Chapter 32
The Hunter
I t was almost noon before we finally left my cabin, and drove back to the city. After a filling lunch and another shower together, we crashed, both needing sleep after this morning’s exercise.
God, having her at my cabin, at my mercy, was fucking perfect. Sure, the sex was phenomenal, as was chasing her through the woods. But the real high was knowing how much she cares, that she worried about me.
Little by little, my pet has thawed the ice around the organ in my chest, making it beat once more. Only this time, it’s beating for her.
Sliding out of the bed, I stride over to the window and look outside. It’s dark again, and I feel a pull toward the streets. While draped in darkness, New York City is supposed to be my playground. But there’s been no time to let loose yet.
Turning around, I watch Ruby while she sleeps, I find that I like being here with her. It’s not like the Hunter will never come out and play, maybe he’ll come out sooner than I think since I’ve brought my bow back with me. But for now, I’m not in any rush to leave her.
She mumbles something in her sleep, her brows knitting together in a frown. She rolls to her other side, restless.
Once I’m sure she’s still deep in her slumber, I slip out of my bedroom and quietly make my way to the kitchen. My body aches from the long drive, the tension of the morning sitting heavy on my shoulders. The hunt always brings a certain toll, but something feels different.
With a soft yawn, I brew a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as I sit at the counter, my laptop glowing in the dim light. The soft click of the keys feels almost rhythmic, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.
I didn’t find a single trace, proof, of anyone being at the cabin besides Ruby and me. I meticulously scoured a generous perimeter, combing through every inch of the snow-covered ground. No footprints, no evidence of another presence. On the surface, that should ease my mind.
But it doesn’t.
Sometimes, the proof is in the absence of it. There was one particular area that seemed too… pristine. The snow was undisturbed, smooth, and untouched, as if someone had intentionally erased their tracks. It was too perfect, too clean, in a setting that’s anything but orderly.
There weren’t even imprints from loose gravel, branches, or the usual debris you’d expect in the forest. And considering we both heard the branch snap, I’m certain someone was there, watching.
From the vantage point that made me suspicious, they would have had a clear view of me claiming my pet. A part of me relishes the idea of being seen, my dominance on display, but the thought of someone doing it without my knowledge— my approval —lights a fire of rage in my gut.
I sit back, my fingers tapping idly on the counter, waiting as the program flickers open across my screen. It’s a dark window into every corner of New York State, a God’s-eye view over the city.
The old King himself bestowed this gift upon me, and with it, I wield an unparalleled level of control. I peer into the lives of anyone I choose, but right now, there’s only one thing I care to find.
My pulse quickens as I navigate through the countless CCTV feeds, scanning for the one that will lead me to whoever dared intrude on my claiming. The minutes tick by, the tension rising with each passing moment, until—
“ There you are,” I mutter under my breath, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
On the screen, a few cars snake along the winding roads leading to the Catskill Mountains, their headlights cutting through the dense darkness like blades. But only one takes the same exit I did.
As I look closer, noticing the make and model, I recognize it all too well. Yeah, I’ve definitely seen it before. More specifically, I’ve seen it in the abandoned garage where I’ve previously met with Michael.
The timestamp confirms what I already suspected but didn’t want to believe.
Fury surges through me, a burning inferno threatening to consume everything in its path. Michael dared to follow me. He dared to break one of the unspoken rules of the game. No one has ever returned to the cabin. No one has ever followed me to my sanctuary. And yet, here he is, driving into my territory like he has the right.
In all my years as the Hunter, no one has ever gotten this close. Never. The urge to gut him, to leave his body as a warning to anyone else who might think about crossing me, is almost unbearable.
I should have ended him when I had the chance. But… I didn’t. A part of me thrives on order, on following the rules, even when they chafe.
We all have rules, and even though most of mine are self-imposed, they are still rules. One of the most sacred? Never kill a client while the job is active. It’s a matter of professionalism, not morality. I don’t claim to have a moral code, but that’s a line I’ve never crossed.
Yet.
If I can’t kill him outright, I’ll have to get more creative. My thoughts come so rapidly I press my fists against my eye sockets, trying to slow them down. The thought of Michael watching twists something inside me, something dark and primal.
As the beginnings of a plan take shape, I rise from my seat and make my way to the safe. The cold metal of the revolver feels comforting in my hand, a reminder of the power I wield. After placing the gun on the table, I return to the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe as I watch Ruby sleep.
Her ebony hair spills over the pillow like a raven’s wing, her face serene in slumber. Her body, so small, so fragile, lies vulnerable before me. A twisted feeling churns within me—possessiveness, yes, but also something else. Something far more dangerous.
I step closer and gently shake her awake. “Ruby,” I murmur, my voice low.
She stirs, her green eyes fluttering open. Confusion floods her gaze as she looks at me. “What is it?” she whispers, rubbing her eyes. Her voice is raspy, thick with sleep.
“Get up,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “There’s something you need to do.”
“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure.
“Come with me.” I turn, not waiting for her response, and she follows, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. We enter the living room, and I gesture for her to sit in the chair by the window.
She hesitates, her unease palpable, but she complies, lowering herself into the seat with slow, deliberate movements. I note every flicker of emotion, each one dancing across her face fueling the dark hunger inside me.
“Do you trust me, Pet?” I ask, sitting down on the coffee table, my body shielding the gun from her view.
“Of course,” she answers without hesitation. Her green eyes are filled with the trust she just confirmed she foolishly has for me. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Would you prove it to me if I asked you to?” I ask, softening my tone.
“Yes, I’ll do anything for you,” she confirms. Her brow furrows then. “But how?”
I smile, though there’s no warmth in it. Pulling the revolver into view, I say, “Russian Roulette.” Opening the chamber, I show her the single bullet nestled inside. Her breath hitches, her eyes widening.
“What the hell? Russian Roulette? Why?” Ruby’s voice cracks. The weight of what I’m asking her to do crashes into her, but instead of panic, there’s steel in her green eyes.
Ignoring her questions, I fiddle with the metal before making a show of spinning it. “One bullet, six chambers.”
“ Tell me why.” Whatever she sees on my face makes her soften her tone. “Talk to me, Valentine. What happened between the time we got back and now?”
I lean closer, watching her carefully. “You said you’d do anything for me, Pet,” I reply softly, running a finger along the cold metal of the gun. “And I need you to prove it.”
She shakes her head back and forth, biting her lip. There’s a battle waging inside her, and it’s beautiful to watch.
“You trust me, don’t you?” I ask, my voice dangerously smooth. “You trust that I won’t let you die.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and I hold her gaze.
After a long, agonizing pause, she nods. “You really need this?” she asks, her tone puzzled. “There’s no other way?”
I smile, satisfied, and hold out the revolver. “None.”
Ruby’s hand hovers over the gun, her fingers trembling as they inch closer to the handle. Her reluctance is palpable, but eventually, she takes it, the weight of the revolver heavy in her hand. I carefully watch the way her fingers wrap around the cold metal, the way her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths.
“Good Pet,” I croon, leaning back slightly, watching her with a predator’s gaze. “Now, point it at yourself.”
Slowly, she lifts the revolver, pressing the barrel to her temple. Her knuckles are white from how tightly she grips the gun.
My own pulse quickens at the sight. There’s a power in this moment, a raw, primal intensity that feeds something deep inside me. The trust she’s placing in me, the way she’s teetering on the edge of life and death—all of it is intoxicating.
“Pull the trigger,” I command, my voice a soft whisper in the silence.
I’m surprised when she rolls her eyes and hisses, “You really are fucked up.”
Not giving me the chance to respond, she tightens her finger around the trigger.
Click!