Page 90 of The Spider Queen
“You can,” he insisted.
His hands moved, wandered in between our bodies, and soon I was erupting again. Hunter’s body tightened and then he came.
An overwhelming sadness overtook me, but I couldn’t say why. Hunter whispered words I didn’t understand in my ear, and I started to cry. He held me while the sobs shook my body. His thumbs stroked my tears from my skin as he brushed his lips across mine.
“You’re killing me, Poppy,” he stated, his tone shattered. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“Something’s happening, isn’t it?” I mumbled against his shoulder. I breathed in the smell of skin, the salty muskiness of him.
“Yes, Poppy. Something’s definitely happening.”
I inhaled a shaky breath. “I think I might be ready for that drink now.”
He let out a laugh, but it was muted and strangled. He slid out of me.
After I cleaned up and put on the bathrobe, I sat in the center of the bed, clutching a mini bottle of tequila.
Hunter pulled on his jeans, but left his chest bare. Running a hand through his hair, he paced back and forth across the carpet. Like he was gathering his words before he unleashed them.
He stopped in front of the row of mini-bottles. He grabbed the bourbon, unscrewed it, and shot it.
Gripping the bottle in his hand, his eyes found mine. “My name is Hunter.”
I nodded, urging him to go on. I wanted to hear it all. No matter how rocky, how disjointed.
“My father’s name is Hunter, my grandfather’s name is Hunter, and his father before him was named Hunter. And so on, and so on.”
“Okay.” I frowned in confusion.
“The first born son of every generation in my family is named Hunter, Poppy. Because wearehunters.”
“Hunters?” I asked. “What do you…hunt?”
He walked over to the bed and sat down. His hand wrapped around mine and lifted the tequila bottle to my lips. “Drink.”
It wasn’t a time to argue, so I drank.
Hunter’s eyes refused to leave mine. “In every generation there is a woman, and she is always named after a flower. In my father’s generation, the woman was named Marigold. In my grandfather’s, she was named Violet. In my great-great-grandfather’s, she was named Amaryllis.”
“Really?” I interrupted. “Amaryllis?”
A small smile appeared on Hunter’s lips. “Really.” He let out a deep breath. “We—the Hunters—are meant to find the woman of our generation. And—”
I shot off the bed when he trailed off, putting it all together. “Oh God. You’re meant to kill me!”
He jumped up. “What? No! Why would I kill you?”
“You just said you come from a family of Hunters and you’re supposed to find these flower girls—”
“You didn’t let me finish!” he growled. “If you sit down, I’ll explain.”
“Explain faster,” I demanded, moving to sit on the bed again.
He rolled his eyes. “If I wanted you dead, why would I spring you from the hospital?” He raised his eyebrows and waited. “I told you if you had stayed there, you would’ve died. I could’ve just waited.”
“Which is another thing I want to address—”
“For God’s sake! Let me talk, Poppy!”
