Chapter 18
THE HUNTER
Tap tap tap.
Aria's fingernails drum an impatient rhythm on the wooden table, each impact reverberating through the bustling coffee shop.
Her green eyes flick to me, annoyance simmering beneath long lashes. "Twenty minutes, Lucian. We've been people-watching for twenty minutes."
I take a slow sip of my espresso, savoring the rich bitterness on my tongue before meeting her gaze. "Patience, little fawn. This is a more crucial aspect of your training than squeezing a trigger."
She huffs, a stray chestnut lock fluttering against her cheek. "We're on borrowed time. The next hunt—"
"—Can wait," I finish, my tone brooking no argument.
Aria may be a quick study with a firearm, but true mastery of the hunt requires a keener understanding of the prey. And in order to become entertaining prey, she needs to learn to think like a hunter.
I nod toward the window, the sidewalk beyond teeming with oblivious pedestrians. "Tell me, what do you see?"
Aria's brow furrows as she scans the passing figures, her full lips pressing into a thin line. "A woman in a red coat, talking on her phone. A teenager with a skateboard. An old man feeding pigeons. A couple arguing. Lucian, this is pointless."
She groans, bored.
I lean back in my chair, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Look deeper, Aria. Surface observations won't suffice in our line of work."
She crosses her arms, a challenge sparking in those striking emerald irises. "Enlighten me then, oh wise one."
Amusement ripples through me at her sarcasm. I incline my head, accepting the challenge, and turn my attention to the milling crowd outside.
"The woman in the red coat," I begin, my voice low and measured. "Notice her shoes. Designer, but well-worn. Her coat is tailored, but a past season. She's clinging to a lifestyle she can no longer afford. The call? Likely a job interview, judging by her anxious pacing."
Aria's eyes widen slightly, her interest piqued despite herself.
I continue, my gaze settling on the teenager. "The skateboarder. His clothes are threadbare, but his board is high-end. A gift, perhaps, from an absent father attempting to buy affection. The way he keeps glancing around, seeking approval, validation—he's starved for attention."
The old man is next, my analysis flowing freely now. "Feeding pigeons, a simple act of kindness. But see how his hands tremble? The deliberate, careful movements? Early-stage Parkinson's, I'd wager. He's savoring his independence while he still can."
Finally, the arguing couple. "Newlyweds," I deduce, noting the shiny bands on their fingers. "The honeymoon phase has worn off, and reality has set in. See how she keeps touching her stomach? I suspect an unplanned pregnancy, and he's not ready for the responsibility."
I shift my attention back to Aria, gauging her reaction. She's leaning forward now, her earlier impatience replaced by a grudging fascination.
"How do you do that?" she breathes, genuine curiosity softening her features.
I shrug, a casual roll of my shoulders belying the weight of experience behind my words. "Practice. Observation. Understanding human nature." I fix her with a pointed look. "The hunt isn't just about taking the shot, little fawn. It's about knowing your target, inside and out. Their fears, their desires, their weaknesses."
She nods slowly, a newfound appreciation glimmering in her eyes. "I think I'm starting to understand."
Pride swells within me, warm and unfamiliar.
Aria leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. "So that's how you keep finding me? You just... know what I'm going to do before I do it?"
I incline my head, acknowledging the truth in her words. "In a manner of speaking."
She huffs out a breath, frustration tightening her delicate features. "How am I supposed to evade you if you're practically psychic?"
A low chuckle rumbles in my throat. "Psychic? Hardly. You just need to learn to see beneath the surface, Aria. Read between the lines."
Her brows knit together, a flicker of determination sparking in those emerald depths. "That's easy for you to say. You've been doing this your whole life."
I pause, considering my next words carefully. "Not my whole life, actually."
Surprise flashes across her face, her lips parting slightly. "What do you mean?"
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, my gaze locked with hers. "Believe it or not, little fawn, I wasn't born into this world. I was... inducted, you could say." Questions dance in her eyes, but I hold up a hand, forestalling them. "That's all I'm willing to share on the matter."
She nods slowly, accepting my boundary, for now. "So, how did you find me, then? If you haven't been doing this forever?"
I settle back in my chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Observation, deduction, and a dash of intuition."
Her eyebrow arches, a silent prompt to continue.
"The truck driver, for instance," I begin, my voice low and measured. "I knew you'd be shaken up after I found you in the hotel, so you'd be looking to do something reckless. Something to throw me off your trail. Hitchhiking was an easy choice."
A faint blush colors her cheeks, but she holds my gaze, her interest piqued.
"As for the hotels," I continue, "I simply looked for the ones that offered the best vantage points and escape routes. Places where you could observe your surroundings without being seen."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, a reluctant admiration softening her features. "You really do know me."
I shrug. "I pay attention, Aria. I see the details others miss."
She leans forward, her elbows brushing mine, a new intensity burning in her gaze. "Teach me."
A thrill runs through me at her words, at the hunger for knowledge that mirrors my own. "Are you sure you're ready for that, little fawn?"
Her chin lifts, a defiant tilt that sends a rush of heat through my veins. "Try me."
I stand abruptly, tossing a few bills on the table to cover the tip. "Very well. Let's begin."
I offer her my hand, an invitation and a challenge all in one. She hesitates for only a moment before placing her palm in mine, her skin warm and soft against my own.
As I lead her out of the coffee shop and into the bustling streets, I can't help but marvel at the strange turn my life has taken. Here I am, the Hunter, teaching my prey how to outwit me.
It's a dangerous game we're playing, with only one possible outcome.
But as I glance down at Aria, at the fierce determination etched into every line of her face, I realize that I'm not ready for this game to end. Not yet. Not when there's still so much for her to learn... and for me to discover.
"Alright, little fawn," I murmur, leaning down to let my breath ghost over the shell of her ear. "Let's see what you've learned. Pick a target."
Aria's steps falter for a moment, her brows furrowing as she scans the passing faces. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head, the weight of my expectations settling on her slender shoulders.
Finally, she nods toward a well-dressed man striding purposefully ahead of us. "Him."
I hum in approval, my gaze sharpening as I take in the details of our chosen subject. "Good choice. Now, tell me what you see."
Aria worries her lower lip between her teeth, a habit I've come to recognize as a sign of concentration. "Expensive suit, but the shoes don't quite match. They're scuffed, like he's been wearing them for a while."
"Excellent," I praise, a thrill of pride zipping through me at her keen observation. "What else?"
She narrows her eyes, her brow furrowing as she digs deeper. "He keeps checking his watch, like he's running late for something. But his pace is steady, not rushed. So it's not a meeting or an appointment."
I nod, impressed by her deductions. "Very good. Any theories on where he might be headed?"
Aria pauses, her head tilting as she considers the possibilities. "Somewhere important, but not urgent. Maybe... to meet up with a friend? Or a date?"
A slow smile spreads across my face, warmth blooming in my chest at her perceptiveness. "A date, I'd say. An important one. Notice the bulge in his jacket pocket? Likely a ring box."
Her eyes widen, a spark of excitement illuminating their emerald depths. "I didn't even see that."
"You will," I assure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "With practice."
She looks up at me as if she's as startled by the intimate gesture as I am. Somehow, it feels more intimate than what we did last night.
But she doesn't pull her hand away.
We continue on, Aria's confidence growing with each passing block. She points out a woman with a telltale tan line on her ring finger, speculating about a recent divorce. A teenager with bruised knuckles and a defiant swagger, hinting at trouble at home. An elderly couple walking hand in hand, their steps perfectly synchronized after a lifetime together.
With every observation, every deduction, I feel a swell of something unfamiliar in my chest. Pride, yes, but something else too. Something warmer, more tender.
Something dangerously close to affection.
I push the feeling down, burying it beneath layers of cool detachment. I can't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment, not when the stakes are so high. I've never felt affection for anyone—much less my protégé, my student.
And soon, she will be my prey once more.
But as we round the corner, our shoulders brushing with each step, I can't help but wonder how long I can maintain that illusion. How long before the lines between hunter and hunted blur beyond recognition?
Aria's voice breaks through my musings, a note of hesitation threading through her words. "Lucian? Can I ask you something?"
I glance down at her, my eyebrow arching in silent invitation.
She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself for my response. "Am I the first person you've done this with?"
I pause, considering my answer carefully. The truth is a double-edged sword, sharp and dangerous in the wrong hands. But as I gaze into Aria's eyes, I see a glimmer of something that looks like trust. And for reasons I can't quite fathom, I find myself wanting to earn it.
"You are my first fawn," I admit. "But you're not the first person I've hunted, no."
She takes a moment to process that. "Am I the first you've helped?"
"You are," I confess, smirking. "I don't usually make a point of arming my targets."
"Why?" she insists. "What's different about me?"
She sounds so confused. As if she's blind to what's so glaringly obvious.
"I'm doing this because I see potential in you, Aria," I say slowly, each word weighted with honesty. Even if it's only half the truth.
Her lips part, a soft exhale escaping as she processes my words. "And will you still feel that way, if I turn the tables on you?"
A wry smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, a flicker of amusement sparking in my chest. "Oh, I'm counting on it, little fawn. What's the thrill of the chase without a worthy opponent?"
Her eyes narrow, a flash of defiance hardening her delicate features. "I'm not your opponent, Lucian. I'm your prey."
I chuckle, a low sound that rumbles through my chest. "True enough."
As we continue our impromptu lesson in the art of observation, I guide Aria through the bustling streets, our hands still entwined. As if neither of us has found a reason to pull away. As if this, not separation, is the default. The way things are meant to be between us.
The warmth of her palm against mine is a constant reminder of the dangerous line I'm treading. I'm the Hunter, she's the prey. And yet, with each passing moment, those roles seem to blur, the boundaries between us shifting like sand beneath the tide.
I push the thought aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Aria's training is far from complete, and there's still so much I need to teach her if she's to have any hope of surviving the hunt.
Even if, ultimately, I know she won't.
Even if I know this is only a failed attempt to assuage a conscience I don't even possess. A conscience I never possessed.
"Another crucial aspect of staying ahead of your pursuers," I begin, my voice low and measured, "is the ability to disguise yourself. To blend in, to become invisible in plain sight."
Aria's eyes flick to mine, a glimmer of interest sparking in their emerald depths. "Invisible? How?"
I smile, a slow, knowing curve of my lips. "It's not about donning a literal disguise, little fawn. It's about understanding what makes people stand out, and then doing the opposite."
I nod towards a woman across the street, her bright red coat and towering heels drawing the eye of every passerby. "Take her, for example. The bold colors, the impractical shoes—she's practically screaming for attention. In a crowd, she'd be easy to spot, easy to track."
Aria nods, her brow furrowing as she absorbs my words.
"Blending in is a start," I continue. "But there's more to it than that. True invisibility comes from understanding your environment, from adapting to your surroundings like a chameleon."
I lead her down a side street, the crowds thinning as we leave the main thoroughfare behind. "In a busy city, it's easy to disappear into the masses. But in a small town, where everyone knows everyone? That's where the real challenge lies."
Aria's steps slow, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "So how do I hide in a place like that?"
I pause, turning to face her fully. "By becoming someone else entirely. By crafting a persona so convincing, so utterly unremarkable, that no one would ever look twice."
Her eyes widen, a mix of intrigue and apprehension swirling in their depths. "Like an actor playing a role," she murmurs.
"Precisely," I confirm, a thrill of satisfaction running through me at her quick understanding. "You create a backstory, a reason for being there. You adopt the mannerisms, the speech patterns, the very essence of someone who belongs."
I reach out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against the soft skin of her cheek. "It's not just about the clothes you wear, Aria. It's about the way you carry yourself, the way you interact with others. The devil is in the details."
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments. When she opens them again, there's a new intensity burning in their emerald depths, a hunger for knowledge that sets my blood alight.
"Show me," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Show me how to disappear."
I smile, a slow, dangerous curve of my lips. "Gladly."
And so, as the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, I lead Aria deeper into the city's shadows, my mind already spinning with the countless ways I can mold her, shape her, transform her into the ultimate prey.
I lead her down a narrow alleyway, the bustle of the main street fading to a distant hum. "Here. This neighborhood is a good example. Imagine you needed to disappear here, to become just another face in the crowd. Who would you become?"
Aria pauses, her eyes scanning the weathered brick facades and the scattered detritus littering the ground. "Homeless?"
I shake my head, a wry chuckle escaping my lips. "No. That's the opposite of what you want. A homeless person, a beggar? They stand out. Other people go out of their way to avoid them, to pretend they don't exist. They're invisible in a way, but it's the wrong kind of invisibility."
Aria's eyes narrow, a flicker of defiance sparking in their emerald depths. "Then what's the right kind?"
I step closer. "The kind that hides in plain sight."
I can see her pausing to process those words.
"Think about it, Aria," I murmur. "In a neighborhood like this, who blends in? Who goes unnoticed, day after day?"
Her lips part, understanding dawning in her gaze. "Someone with a routine. Someone with a purpose. A job, maybe, or an errand to run."
I smile my approval at her. "Exactly. You need to become someone who belongs here, someone with a reason to be walking these streets. A harried mother picking up her child from school. A bored teenager running an errand for a parent. A tired worker heading home after a long shift."
Aria nods slowly, her mind visibly racing with the possibilities. "Okay. It's about creating a character, isn't it? Someone with a backstory, with motivations and goals."
"Precisely," I confirm, a thrill of satisfaction running through me at her quick comprehension. "And the more detailed that character is, the more convincing your disguise will be. The more you'll believe it."
I take her hand in mine again, marveling at the way her delicate fingers fit so perfectly against my calloused palm. "Close your eyes. Picture yourself as someone else. Someone who walks these streets every day, blending seamlessly into the tapestry of the city."
Her lashes flutter closed, a soft exhale escaping her lips as she sinks into the exercise. I can almost see the character taking shape in her mind, the details coalescing into a fully-formed persona.
"Who are you, Aria?" I prompt, my voice low and hypnotic. "What's your name? Your age? Your occupation?"
"Sarah," she murmurs, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Sarah Thompson. I'm twenty-eight, and I work as a barista at the coffee shop on the corner. I'm on my way to my shift, running a few minutes late because my bus was delayed."
I hum in approval, impressed by the specificity of her creation. "Good. Now, how do you carry yourself? What's your body language like? Your facial expressions?"
Aria's posture shifts, her shoulders slumping slightly as she adopts a harried, distracted air. "I'm tired, a little stressed. I keep checking my watch, worried about being late. My mind is already on the tasks waiting for me at work—the morning rush, the endless line of customers."
"Excellent," I praise. "You're not just playing a role, Aria. You're becoming someone else entirely. That's the key to a truly convincing disguise."
Her eyes flutter open, a spark of excitement illuminating their emerald depths. "Yeah. I'm starting to get it. It's not just about the clothes I wear or the way I look. It's about the way I think, the way I feel."
"And the more you practice, the more natural it will become. Soon, slipping into a new identity will be as easy as breathing."
I watch Aria's face as understanding dawns, a flicker of triumph illuminating her delicate features. But just as quickly, a shadow falls across her brow, a furrow of concern marring the smooth expanse of her forehead.
"But eventually, you'll find me," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how good my disguise is, no matter how well I blend in... you'll always find me in the end."
"Yes," I admit. "That is inevitable. The Hunt will always come to its natural conclusion."
She worries her lower lip between her teeth, a habit I've come to recognize as a sign of deep thought. "But what if I managed to evade you? What if, just once, I outsmarted you? What would happen then?"
I chuckle. "Then the game would be over, Aria. You would win."
But even as the words leave my lips, I know they're not entirely true. Because for the Order, the game is never truly over. There's always another hunt, another prey to stalk, another kill to make. Hunting is a cycle as old as time itself, a dance macabre that's been honed and refined over the years into a vicious, bloody pastime.
Aria's voice breaks through my musings, a note of genuine concern threading through her words. "No, Lucian. I mean... what would happen to you?"
The question catches me off guard. It's the one question I wasn't ready for her to ask. The one question I could never imagine even crossing her mind.
Or anyone's mind.
For a moment, I'm at a loss for words, my mind spinning with the implications of her query.
What would happen to me?
The truth is, there is no room for failure in the Order. And I know far too much for a man like my father to allow me to exist in this world as a weakness if I can't be the one thing that makes me worthy of breath, in his eyes. His successor.
But as I gaze into Aria's eyes, at the genuine concern shimmering in those emerald depths, I feel a strange tightness in my chest, a constriction that has nothing to do with the cool night air.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
"It's not for you to worry about, little fawn," I say at last, my voice rougher than I intend. "My fate is my own."
I see her preparing to argue, to press the matter further, so I say, "It's getting late. We should head back."
Aria nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face before she schools her features into a mask of calm acceptance. "Of course. The third hunt has to start sometime."
I reach out, my fingers grazing the soft skin of her cheek in a gesture that feels strangely intimate. "Get some rest, Aria. You'll need your strength for what's to come."
"You're not coming back with me to the hotel?" She sounds surprised. Almost disappointed.
I smile a little. "Not tonight. Have to save something for round three, don't we?"
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments. "I will. And Lucian?"
"Yes, little fawn?"
"This seems strange to say. But thank you. For everything."
I smile, a genuine curve of my lips that feels foreign on my face. "You're welcome, Aria. Now go, before I change my mind and decide to keep you for myself a little longer."
She laughs, a soft, tinkling sound that warms me from the inside out. "Goodnight, Lucian."
"Goodnight, Aria."
As I watch her walk away, her silhouette fading into the shadows of the city, I feel a strange ache in my chest, a longing for something I can't quite name. It's a feeling I've never experienced before, a weakness I've never allowed myself to indulge.
But as I turn my face to the sky, the first rays of sunlight painting the horizon in shades of gold and pink, I can't shake the sense that something has irrevocably changed. That the game I've played for so long has taken on a new dimension, a new depth that I'm not entirely sure I'm prepared for.
Because for the first time in my life, I find myself wondering not about the thrill of the hunt, but about the price of failure.
And more than that…
About the cost of success.