Page 67 of Haunting the Hunter
My ancestor, Jonathan Halloway, founded the Covenant. How exactly he got the grimoire isn’t specified, but family history does say that he called upon the God through a spell from its pages.
It sure does sound like the grimoire may have the answers I need.
I stand in front of my bedside table, staring at the top drawer where the grimoire has sat for days, untouched, then I stop dead, reminding myself that I’m no longer alone.
If I’m going to open that thing back up, I’ll need to put up a barrier. I turn on my heel and scamper into the kitchen to grab the container of salt and race back to my room, carefully creating a circle in front of my bed: around myself and the old book. I take a deep breath and state my intentions clearly in my mind.
I need to know about the Covenant’s God.
I’m carefully opening the book when Alabaster’s voice booms from behind me. I jump, feet skidding, and break my salt circle—the book slamming closed as I pull my hands away.
“You have no clue how to use that thing, do you?” he says in a wry tone, Karma in his arms and a smirk plastered on his too-perfect face.
“Can you not see that I’m busy?” I say in a low, clipped tone, my annoyance obvious. “And put my cat down.”
“Ourcat,” he tuts, clutching her to his chest, and the traitor nuzzles in. “And I thought we were getting along so well.” He pouts.
“Karma, you’re a traitor,” I groan, tilting my head back. “Go away, Alabaster.”
“I love that you keep pretending I’m not getting under your skin,” he purrs, taking a step closer and kicking at the useless line of salt.
“That is one thing you will not do.” I smirk, sitting up straighter.
“Wanna bet?” He sets Karma down on the bed, stroking her chinbefore turning back to me. “Sorry, sweetie, mommy and daddy need to have a chat.”
He looks almost predatory now. He stands to his full height, towering over me. He must be seven feet tall. He doesn’t even look real. His body shifts from a physical form into this mist-like substance, as if he is only partially here. His golden eyes darken when his voice lowers to a growl.
“Run, pretty girl…” The words seem to echo around the room.
He takes another step toward me, and the realization hits just as my instincts catch up. I bolt out of the room, knowing there is nowhere I can go that he won’t follow.
I want him to chase me.
So, I run.
Down the stairs and outside. I make a beeline for the trees surrounding the estate, my bare feet breaking twigs and sinking into the ground with each of my quickened steps. My lungs are burning at the point when I hear him laughing in the distance.
It echoes all around me, his presence pressing in on all sides, when I trip over a raised root.
“Fuck!” I squeal as I crash to the ground, gripping my leg as I scream into the air.
I look down to see my ankle is cut deep. The sensation is so overwhelming, my vision begins to blacken. I attempt to breathe through the pain.
I try to calm myself, sending my power to heal the wound, but to no avail. It’s too deep and I can’t focus.
Tears burn my eyes and I sit there, silently crying to myself, when I notice black smoke creeping through the brush all around me. It nears my foot then transforms into a gigantic pale hand, before an arm slowly appears—and then the rest of Alabaster’s body.
“Stay still,” he mumbles, voice surprisingly gentle.
I push at him with as much strength as I have—which isn’t much at this point.
“Get off of me, asshole!” I say stubbornly. As if it’s his fault I’m clumsy.
He takes his other hand and leans me back against the tree behind me, not looking up from my ruined ankle. He holds me there, in a gentle stronghold, his arms long enough that I’m unable to swing at him any further.
Watching helplessly, he leans down and opens his mouth, and his tongue slowly begins licking the blood from my ankle.
My stomach rolls from the pain and I hiss, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
