Page 46 of Haunting the Hunter
“Damn… I just got the worst headache,” he mutters, rubbing his temples. His voice is groggy and disconnected.
He stumbles slightly as he moves toward the counter, catching himself on the edge. His breaths are shallow, as if he’s been running. His skin, though warmer now, still holds a sickly undertone—too pale, too slick with sweat.
“Are you okay? What do you remember?” I ask, my voice unsteady.
“What? Nothing. My head feels like I got hit by a truck.” He winces, squinting like the lights are too bright. “My stomach feels off, too. Weirdest nausea.”
“Do you believe in the supernatural, Jack?”
He looks at me with a perturbed expression.
“I’d say I’m a man of science, but why not?” He rubs his temples. “A hundred years ago, the tech we have now would’ve been considered alien or witchcraft. I believe magic is just a science we don’t yet understand.”
“Wow. That’s surprisingly wise. I wouldn’t expect that from you,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“I have my moments. Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation… You should get some rest,” I suggest softly.
He shrugs, brushing it off, but it’s forced. He truly doesn’t remember, and that terrifies me more than if he did.
“Yeah…” His phone buzzes with a notification. He pulls it from his pocket, unlocking it.
“Is it Cade?”
“Yeah.” He nods and blows out a breath, looking over at me. “He found his target.”
He’s so pale. “You okay, Jack?” He gulps.
“Yeah… Yeah, I think I’m getting sick. I’ll go lie down.”
“Okay. Thank you, Jack… I’m glad my brother has you.”
He chuckles weakly as he walks away. “Who the hell else could put up with him—besides you?”
I shake my head and make my way to my bedroom, heading out to my balcony. I need air.
I sink into the chair, letting the breeze bite at my skin. Since I called his name, Alabaster has been hovering over me like a shadow I can’t shake. At first, I was in shock. But now… I don’t know. What he did to that man in the bar, what he just did to Jack. I don’t know what he’s capable of…
Heshouldgo. I head back into my room and go to the grimoire, flipping pages like a woman possessed. I find spells for fairies. Gnomes. Ghosts.
There—Protection Against Demons.
Fuck, it’s complicated and I don’t have half the ingredients.
But then I find another:Protection Ward.
Salt. Cinnamon. Blood.
I scan the room—he’s gone. For now.
I bolt to the kitchen and grab salt, cinnamon, and a knife. Back in my room, I spread the mixture of salt and cinnamon around the bed. Good enough… it has to be.
I take the knife, press it to my palm, hesitating for a moment—then slice. A sharp sting blooms as blood wells and drips into the circle.
I press a shirt to my hand, murmuring the incantation from the grimoire, voice low and trembling. I sit on the bed, back against the headboard.
Okay. Now what?
