“My father would like me to believe that we are fighting to keep what is ours, but if everyone is fighting to keep what’s theirs and not trying to take what is someone else’s then why are we at war? I suppose the truth behind the war is different to everyone, but my father only wants us to believe his truth, whatever the hell that is.”
“It seems that the truth is indefinitely gray,” I commented, closing my eyes. I felt as though with each truth I was sinking deeper into the lies. There was no way out of this.
“That’s not true,” Hunter assured me, and I felt him brush a hair out of my face.
I opened my eyes as he laid his hand on my cheek, and let his touch calm me.
“There are some things that are black and white,” he whispered as his thumb grazed over my lips.
“The truth with you is clear…it’s just the gray of my past that bugs me,” I replied, letting my hand fall into the plush carpet. His touch couldn’t wipe clean my memories. I started to pull at the fibers of the carpet as I thought of Trevor’s face and the cold gun pressed against my skin.
“You’re going to drive yourself insane thinking about it,” Hunter commented as he dropped his hand over mine.
“I just keep thinking about it and now I’m seeing things differently—remembering things that I never saw before.”
“What do you mean?” Hunter asked with his brow furrowed as tension boiled in the air. I knew that his mind had gone to the secret weapon, but I still had no answer for that.
“My dad used to mention the names of people that I had no clue who they were. I guess I thought they were people from before the war happened. Now that I think about it everyone but me seemed to know who he was talking about—including Sara and Trevor. It just seems the betrayal goes deeper and deeper every time I think about it. I mean…my mom—she must have known…she must have been involved,” tears began to well in my eyes and blur the room, “My dad wants me dead; that means they all must want me dead. Yet, I still think about them—I still don’t want the same things for them that they want for me. I don’t want them to die…how could anyone want to kill their own daughter? I mean—what did I do?”
Hunter pulled me into his arms, “You didn’t do anything Kate. They want us to be monsters like them, but we aren’t and that’s enough for them. If my dad knew who I was he would do the same to me as they did to you. You’re too good of a person to want them dead. No matter what you remember there’s one thing that won’t change.”
I looked up at him, “What?”
“That we know the truth—the truth they didn’t want us to see.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat.
“That there are good people left in the world—and we have the free will to be one of the good people.”
I laid my head on Hunter’s chest, “It still hurts,” I took a deep breath, “I think I preferred being angry to this pain...”
“At some point the pain will be overrun by the rational, and it won’t hurt so much anymore,” he stood and grabbed the itouch off the chaise. He turned with a smirk that I couldn’t quite understand on his face, but it still made me smile. He pulled the ear buds out and swept his finger over the screen before putting it back down and holding his hand out to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, taking his hand and standing.
He pulled me into him and used his hands to wipe the tears from my face, “Getting back that smile.”
“What if I can’t dance?” I joked as the music began to pour out of the speakers.
“Then I’ll teach you,” he responded, his hands slipping to down my hips.
“Yeah, right,” I answered with a laugh.
“Then show me some moves,” he ordered, raising his eyebrows. I raised my hands and started swaying my hips to the music.
He smiled as I let my hands fall to his shoulders and he began to sway in time with me.
“You can dance too?” I asked.
“I thought it might be a useful skill for finesse,” he joked.
“That’s ridiculous,” I choked at the comment.
“It’s a useful tool for taking your mind off things,” he observed, his eyes sparkling.
“Mhmm,” I turned my body and looked over my shoulder, “Do you think it’s working?”
He pulled at my hips, so I turned back around to face him, “You’re smiling aren’t you?”
“Thank you for always knowing what to say,” I sighed.
“The feeling is mutual,” he replied, his eyes smoldering into mine.
“Will you be training me under the moonlight today?” I asked, nodding over my shoulder to the darkening day. The thought of spending all night with him after this made me almost lose my train of thought.
“I saw you watching me the other day—did you learn anything from observing?” he asked, spinning me around.
“I don’t know how you block moves when you’re not even watching your opponent,” I replied, shaking my head and watching a brash smile come to his face.
“It’s all about knowing your opponent Andy, he’s a kicker—that’s what he’s good at, so that’s what he relies on when he fights. He may be good at it, but it makes him predictable to fight. When you’re fighting someone you need to analyze them as you’re making your own moves. Body type seems to have a lot to do with what a person favors,” he explained, “Balanced proportions—”
“Like yours?” I interjected with a smirk.
“Yes, make it hard to really see someone’s weaknesses, but by observing them as they fight you,” he dipped me to the ground, “You can figure out the way to get them into submission.”
“For example?”
“If someone kicks you, and they start to lose balance you can learn two things, one they won’t be kicking you too much and two when they do it’s your best chance to critically injure them,” Hunter pulled me back up into his chest tightly.
I tried to concentrate on what he was telling me as his breath washed over my bare neck, “What do you mean by critically injure them?” I managed to ask.
“Injure them so they can’t fight back anymore,” he answered, his face seeming to strain at the thought.
“Do you teach all of your hunters and trackers the same thing?”
He shook his head, “It’s all about strength and over powering your opponent with them. Your training is about little effort and maximum results.”
“Wouldn’t they need to know this?” I asked.
“Guys just like to kick the crap out of each other—do you think they would listen to me preaching about observation and finesse?”
“Alright, I see you’re point—but maybe I just want to kick the crap out of someone too?”
“Please demonstrate,” he remarked, putting his hands up.
I lifted my leg at a speed I thought he wouldn’t be able to grab, but somehow he still did. He pulled me into him.
“See,” he said into my ear.
I wrapped my leg around his waist and then slipped it down to his knees making them cave. We both crumbled to the ground.
“See, I have moves too,” I commented.
He looked down at me, his bodying crushing into mine as our legs tangled together, “Unless you’re trying to seduce your opponent I don’t think that would really work all that well.”
“You could be right,” I replied with a smirk.
He rolled his eyes and slid to the side of me.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, looking up at the ceiling with his face red.
“Why is that?” I asked leaning on my elbow.
Say it, Say it. I thought to myself. I wanted him to say he had feelings for me and it made the room spin. To say that his feelings made it hard to concentrate, but maybe that was only my truth.
“You already know,” he replied as he sat up, and the color rushed out of his face as quick as it had come there, “You hungry?”
The empty feeling returned to my stomach
.
“Sure,” I replied standing and heading for the door. I couldn’t hide the fact that his answer wasn’t what I had wanted, and I needed to leave before he saw it too.
“Kate, what’s wrong?”
I looked over my shoulder at him standing with his hands behind his head. His eyes moved back and forth as they searched my face. His lips remained in a confused line, and I wanted to explain it to him, but the fear was just too strong. What made me madder was the fact that he had to know. How could he not see it?
“Kate?” he repeated, and his face showed the stress of waiting for an answer.
“You already know,” I retorted, leaving him standing in the room wondering what I meant, or knowing, but not being willing enough to say it. I had been a fool with those that were my own blood and maybe I was being a fool with my heart.
Chapter 25
The trouble with being mad at Hunter was that I really couldn’t be. He hadn’t purposely done anything wrong, and even if he had he was probably right about what he was doing. Even if his motives seemed foggy to me he was usually right in his reasoning. I just couldn’t stay mad at him especially after a day of reading Jane Austen. I heard the commotion outside the window of our kitchen and looked down to see that the men were flooding out of the woods. They were pushing and joking around with one another, glad to be out of Hunter’s intense training sessions, but I was looking forward to one under the coming moon. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the negative pull of the common room.
“There you are,” Mara moved over on the couch, “I was curious to see if you would join us at all today. I’m starting to think you don’t like us.”
“I just got caught up in a book, sorry” I answered shrugging and taking the seat she offered. I really didn’t enjoy being around them, but I tried to keep the expression off of my face.
“The men are playing poker tonight,” Mara nodded over her shoulder, “I bet most of us could kick their asses at it though.”
“Right,” I replied, trying to keep the stupid, what the hell is poker look off my face.
“They have nothing to bet,” Mara said, picking at her hot pink toe nails.
“They’re all the same,” Amy interrupted as she came and sat on the coffee table in front of us.
Mara rolled her eyes and stood, “Someone’s miserable again—I’ll go get some snacks.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, figuring I should make some sort of comment.
“Look at my arm,” She explained in a low voice as she raised her shirt sleeve to show the purple and blue mark that stained her skin.
“He beats you?” I said in mock shock. The power hungry men with self esteem issues beat their wives—how contrite. I tried to feel pity for her, but her attitude and general air of arrogance made it hard.
“They’re all arrogant assholes,” she lowered the shirt discreetly, “Self-serving pricks.”
She wasn’t saying anything that I didn’t know as I looked over my shoulder at the wasted cans of beer. Hunter sat playing with the top of his bottle of water. The man burst out in laughter, and I saw Hunter’s eyes darken, but laughter came out of his mouth too. It was fake and painful for me to hear when I had heard his real laughter so often myself.
“I bet their talking about one of their wives—some sick perverted joke,” Amy grinded her teeth, “At least you don’t have to pretend to be in love with him. You’re a POW not a POM.”
“POM?” I asked suddenly intrigued by what she was saying because in truth, I had no clue what she was hinting at.
“Prisoner of marriage,” Amy responded.
“You never loved him?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at her husband. He was a towering man with bleach blonde hair and a square jaw. He looked intimidating, but very stupid. He reminded me of the men that had fought Hunter from the McCrery tribe.
“Look at him. I thought I was in love with him. I was in love with his looks and his arrogance had a strange appeal to me. I guess it’s the classic cheerleader meets jock thing,” Amy explained with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
“Huh?” I asked, wondering how cheerleading and sports had any sort of validity in our world.
“You really were sheltered out there in the woods weren’t you? Did they inbreed you too?”
That’s when I saw it in her eyes. The same thing that was in her husband’s; she was just like him. They were mere beasts with closed minds.
“Inbred? Seeing we were only there for fifteen years I don’t think it was enough time to become inbred,” I retorted. I felt like smacking her across the face, or better yet using one of the moves Hunter had taught me to put her flat out on the ground.
“So will you have an arranged marriage if you ever go back?” She asked, fluttering her black eyelashes at me as if she hadn’t said anything that I should be insulted by.
I looked over my shoulder and my eyes met Hunter’s. He smiled at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get back,” I replied.
“Do you think Hunter will kill you?” Amy sneered.
“I’m a POW my fate is sealed to his decisions,” I replied, trying to let the butterflies in my stomach disappear. I wasn’t going anywhere because I didn’t want to.
“Hey,” Hunter interrupted, grasping my shoulder, “Let’s go.”
“Bored?” Amy asked, looking up at Hunter and smiling. Her eyes glanced over his strong chest and downwards, and the want to injure her returned.
“We have some stuff to do,” Hunter replied.
She raised an eyebrow, but stood to go join the other wives who were sitting in a circle gossiping, most likely about me.
“Thanks for saving me,” I said as we walked out to the front porch.
“I didn’t want Amy to taint your good nature,” Hunter explained.
“She really hates her husband,” I remarked as Hunter jumped off the porch and looked up at me to follow, “Seriously? I’ll hurt myself.”
“I’ll catch you before you fall on your face,” he reassured me. He winked at me as he stood and rubbed the dirt off his hands onto his jeans. I didn’t trust that I could do it, but I knew he would catch me.
I took a deep breath and launched myself off the porch landing like a cat. I looked up into his smiling face, “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Well, I taught you how to do it,” Hunter commented.
“And how did you do that?”
“You observed my skill and copied it.”
“Maybe I just have natural talent?” I countered, knowing it was a ridiculous concept.
“Sure you do. Twigs trip you,” he teased, and his laughter lightened the darkness of what his training meant— I might have to use it someday.
“So what do you want to do?” I asked.
“Let’s go for a run and then I can teach you some more of my skills,” he suggested before taking off at a sprint.
His shadow flitted behind the bare trees, and I could barely keep track of where he was going. It didn’t help that his footfalls were almost silent against the night, and the sound of my heart crushing against my chest was the only thing I could hear. The idea of losing sight of him was causing the pain in my chest more than the lactate filling my muscles. Still I felt that if I had no idea what direction he had gone I could find my way back to him.
“Seriously?” I huffed when I finally caught up to him in an open field lit only by the moon light, “You couldn’t slow down at least a little bit?”
“I didn’t want anyone to follow us. I think I need to teach you some stealth though. You sounded like a rampaging rhino, so all they had to do was listen for you,” Hunter remarked, his hands placed behind his head so that his shirt raised just enough for me to see the white of his hips glinting against the moon light.
“I was…thinking the same thing,” I managed to stutter, “and I could barely tell where you were going.”
“How did you find me then?” he
asked with an eyebrow arched over his jade eyes.
“Instinct?”
He pointed at me, and I found myself blushing.
“Exactly, you need to trust yourself more and rely on what you know about me—or in the case of fighting what you know about your opponent,” Hunter explained.
“How will I be able to know things about my opponent if I’ve never met them?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips in frustration. It seemed that fighting was more about mind games than anything else.
“Did you listen to me when we were dancing last night?” he asked, his lips going into a downward turn that I despised.
“I did—it’s just sometimes you distract me,” I explained, taking a deep breath.
“I’ll try to rein in my good looks,” Hunter joked, his smile returning.
“I know you said that body types matter…and to observe the way they fight, but I don’t get how that technically works. How am I suppose to think of all that and think of how to defend myself?”
“You just have to. To survive you have to do whatever is needed. Now look at me—what do you think my weakness would be? You’ve seen me fight,” Hunter questioned, his arms crossed and his eyes burning into me for answers.
“The best chance to get a hit on you is when you’re back is turned, or when you are striking someone. The reaction time is very slim to actually get a hit in though because you seem to be thinking of what I will do next and what you will do next at the same time. Best chance with you, in all probability, would be to throw as many strikes as I possibly can as fast as I possibly can.”
“Very good observations, but if you’re throwing as many strikes as you possibly can then you won’t be on the defensive and won’t be able to block anything I throw at you. One good punch and you’d be done for. I could get you on the ground and snap your neck,” He clarified, his arms still crossed. The gravity of his explanation struck me, and I had to take a deep breath. He seemed menacing all of a sudden, and I realized how breakable I really was next to him.
“Snap my neck?” I swallowed, “Are you going to teach me how to snap someone’s neck?”
In Between Seasons (The Fall) Page 9
