Chapter 25
The Hunter
T he classroom I’ve thrived in for years feels suffocating. Normally, the walls are a sanctuary, where control and precision reign. But today, those same walls seem to close in on me. Each breath I take feels heavier, thick with the oppressive weight of Ruby’s absence.
An itch festers under my skin. Not the kind that can be scratched away. No, this is the deeper sort, the kind that twists and gnaws at the bones. I sit at my desk, my eyes scanning the room, but it might as well be empty.
It’s February first, so I should be at the high of all highs, ready to do what I crave. Yet, I’m not. I need to know where Ruby is, I need to know she’s okay.
The students are there, shuffling papers and whispering amongst themselves, but I don’t hear them. All that exists in my world right now is her absence. The empty seat where Ruby should be.
The sound of the ticking watch around my wrist grows louder, an incessant drumming that reverberates in my skull. It’s as though each second mocks me, reminding me that time is slipping away—and with it, my control over her. Time is the enemy now, a clock ticking down, threatening to sever the delicate thread that binds her to me.
I c lench my fists under the desk, my knuckles blanching. The sharp edge of unease slices through me. Unfamiliar. Unwanted. I’ve never been one to worry about someone else’s absence. They were always replaceable. Disposable. But Ruby? No. She isn’t like the others.
I hate that I feel this way—I hate her for making me feel this way.
My pulse quickens at the memory of our last encounter, the scent of her skin, the taste of her blood on my lips. The primal urge to claim her, to possess her fully, stirs the darkness inside me. Yet, there’s another emotion there too—concern? No, that’s not it. It’s fear.
Fear that something has happened to her.
The thought of her missing classes because of what happened between us doesn’t sit right with me. Not only am I too vain to even entertain that thought, but she also loves my attention too much to let herself go days without it… at least willingly.
A heavy weight presses down on my chest, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. My instincts, honed through years of calculated manipulation, scream at me that Ruby’s absence is more than just avoidance.
As my mind races with images of her lying helpless, hurt, or worse, I’m unable to shake the anger of the fact that someone has hurt my prey— my pet.
I palm the phone nestled in the pocket of my suit pants. The impulse to call her, to demand her location, has gnawed at me for days. And yet, my thumb itches to scroll through the contacts. It would be so simple. I could make her explain herself. I could hear her voice and know.
The act of reaching out would solidify the fact that she’s wormed her way under my skin—deep enough that I want to find her. Deep enough that the lack of control is suffocating me.
No. I shove the thought aside. She will come back to me on her own. And when she does, I’ll remind her of her place—beneath me. Under my control.
“Professor Grant?” A student’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I blink, realizing that the students are staring at me, waiting for something. My lecture is over, though I don’t recall saying a word. How much time has passed? An hour? Two?
“ Read the next chapter before class,” I say curtly, dismissing them with a wave of my hand. They file out of the room, their chatter a distant hum, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
As the last one exits, my phone buzzes with a reminder—dinner with Carolina. I don’t remember setting it, but somehow, here we are. It’s hard to imagine why I’d agreed to this in the first place, maybe it was the easier option at the time.
A shallow sigh escapes me. I have to keep up appearances, even when my mind is elsewhere. Even when Ruby’s absence gnaws at me, carving deep into my thoughts.
I leave the classroom, slipping the mask of Professor Valentine Grant back into place. By the time I arrive at the restaurant Carolina chose, the mask is solid, unshakable. It’s one of those upscale New York spots, dimly lit, overpriced, a pretentious menu and faux-intellectual clientele. I despise it.
Carolina is already seated when I arrive, her face glowing with excitement as she prattles on about Willow’s Foundation. Her voice is lively, eyes bright, as she details her plans for the future. She talks, but I only half listen. My thoughts keep drifting back to Ruby.
Where is she? What has happened to her?
“Did I ever tell you that Halloween was one of Willow’s favorite seasons? I want it to be a night to remember,” Carolina says, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Something that will honor Willow’s legacy and raise significant funds.”
While Carolina talks, my eyes drift around the room. Dark wood, low lights, muted conversations in the background—nothing interesting enough to hold my attention. But then again, nothing is right now. My mind keeps pulling me back to one thing; my pet.
Nodding, I offer her a practiced smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m sure everything will be perfect by then,” I say, though the words feel hollow. Since Carolina seems content with Ruby’s absence, I decide to steer the conversation in the direction I need. “I expected Ruby to be more involved. She seemed quite passionate about the Foundation as well.”
Carolina’s fingers still on the glass, and for a moment, I catch a flicke r of something—hesitation. Her smile falters. “Ruby is…” She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, careful. “Ruby’s been dealing with some things.”
The cold hand of fear clenches around my heart. “Things?” My voice remains calm, but my pulse quickens.
She hesitates again, her eyes searching mine as though weighing how much to say. “It’s not really my place, but…” Her gaze falters. “It’s about her husband. Michael. He attacked her.”
The words slam into me like a physical blow. I feel the blood drain from my face, my grip tightening on the glass in front of me. For a moment, everything else fades—the noise of the restaurant, the flickering candles. All I hear is the thunderous beating of my heart in my ears.
Michael. That pathetic, worthless worm dared to lay his hands on her.
My prey.
My pet.
Mine.
“How badly is she hurt?” I ask, my voice steady, though it takes everything in me to keep it that way.
Carolina lowers her voice, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. “She’s with Jack now. He’s taking care of her. No broken bones, but she needed stitches. She’s pretty bruised up.”
Jack. Her brother. The one person standing between me and her now. But it’s Michael who must suffer. That fool overstepped his bounds, and now I’ll have to deal with him. I take a slow sip of my drink, the whiskey burning as it slides down my throat.
“And Michael?” I ask, carefully neutral.
“No one knows where he is,” Carolina says with a sigh. “Jack is making sure Ruby’s safe from him, though.”
I nod, the pieces of my plan already forming in my mind. Michael. Jack. Ruby. They all have their roles to play, and I’ll ensure that everything falls into place exactly as it should. My mind begins to race, formulating a plan, the cold, logical part of me—the Hunter—kicking into gear.
Car olina continues talking, but her words fade into the background. My thoughts are already elsewhere, already focusing on the hunt. I’ll start with Michael. He needs to be reminded of his place.
But Ruby? She will need a reminder, too, of who she belongs to. She should have called me for help. I said she’s mine, and she agreed. Even without knowing how far I’ll go to protect what’s mine, she should have trusted me.
“I’m glad she’s with Jack,” I say, my voice measured and controlled. Carolina doesn’t hear the lie beneath it, or if she does, she chooses to ignore it.
She smiles, relief washing over her features. “I’ll make sure Ruby knows you’re looking out for her. Maybe you can bring her anything she’s missed? She wants to come back to class as soon as she can.”
I allow myself a small smile, nodding as if I’m just concerned about her education. “Of course. I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall behind.”
Carolina beams, clearly pleased with herself, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath my surface. I finish my drink and signal for another round. Whiskey for me, soda for her. She keeps talking about Willow’s Foundation, but I’m barely listening. My thoughts are already somewhere else.
Ruby. Michael.
Carolina is still talking as I rise from my seat. I offer her a polite smile, excusing myself under the guise of an early morning meeting.
“Take care, Carolina,” I say, my voice low and calm.
She smiles. “You, too, Valentine.”
I leave her with that, stepping out into the cool night air, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a vise.
My burner phone buzzes to life as I switch it on and scroll down to Michael’s name. One text. One message is all it will take to get his attention, to remind him who’s in charge. My fingers hover over the screen, a brief hesitation flickering in the back of my mind. But it’s gone in an instant, swallowed by the need to act.
I press send.
As I slip my phone back into my pocket, I already know where this is headed. Michael won’t be able to resist. The promise of meeting to discus s Ruby is too tempting for a man like him—pathetic, desperate, easily led. He thinks he’s in control, but the truth is, he’s been under my thumb from the start.
The cold air brushes against my skin as I wait for a cab to drive me home, and during the short journey, a plan unfolds in my mind.
When I enter my apartment, I glance at the clock and decide I have enough time to change. I shed the suit and tie—the uniform of Professor Valentine Grant, the man the world sees. The one who smiles, who lectures, who pretends to care. But tonight, I’m not him. I’m the Hunter. And the Hunter has no need for pretense.
I open my closet and reach for the clothes that suit the task at hand: a black, long-sleeved shirt made of a material that moves with me, silent and forgiving. Over it, a leather jacket, worn just enough to blend in with the night but sturdy enough to withstand the harshness of the Catskill Mountains. The jeans are dark, unassuming. Functional.
Finally, I lace up my black boots, the soles soft enough to make no sound, but strong enough to tread anywhere. These are not the clothes of a professor. These are the clothes of a predator.
As I roll up my left sleeve to adjust the cuff, my eyes fall on the mark I always keep hidden. A black serpent coiled tightly around a bow and arrow, etched into the skin of my inner wrist. Its intricacy is hypnotic—each scale of the serpent detailed, the arrow pulled taut in the bow, ready to strike.
The symbol is a reminder of who I am. Of the hunt that always lives beneath the surface. The serpent strikes without warning, and tonight, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I glance at it for a moment longer before covering it again. The countless rumors surrounding my mark are amusing, but also the reason no one can know I have it, the reason I always keep it hidden.
After grabbing the syringe from my drawer, the small vial of sedative already prepped, I leave my loft again.
By the time I step into my car—an old, nondescript Toyota Camry in dark gray I keep parked in a garage that’s a long walk from my home—I’ve fully embraced the persona that will carry me through the night. No one knows I own this car. No one ever sees me drive it.
The drive to the garage is quiet. My mind stays focused, calm, as I prepare for what comes next. Michael thinks we’re going to talk. He thinks he’s coming to negotiate the terms of Ruby’s demise.
I park just outside the garage where we’ve met before. It’s the perfect place for this—a shadowy, deserted spot where no one asks questions. No one will hear a thing. I pull the collar of my jacket up higher, making sure my face remains hidden under the shadow of the hood as I wait.
Michael’s car pulls up, the tires crunching against the gravel. I watch him step out, glancing around nervously, as though he can sense something isn’t right. His face is bruised, and I wonder if they’re marks from his last encounter with Ruby.
“Hello?” he calls out, his voice shaky, a pathetic attempt at bravado. “You here?”
I stay in the shadows, allowing my voice to carry from the darkness. “I’m here. Did you bring what I asked for?”
Michael hesitates. “Yeah, I brought it. But we need to be sure about this. Ruby—she’s with Jack. He’s in the way. If we’re going to go through with this, we need to be smart.”
Good, he thinks this is still about Ruby.
I move silently around the perimeter of the garage, keeping him in my sight, never revealing myself fully. My steps are measured, soundless.
He shifts uneasily, glancing around. “Hello?” he calls again, more uncertain this time.
I wait until I’m directly behind him. The syringe is already in my hand, hidden in the sleeve of my jacket. One step closer, and he still doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t sense the danger.
Then, I strike.
I clamp my hand over his mouth, pulling him back against me as I plunge the needle into his neck with swift precision. He struggles for a moment, his body thrashing, but it’s no use. The sedative works quickly, spreading through his veins like liquid fire.
“Shh,” I whisper into his ear, my voice cold and detached. “This won’t hurt for long.”
His body goes limp in my arms as the drug takes full effect. His eyes roll b ack, and he slumps against me, unconscious. I lower him to the ground, making sure he’s fully out before I move again.
I drag his limp body toward my car, opening the trunk with a practiced hand. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, and it won’t be the last. I hoist him into the trunk, his weight nothing more than an inconvenience now. The trunk closes with a soft thud, and just like that, Michael is fully in my possession.
I slip back into the driver’s seat and start the engine. The road to the Catskills is long, but tonight, the drive feels like nothing. The car moves steadily, cutting through the night like a blade. The Hunter has claimed his prey, and soon, the real work will begin.
As the city fades behind me, and the dark, looming trees of the Catskill Mountains rise in the distance, a slow smile spreads across my face. Michael will wish he’d never crossed me by touching my prey.
A telltale shiver runs down my spine, and my smile grows.
Another hunt just began.