Page 102 of Haunting the Hunter
“You did what you could,” he says, his voice closer now, his warmth almost stinging. “Stop carrying guilt that doesn’t belong to you, Calli.”
I feel the shift in the air just before his arm wraps around me—solid and warm, grounding me in a way I hate to admit I need. I lean back against him and sigh.
“If it weren’t for your efforts,” he continues softly, “you’d still be guessing. That pendulum you gave your brother saved his life.”
My throat tightens.
“Cade is in love with the being connected to that pendulum,” I whisper, my eyes closing.
“I know.” Alabaster chuckles, soft and knowing. “Though your brother hasn’t quite figured that part out yet.”
He says it like he sees it all—the threads, the bonds, the things we pretend not to feel.
Like none of us has any secrets from him.
“They must be why he believes,” I mutter, eyes still closed, head resting against his chest. “Why he’s even open to all of this.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His tone sharpens just slightly, not cruel—just pointed. “Didn’t you want that? For him to believe?”
“I did. I do.” My voice catches, the truth in the words making my heart clench. “I’m just glad he’s not alone.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he asks, cocking a brow, already reading me if the twinkle in his eye is anything to go by.
I hesitate. “I don’t know. How does that even work?” And the second it’s out of my mouth, I regret it. I make a face, nose wrinkling. “You know what—never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Alabaster grins, slow and deliberate. That devilish, too-knowing smile he wears so well.
“How do we work?” he asks, tugging me more fully against him, his arms sliding down around my waist. He holds me still.
“I don’t know if we do, yet,” I say, voice low and teasing, my lip twitching like it wants to smile, but I don’t let it. I can’t—not until I know they’re safe.
But something deep in me—wants.
He tilts his head, studying me with a look that’s far too tender for someone like him.
“You’ve played your part,” he says quietly. “Now you wait.”
He leans in closer, voice brushing my skin like a secret. “Let me create a distraction.”
I shake my head. “I can’t get it out of my head,” I admit, clenching my fists. “What I saw. What I felt. There’s nothing you can do to distract me—”
“Watch this.”
He slips away and walks down the porch steps to my flowerpots, plucking one of the cosmos buds—not yet bloomed. When he returns, he places the stem in my palm.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Alabaster…” I groan wearily but he just grins down at me.
“Humor me.”
I sigh and shut them.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
“Now,” he whispers, “imagine it, bloomed. Fully open. See it in your mind.”
I do as he says. I picture the petals. Pale pink and delicate. Cade brought them home our first week here—said they were low-maintenance and pretty, just like me. A joke that stuck.
