Page 15 of Haunting the Hunter
It is what it is.
“Are you gonna be okay?” His voice is almost stern, wanting a genuine response. “Should I be worried?”
“I’ll be okay. I’m sorry,” I say in a quiet voice. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll clean this up in the morning.”
I walk away, leaving no room for a response.
When I make it to my room, I allow the weight of my body to sink into the mattress. I’m not okay, I’ve never been okay. But I will be.
CHAPTER 6
CADE
Flashes of bodies and blood. The sharp sound of screaming tears me from sleep—but it’s not a dream, it’s a memory.
The first sacrifice I witnessed.
Shoving it away, I wake. Sort of. Eyes wide open, but my body won’t move. I’m stuck staring at the ceiling, limbs heavy, chest tight.
Panic stirs low in my gut as I adjust to my surroundings. The room is dark but not empty. I notice something in the air, like smoke. It moves with intent, graceful and fluid as it hovers.
I try to move, but my muscles won’t respond.
Why the fuck can’t I move?
Just then, the haze shifts, the shape warping until it almost looks like… hands. I try to shut my eyes, but I can’t even do that. Then, I feel pressure, cool and weightless. As I focus on the touch, it’s featherlight, but I feel it.
A hand rests on my chest. It eases my breath. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it dulls. The form shifts again, circling around to my side. One hand stays pressed over my heart, grounding me, while the other traces down my body—slow and careful. My mind races to catch up with my body. I want to ask what this is. I want to scream, but I can’t.And then: a kiss. Soft. Just at the crook of my neck. A chill races down my spine, but not from fear. From something else.
Somethingworse.
I feel safe, and my eyes are able to close, finally. Just for a second. What is this? Comfort? I want to lean in, but I still can’t move, can’t speak. I can’t do anything but exist in the blissful, terrifying silence. It’s just a dream. It has to be. Not real. I struggle to vocalize my thoughts.
“You’re not real, ghost.”
Just a trick of my fucked-up brain. The thought hits hard and bitter. Immediately, the pressure lifts. A withdrawal. Like I hurt it.
No.
No, don’t go. But no sound escapes. No plea reaches it. My body jerks and I bolt upright, sweat-soaked and breathless once again.
“No!”
I don’t know why I said it. Instinct, maybe. My hand flies to my neck, fingers grazing the exact spot I felt those lips. The skin is cool. Sensitive. Too real. I scratch at it, hard, trying to replace sensation with pain. I look over to my bedside table. The clock reads 3:33.
Again.
This is fucking annoying.
Lying back down, I stare at the back of my eyelids for too long, tossing and turning every so often, but sleep never finds me. Eventually, I check the clock again—5:15. Dammit. I throw the covers back, swinging my legs out of bed and grabbing my jeans from the chair near the window. As I pull them on, I feel it again. That stare.
Eyes. On me. Always.
I grab my shirt. They must like what they see. I’m an attractive guy, what can I say? A dry laugh slips out—but it fades just as fast. Because I’d be crazy to derive pleasure from the look of something unseen.Right?
I yank the shirt over my head and sit on the edge of the bed, hand covering my mouth. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right. There’s no possible fucking way any of this is real. I’m paranoid. Stressed.Spiraling. It makes sense. It has to make sense. I push the thought down, burying it under the usual weight of logic. Only the logical is trustworthy.
Coffee. I need coffee.
