Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  He slipped his hand inside her panties, delving into her wet curls and tugging lightly. Her thighs flexed over his, hips canting toward him, and her breath hitched. He lingered, tracing her outer lips, tugging her curls, and trailing kisses over her neck and breasts until she dropped her head against his shoulder with a groan. She was trapped, splayed open to him, fighting surrender.

  “Please, Matthew…” The corner of his mouth tilted upward and he kissed her temple soothingly. Then he slid his fingers further into her slick folds, curling them up and inside her. She gasped, her hips grinding involuntarily against his hand before jerking up and away. He followed her, stroking his fingers inside her, tempting her hips back down and into another little thrust.

  “Matthew…” she whimpered again, arching against him, unable to stop riding his hand. He curled his other hand in her hair and pressed his lips to her ear.

  “Let me feel you, Hallie,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with his own arousal. “I want to feel you fall apart in my arms… so I can hold you together.”

  She let out a low moan and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. The rhythm of her hips quickened. He pressed deeper inside her as she ground her clit against the heel of his palm, faster and faster, while his fingers rubbed tight little circles against her inner walls. She broke with a cry, shivering, convulsing, writhing in his hands. Heat flowed over his thrusting fingers, and her breasts trembled beautifully as she came, nipples tightening into little buds that he couldn’t help but taste. With each draw of his lips and tongue, she moaned, pulling her trapped arms from her shirt at last and grasping his forearms, tugging at his hair, trying to pull him away even as her squirming body chased his touch, as her thighs tried in vain to close around him.

  Finally, she stilled, panting, and he slowly withdrew his fingers, smiling at her bereft whimper. His cock ached, hard as stone. And when she met his gaze, his heart stuttered at the tears wetting her eyelashes. If she ever wondered why he pushed her, forced her to open up… this was the answer. The raw need and vulnerability in her face woke something primal in him—something that went deeper than all his years and would withstand all earthly obstacles.

  And reminded him that no matter what, they belonged to one another.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She swallowed hard, still panting, and he brushed his thumb over her lips. Her nostrils flared slightly at the scent of his hand, which sent his pulse racing. But when he tried to gather her against his chest, she resisted.

  “Wait,” she protested, “I don’t want to stop.”

  His cock throbbed.

  “I want more… I want you.” She stroked him through his jeans. “You’ve made me fall apart. Now I want to see you do the same.”

  But even as his cock strained in his jeans, something cold trickled down the back of his throat. Was it fear?

  He groaned. “Hallie… no.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”

  “I want you… but when I have you, it won’t be like this, in the back of a van.”

  She laughed incredulously. “You just had me in the back of a van!”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t me having you,” he said. “That was you having me.”

  Her face flamed. She pushed herself off of him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  “Okay, that came out wrong.”

  “You think?”

  “Hallie…” He began, but she was already tugging her clothes back on. The rain had slowed; the tow truck would be there any minute.

  His mind jammed, all of the conflicting things he wanted vying for his allegiance. God, of course he wanted her. But he didn’t deserve her touch, her hands wrapped around his cock. He wasn’t going to let her debase herself for him in the back of a van… not when he couldn’t be honest with her. Not when he was feeding her lies even now, with bruises on his chest and Jacob’s gash on his cheek.

  No. He’d give her pleasure and that’s where he drew the line.

  He began packing up the first aid kit as Hallie climbed into the front seat.

  It was for the best. After all…he had the niggling feeling that when she finally did touch him, there wouldn’t be anything left that he could hide. He only hoped that when that day came, she’d find it in her heart to forgive him.

  Chapter 20

  Hallie hadn’t spoken but a handful of words to him since they finished fooling around in the Westie. She’d dealt swiftly with the tow truck driver, who’d let them cram in the front with him (and a hundred empty styrofoam soda cups) to save them the cost of a cab. Then she’d dealt with the mechanic, whose expression when she demanded a full report on the condition of the Westie, rattling off a bunch of technical jargon Matthew’d never heard, was priceless.

  Now she flopped back onto the springy, creaky mattress in her motel room while Matthew carried their suitcases across the threshold. The motel had flamingos and a neon lady in a bikini on their vacancies sign, but it was across the street from the mechanic and next door to a promising-looking pancake diner, so he couldn’t fault it too much.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Matthew said, sinking onto the second bed and plucking at the threads of the seafoam and pink quilt.

  She ignored him, sitting up and stalking into the bathroom instead. He waited, listening to the water run. Then he noticed she’d left her purse sitting on the desk, Louisa’s letter to Hallie’s father peeking out from one of the compartments. She hadn’t mentioned anything about what was inside.

  Hallie came out of the bathroom with her hair in a tight ponytail.

  “I’m starving. I’m going to go to that breakfast place down the street. You can come if you want.”

  At that, he flung out his arm to stop her. “C’mon, Hallie, that’s enough.”

  She bristled. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “I said I was sorry for earlier.”

  She pushed his arm away. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want, for once, not to come out of a situation like that with you without feeling like a moron. Like some needy, whiny sex doll who you’re really happy to finger fuck but won’t let near your precious immortal dick.”

  Matthew couldn’t help it—he knew he shouldn’t—but he burst out laughing.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked, the exasperated look on her face making him want to devour her.

  He grabbed her waist and dragged her down onto the bed with him, still chuckling. He rolled, so that she lay prone beneath him. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and he kissed it. Chastely.

  “I know I’ve been an ass.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m sorry. The next time we… you know—”

  “Fuck?”

  He frowned. “Is that what we’re doing?”

  She flushed, but lifted her chin defiantly.

  “I mean it, Hallie… is that what you think I’m doing with you?” He reached up and tugged her hair out of its elastic; running his fingers through it so that it billowed out around her face.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes as he caressed her hairline, the pads of his fingers skating over the bridge of her nose and her jaw. He kissed her again.

  “Exactly,” he said. “And you forget that none of this is easy for me… I’m not used to feeling this much, either.”

  At that, she opened her eyes and he forced himself to hold her gaze as she searched his. It was hard, admitting how overwhelming he found her. But he had to make her understand that he’d been trying to worship her with his attentions, not treat her like a “sex doll.”

  She slipped her hands around his neck and tugged him down for another kiss—this one so warm and thorough that he felt it in his knees.

  “So the next time we do this,” he continued, pulling back reluctantly, linking his fingers with hers and pressing her hands beside her head, “we’re going to do it right. No more teasing.”

  “No more teasing?”

  “No more teasing.
”

  She wondered if that was a request she would regret, later.

  — —

  After picking over their stacks of sticky, buttery pancakes, they settled back into the motel room. Hallie showered first, then changed into loose-fitting pajamas.

  After his own shower, he hovered by the nightstand, breathing in the fruity, delicious scent of her body wash and trying to decide whether to slide in bed beside her or take the other mattress. She was propped against the headboard, watching TV, her computer open on her lap. He yearned, in his core, to be able to hold her, to fall asleep with her in his arms, doing something as simple as watching TV. But did she need space… or would she welcome him?

  He peeled back the covers and slipped in beside her. The screen of her computer glowed; she was looking at a map of the Carolina coast. Her head drooped slightly. Though they’d spent several nights together, he would never grow tired of seeing her soft and sleepy like she was now, her eyelids fluttering as she flipped, unseeing, through the late night variety shows. Christ, she was cute. It was hard to believe that just that morning, he’d been waking in her cluttered little apartment, his body wrapped around hers. No matter what the day had brought between them, he didn’t want to give that up.

  His weight on the mattress roused her; she yawned and looked over at him warily.

  “Is this all right?” he asked, steeling himself for her dismissal.

  Though she nodded, the tension that settled around her eyes left him aching with regret. She was tired, confused… and despite the way he’d tried to make her feel safe, she was still hurting. His presence wasn’t comforting to her anymore… maybe because he’d put her through so much, and all in one day. He stopped himself from sliding his arms around her waist and tugging her to his side.

  “Hallie… what’s wrong?”

  She was quiet. After a moment, Matthew lifted the remote from her lap and muted the television. She didn’t seem to care, or notice.

  “Your face looks a little better,” she murmured, her gaze settling on his cheek.

  He touched it gingerly. The scrape was almost gone, but not entirely. He worried his fingers through his hair. In all his decades of immortality, he’d never experienced anything like this before. He’d always been able to heal—he’d survived gunshots, explosives, drug overdoses, even hanging… so much of his life, he reflected with rush of regret, had been spent in search of an exit. But nothing could touch him—not externally or internally. Until now. Something akin to fear prickled in his gut.

  Hallie drew her knees to her chest, and he swallowed hard, hating the unspoken words that still lay between them. He leaned over and switched off the bedside light, hoping the darkness would ease the tension.

  “Are you going to tell me why it’s taking so long for that to heal?”

  She didn’t miss a thing.

  He stared at his hands. “I—I don’t know. It must’ve been what he used.”

  She gave him a hard look. “What who used? A Guardian?” He hesitated. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

  “Because I want to keep you away from that part of my life, as much as possible,” he bit out, frustrated by the way she managed to prod at exactly what he couldn’t share, at the wounds he couldn’t mend, the truths he couldn’t tell. “There are things I don’t understand about this, either, Hallie.”

  She arched an eyebrow, searching his face, and he turned away. She didn’t believe him. Although he’d dragged her away from her home on the promise that he knew what he was doing, so maybe she had to believe that was true. But he didn’t. He didn’t know where they were going, or how long they could run. He didn’t know how to tell her the truth, because what was the truth, anymore? That he was glued to her because he still wanted her to end his life? His dying would hurt her—change her, irrevocably, in horrible ways. But living with her, being with her, would do just the same.

  “Anyway,” Matthew said, desperate to divert her, “are you ever going to tell me what was in that letter?

  The glow of the television flickered over her face, which shuttered.

  “I might,” she said stiffly. “But I want to keep you away from that part of my life as much as possible.”

  “Hallie…”

  “What? We all have demons, Matthew. I’ve been pretty open with mine—you think that’s easy for me?”

  His face and chest burned, but his heart was chilled, stiff with cold and confusion.

  “No,” he retorted, “but there are bigger things in the world than your childhood problems.”

  The moment the words had passed his lips, he knew he’d gone too far. Hallie sucked in a breath, rearing back as though he’d struck her.

  She flung off the covers and climbed out of the bed. Every fiber of him wanted to take back his words, erase them so they’d never happened.

  “Wait—Hallie—”

  She rummaged through her purse, withdrawing the yellow envelope, tearing it open, and throwing the contents on the bed in front of him. Photographs spilled across his lap. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  “There are bigger things out there, Matthew,” she said. “So maybe you should go deal with them, instead.”

  Then she grabbed her phone and stormed out the door, her long dark curls dancing behind her.

  Matthew couldn’t breathe. He started after her, but Louisa’s letter fluttered out of his lap and onto the floor as he climbed out of bed. He stooped to retrieve it, skimming its contents.

  I need only remember finding Hallie that day, starved and sunburnt and dehydrated, still hoping you’d return, to remind myself of the cruelty you are capable of.

  Oh, Hallie.

  He grabbed the key card and went after her.

  Chapter 21

  Hallie dipped her toes in the swimming pool, wrapping her arms around herself, rubbing the cold from her own shoulders and trying to steady her breathing. Too many times now, she’d fallen into his arms on the brink of a panic attack. This one, she wanted to handle on her own. It wasn’t like he was here to turn to, anyway.

  Another chill ran through her, despite the warm breeze.

  He’d struck low, so far below the belt. She’d seen the regret on his face… but she didn’t really care. Her life had done a one-eighty in under twenty-four hours, and she was in no mood for his caginess, his secrets. She needed all the strength she could get, if she was going to meet her father—and Matthew treating her like a foolish girl, like someone who couldn’t handle things, really wasn’t helping.

  She swished her feet in the water, kicking away bits of detritus as they floated towards her. The town they’d stopped in, thanks to its classic car mechanic, was small and quiet; their kitschy motel almost entirely empty and still at this time of night. Somewhere not far, country music was playing on someone’s radio—maybe it was coming from the diner next door.

  She closed her eyes and listened, trying to match her breathing to the sound of the leaves rustling with each cresting breeze. Every time her breath hitched, she thought of his low voice telling her to breathe, that everything would be all right. Then she heard his voice for real, some distance behind her.

  “Hallie.”

  She ignored him. His shoes scuffed the concrete; he neared.

  “I want to be good enough for you,” he said quietly, joining her at the edge of the swimming pool. “I want—” he rolled up his pajama pants and stuck his feet in beside hers “—I want to be able to protect you—from everything. From the moment I met you, sitting in the middle of the road, that’s what I wanted.”

  She touched his foot with hers, and in the distance, a country singer trilled plaintively.

  “I don’t want to be protected… I just want to be seen.” Her throat tightened. “I want to be wanted. To matter.”

  “You do matter. I see you. I want you. How could you doubt that?”

  “You want me on your terms. When it’s convenient. When you’re feeling generous or overprotective.” The words tumbled o
ut of her, as if they’d taken root long ago and were only now getting air and sunlight. They were cringeworthy and vulnerable, but she had to say them.

  He shook his head. “That’s not true. You’re wrong… you’re so wrong, Hallie.” His knuckles whitened where he gripped the lip of the pool. “How do I convince you?”

  “Tell me the truth about something.” Her voice strengthened. “Something about you.”

  He sighed. Then he reached behind them and tugged his camera bag forward from where he’d dropped it behind Hallie. He dug something out of an inside pocket, and held it out to her. It was an old photograph—very, very old—of a young woman in a corset and a hoop skirt, seated, with a young man in coat and tails standing behind her. Hallie recognized the young man instantly… and the beautiful woman’s piercing eyes and dark ringlets were vaguely familiar, too.

  “Is this you, with—“ she squinted “—Christine Belleyre?”

  He nodded.

  Hallie stared, first at Matthew and then at the photograph. It was strange, to see the man before her so perfectly preserved in this relic of the past. In that moment, she understood the enormity of his age, his experience—all that he knew and had seen, despite how normal, how present, how familiar he was to her.

  “Told you I was old,” he said, only half-joking.

  Hallie couldn’t stop staring at the photograph. She traced Christine’s face.

  “Is she—“ She stumbled over the question. “Is she the girl you fell in love with, who was killed?”

  “No,” Matthew said firmly. “She wasn’t. She was my good friend… and a distant cousin. She took me in and let me stay with her after Emmaline—that was the girl’s name, Emma—was killed, and the townsfolk wanted me gone.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Christine, or Emmaline?”

  “Both.”

  “You know as much as I do about Christine’s disappearance. She vanished after I’d left town. That’s why I came back and joined the research team. I wanted to know what had happened to my oldest and best friend.”