and the course.

  Final Exam: 55%

  Course Grade: 59%

  Have a pleasant holiday break.

  Regards,

  Dr. Archibald Jenkins

  Department of Biology

  A cold numbness crept through her veins. She had tanked the exam and failed the course. So much for preserving her scholarship. She sank onto her bed, a silent panic overwhelming her. Without the four credit hours for the biology lecture and lab, she wasn’t going to meet the minimum hours earned, per semester, to keep her scholarship.

  Suddenly, the extent of her mistake became clear: in order to preserve one semester of funding, she had lost all remaining semesters of her scholarship.

  As she returned her phone to the home screen, she noticed she had another alert—a voicemail. It was from Dani’s hospital. She pressed play and held the phone to her ear.

  “Miss Medina, this is Nurse Jacobson, calling from Boston Memorial about Dani Fawcett. We’re having trouble getting in contact with her emergency contact, Louisa Fawcett, and you’re listed here in her file as well. While Dani is making progress, we’d really like to speak with her mother about options for possible long-term care, so if you could give us a call back, that would be great.”

  Hallie stared at her phone, unseeing. Long-term care? They couldn’t be at that point, not yet. And Louisa… where the hell was she? Why had she ripped Dani from her home if she wasn’t going to at least be around, or make herself available to help? Hallie rubbed her face in her hands. This was too much—too much for her to handle. Now what—was she supposed to go looking for Louisa?

  A banging at her door made both of them jump.

  “Abingford County Police!”

  She looked at Matthew, a sick feeling rising in her stomach. He frowned. “What do you think…?”

  She grabbed her jeans and sweatshirt. “Shit. I have to change!”

  “Go—I’ve got it—I’ll answer.”

  Hallie ran into the bathroom and heard Matthew greeting the two police officers—a man and a woman, from the sound of it. When she emerged, she found them sitting in the living room: Matthew on the couch, each of the police in an armchair. Each stood and shook her hand, the female cop—a compact, blonde woman with a tight ponytail—making the introductions.

  “Hallie Medina? I’m Detective Murray and this is my partner, Detective Fry.”

  “Um—nice to meet you.” Hallie took a seat next to Matthew, careful not to touch him. “What is this about?”

  Detective Murray didn’t mince her words.

  “Can you tell me where you were last Saturday evening?”

  Hallie’s blood froze in her veins. God, it was a miracle she hadn’t vomited yet.

  “I—ah—I’m—”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “We were together last Saturday afternoon at the Belleyre house, on the outskirts of town.” A pause. “But I’m guessing you knew that.”

  Hallie’s temperature swung between hot and cold, making her palms and forehead clammy. They were there because of the fire. Because they had placed them at the scene of the fire. And probably knew they’d been inside. What kind of trouble were they in?

  “Mr…. Roanoke, is that correct?” Matthew nodded. “May I ask what you two were doing inside that house?”

  “We were never in the house,” Matthew said, and Hallie glanced at him. “We went there as part of a research team with the university. We’re based in the English department, under the supervision of Dr. Brandi Signer.”

  Detective Fry scribbled down the information.

  “We were sent to do some basic research on the layout of the grounds, to draw up a map for our online archive. The map would help researchers better understand the physical context of Ms. Belleyre’s letters, as she writes extensively of her lands and the town.”

  “So you never actually went inside the house?”

  “It’s always locked. How could we?”

  The detectives glanced at each other.

  “Well, Mr. Roanoke, someone did get in that evening.”

  Hallie swallowed hard, but Matthew arranged his face into one of mild surprise. “Really? Who? I know we’d be interested in talking to him or her, from a scholarly standpoint. Especially since the fire…” He trailed off and gave Hallie a sad look. “The loss of that house is a great loss to local literary history—and, if it’s not too selfish to say, to our research as well.”

  “You are aware, then, of the fire Saturday night?” asked Detective Murray.

  Matthew frowned. “It was Saturday? The same day we were there?”

  Murray pursed her lips. “It would seem so. Tell me, how does losing that house impact your work?”

  It was suddenly clear to Hallie what Matthew was doing. “That house might have held a lot of valuable old documents: letters, diaries, contracts,” she said. “Those would have been an incredible source of knowledge about Ms. Belleyre and her work.” She sighed, returning Matthew’s sad glance. “We hadn’t been able to gain permission to examine the contents, but we were hoping that the new owners would be more amenable to our research than the Belleyres were. Now, all of that is moot.”

  Detective Fry scribbled furiously on his notepad. He looked at his partner, then at Matthew and Hallie.

  “We are here investigating,” he said, “because the fire marshal has ruled the fire arson.”

  The word arson echoed in her tiny apartment. She felt, rather than heard, Matthew suck in a breath. Shock radiated through her, stopping her worried thoughts in their tracks. Matthew’s eyebrows rose so high they threatened to disappear into his hair.

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  “Arson,” Fry repeated. “Someone doused the first floor in kerosene and set the place on fire. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No,” Hallie said, because now Matthew seemed stunned speechless. “We were just there to map the grounds.”

  “You didn’t see anyone hanging around the house while you were there?”

  “No—well, I mean…” she trailed off, unsure whether to proceed.

  “Please go on, Miss Medina.”

  “It’s probably not relevant.”

  “Sometimes the smallest details can be incredibly helpful.”

  She had to redirect them. They couldn’t leave here thinking she and Matthew were arsonists.

  “Well,” she said, “we did run into an elderly woman on our way up to the house. She didn’t want us to go near the house, and told us to leave.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  “Some of the locals have a problem with the research we’re doing. They’d prefer us to leave the old house alone… there are a lot of superstitions surrounding it.”

  The detectives nodded as though this wasn’t the first time they’d heard that.

  “So you believe,” Murray said, “that they were warning you away from the house for your own safety?”

  “Our safety… or theirs,” Hallie said, honestly unsure which was the truth.

  Murray and Fry took their description of the old woman, and explained that Hallie’s Westie had been spotted in the neighborhood as an unusual sighting that day, which was why they’d stopped by to question them.

  “Just one more thing, Ms. Medina,” Murray said, standing and pocketing her notebook. “The Volkswagen Camper out front is registered to a Ms. Louisa Fawcett.”

  Unsure if she was asking a question or not, Hallie stiffened. “That’s my foster mother, yes. But she’ll be transferring it to my name soon.”

  “No one else has access to it, then?”

  “I’m the only one who drives it. I haven’t had much contact with Louisa, lately.”

  Underst
atement of the year.

  Murray gave her one more scrutinizing glance, her piercing green eyes boring into Hallie’s, unwavering. If Murray had children, Hallie bet they never got away with anything. Hallie bit her lip and shifted awkwardly, unsettled by Murray’s gaze and Matthew’s silence.

  “Thank you very much for your time, Hallie,” she said. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.” She handed flimsy business cards to the two of them, then turned and led Fry out the door.

  Hallie watched from the window as they passed the Westie, each of them slowing and giving it a more thorough once-over. Fry even got close and peered in the window. But there was nothing to find. With Dani gone, there was nothing left inside but memories. Memories that Hallie was tired of fighting. As Murray and Fry got in their squad car and drove away, she turned to Matthew, who was still sitting on the couch, his body drawn tight, his jaw twitching.

  “Matthew… what was that about?”

  He met her worried gaze with his own, then shook his head.

  “Who set the fire?” she pressed. He knew the answer; he just wasn’t telling her.

  She thought of the burns on his chest that night… and the cold fear that had gripped her while she waited in the woods, wondering if he’d made it. He looked as frightened as she’d felt then. “Was the fire meant for you?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 16

  Hallie crossed the room and stopped in front of where he sat. Her fingers were numb, and she couldn’t tell whether that was from the chill in her little apartment or the dark fear rapidly enveloping them. She closed her eyes, forcing down the panic and nausea that were pushing at the walls of her chest.

  “Explain.”

  “Hallie…” He reached for her, remorse clouding his gaze, but she didn’t reach back.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone tried to kill us,” he said. “Or scare us. I don’t know. But either way, we can’t stay here anymore.”

  Anxiety settled like a stone in her stomach.

  “Who? Someone in town?” That story had been a convenient redirect for the police, but now Hallie had to wonder if the angry neighbors would really go that far. He shook his head.

  “You said it yourself: as mixed up as their relationship to that house is, they’re fiercely protective of it. Why would they burn it down?”

  “Then who? And why?”

  His chiseled jaw was tight with worry; his handsome face grey in pallor. The warm, golden glow about him had dimmed, so that despite his broad chest and long limbs, he seemed weary and weak. He sank back into her armchair.

  “I mentioned them last night. The Guardians. They’re the ones who made me like this and don’t appreciate that I’ve walked away from them.”

  “But you can’t die, so what’s the point of burning you up? Or burning down the Belleyre house?”

  His nostrils flared. “It’s not me they were after. Or the house. It’s what else was in the house.”

  “You mean the documents? What do they want with a bunch of old Civil War—”

  He shook his head.

  “You, Hallie. I mean you.”

  At first, she thought she’d misheard. But the look on his face, of anger and shame and regret, told her that she’d heard him just fine.

  “Me?” she asked. “Why should they care about me?”

  “Because of who and what you are. To me.”

  She shook her head, exasperated. “And what is that?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she’d caught him off guard. He hesitated, like he regretted saying anything at all. “They know that I care for you,” he said slowly. “I haven’t been exactly private about it, all things considered.”

  The pang in her chest betrayed more than she cared to admit. It felt good to hear him admit that he cared… and it hurt that he did it so reluctantly.

  “So… they’ve been looking for you, and now that they’ve found you, they want to kill me—in order to get to you.”

  Matthew nodded. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize sooner that the fire was their work. I’ve been foolish… preoccupied. That’s why we have to go. Now. You’ve got to pack, and then we’ll stop at my place so I can grab a few things—“

  His place. She thought of his unlocked back door, his house in disarray. “Are they the ones who tore through your house?”

  His silence was answer enough. Her stomach sank. She didn’t know why, but the thought of immortal assassins searching his house for them was a lot scarier than arson at the Belleyre mansion. It was more personal, somehow. She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging the strands in frustration.

  “Damn it, Matthew, why didn’t you say something?”

  He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I didn’t want to worry you. Not until I had to.” His beautiful blue eyes were hard—her anger had roused him, which in turn egged her on.

  “You didn’t think I’d like to know that someone is trying to kill me?”

  “It doesn’t matter because I’m not going to let them near you.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “I’m going to get you out of here.” He leaned forward. “We can go anywhere you want. I can take you. We can go to California, Hawaii, Europe… Boston, if you want.”

  Hallie closed her eyes. “You want me to leave Abingford.”

  “I want you safe.”

  She pressed her hands to either side of his face, holding his gaze as he pulled her down to straddle his lap. She was no stranger to living on the run, to surviving by moving from place to place. But those were skills—and that was a life—that she’d sworn off a long time ago, when she and Dani had traded their nomadic lives for GEDs and college and a future.

  “I’d leave alone,” he said, as she grappled with her options, “if I thought that would make a difference to them.” He gave a deep sigh, and his stubble scratched and chafed as he rubbed his hands over his face. “But it won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  As soon as she spoke, she regretted it. He winced, and she realized how she sounded—how okay she seemed with the idea of him leaving her. She wanted to tell him the truth: that the idea of splitting from him made her stomach churn, her bones ache—as if her very soul would rip and tear with the loss of him. As scary as she found her feelings, she didn’t want to imagine a future without him: his friendship, his laughter, his teasing eyes and lips and hands.

  “I don’t know why,” he replied softly, after a moment. She let her hand drift into his hair, and he leaned into her touch.

  “I wouldn’t let you, anyway,” she said, and his eyes snapped to hers, flashing with a fierce longing that made her heart clench. “I told you yesterday that I’m not going anywhere… you won’t get rid of me this easily, and neither will they.”

  He tugged her hand out of his hair and pressed it first to his lips, then to his chest.

  It was easier to be brave when he looked so afraid.

  “I should have left you alone,” he said. She kept her face impassive, unwilling to betray how his reluctance rubbed her raw. And cursing herself for how much she still wanted him, this radiant, handsome boy who could, in one breath, make her laugh until soda came out of her nose—and in the next, bring her to her knees with his quiet strength, make her ache with his touch. Being with him was was pushing her, stretching her, teaching her so much about herself.

  “I’m sorry, Hallie.” His voice was desperately tender, the way it had been that night in his bed, or last night in hers, or that very first night, when his embrace had thawed the ice that pierced her, both inside and out. “I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve worked for. But if anything happened to you—” He broke off, swallowing hard as he tore his gaze from her. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  “How long?” she asked. “How long do we have to be gone? I don’t want to run forever.”

  “I know,” he said quickly. “I know y
ou have school and a life to come back to here, and I don’t want to jeopardize that. It might just be for the next semester, until I could be sure things were safe again—”

  “About that,” she began, plucking at the frayed sleeves of her sweatshirt and shifting in his embrace, “I don’t want to run forever… but I don’t exactly have a life here, anymore, either.”

  He looked aghast. “Don’t say that, Hallie. If that’s what I’ve made you believe—”

  “I mean my scholarship. My grades. I got an email this morning that I tanked my biology final. Without those credits I don’t have enough to keep my scholarship.”

  “What?” He slid to the edge of the armchair, ready to push himself to his feet, and she grabbed his shoulders to keep from slipping off of his lap. “Those bastards,” he growled. “They can’t fail you after all of the work you put in—I’ve seen you. You’ve been killing yourself to catch up since the accident.”

  “Doesn’t matter. A failing grade is a failing grade.”

  “Then go to your advisor—tell her what’s been going on. They have to be able to negotiate the terms of your scholarship, right?”

  “I went to my advisor when I first came back, after the accident. She told me to drop for the semester, to take a leave of absence, and I refused. I was afraid if I left I wouldn’t come back.” Hallie shook her head. “If I go back now asking for special treatment, they’re just going to give me the trumped up, bureaucratic version of ‘I told you so.’”

  The anxiety in her throat had begun to solidify, and she willed away the tears burning behind her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry over this. If there was one thing she knew about life, it was that shit just happened and you had to deal with it.

  He kissed her, roughly at first, but she whimpered and his lips gentled. “You don’t deserve this,” he whispered. She shook her head.

  “Deserving doesn’t have anything to do with anything. You know that,” she said. “So we’re going together. I need to find Louisa, because Dani needs her. And then I want to see Dani. I want answers, and I don’t want to die. I want to get out of Abingford and I want to do it with you.”