Page 53 of Make Me Hunt
I’m just seeing things. Just like I saw Ezekiel a few seconds ago.
I want to start laughing, maybe even make fun of how fucked everything turned out. But there’s something that’s stopping me. This feels too real, even if I know I’m just lost at this point.
So, I don’t say anything. I just stare at him, examine his features, stunned by what my own mind could come up with. Angry that I let myself get to this point.
He’s still, like a predator waiting for my next move, like he’s sniffing out the air to decide the right moment to bare his teeth.
“I have to go.” It’s more like I’m asking for permission than telling him what I’m about to do next.
But if I stay here, I’ll lose the last drop of sanity holding me together.
“No, you don’t,” he mutters, the sound of his voice matching his rough features.
There’s something bizarre about his tone, like it comes from a place outside this dimension. Like, he’s not Ares anymore, but a creature brought to life to snap me from my hallucinations. And drop me into a real-life nightmare.
“I’m not… I’m not feeling well,” I try to explain to him what’s going on with me without really saying it. Because how do you tell someone you’re seeing them as something that crawled out of the depths of hell?
But his hands keep me pinned, his voice losing the severity just slightly. “Brynn, you’re not seeing things.” He pauses, waiting for me to realize that this is real. “I know it’s the worst fucking moment to explain this, but I couldn’t control myself after hearing what happened.” He breathes heavily, like the words cost him. And I still can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“What the hell are you?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“Interesting choice of words. Because that’s exactly what I am. Something born from hell. The Devil’s offspring... or at least that’s what people call me.”
I look at him and I want to say he’s tripping, but something tells me he’s as real as it gets. And everything about him convinces me he’s telling the truth. He’s something out of this world, something unimaginable, and at the same time, undeniable.
“How... how is that even possible?” I ask, my voice still shaking, confused by what I just confessed and what he just revealed. Because Ezekiel’s image is still somewhere there in my mind—more present than ever—waiting for the right moment to surface again.
“I’ll explain later. I’m not sure you’re ready for the full story right now,” he stops, giving me a few moments to recover—not that anyone could recover from this. “I could’ve walked away. Come back later with some excuse. But I’m here because I can't see you like this.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. I know exactly what he’s talking about. If it weren’t for my physical appearance, he wouldn’t even recognize me. I’m a mess. Still shaking, like a leaf, still too troubled to properly process what’s happening.
“Let me help you. Let me replace the monster in your nightmares with the monster you own,” he breathes, his eyes running over my body, fingernails trailing across my scars.
Could he really help me?
Could he erase Ezekiel from my body and replace him with anything else?
It doesn’t even matter what at this point. I just want to be free of him. Free of the fear that runs my life from the shadows. Even if it’s just for a second. Even if we’re not meant to be. Because when the time comes, I won’t hesitate to destroyallmy monsters.
I still want to tell him no. I can’t conceive anyone else having this kind of power over me, especially Ares. But I can’t live with the fear either. It’s wearing me down, like I’m rotting from the inside out. The pain, the memories—all too real, just like the tears sliding down my cheeks. I don’t even know how I’m crying. I never cry.
It’s just too much, too fast.
I don’t even have faith Ares can succeed. But if there’s the slightest chance, the smallest opportunity to be free, then I have to take it. Even if I don’t understand what’s happening or how this is even possible.
But I’ve learned the hard way that men can be monsters.
So why can’t monsters be real?
I lift my eyes to look at him. I don’t want to say the words. I don’t want to be weak again and give him power over me. Though he already has it. But the darkness in his eyes deepens. The tattoos on his body start shifting, morphing from monsters to crows, then to indescribable beings, like they’re summoning something evil from within.
Maybe it’s his way of fighting evil with evil.
I know it’s my way of surrendering.
With one swift move, he finds his way between my legs. With another, he grabs the rim of the couch, dropping the backrest and turning it into a garden bed. The lights are on and I’m ready to ask him to turn them off again.ButI also want to stop hiding. I want him to do whatever he has to, if it means curing me of Ezekiel.
He leans in, his breath uneven, like he’s having trouble staying focused. And I don’t blame him. His body is something massive now, and even though I have a million questions, I don’t have the time to ask them now.
