Chapter 27 #2
Danger and sex might make strange bedfellows, but holy hell are they a delicious combination.
Then it hits me. By shouting with our friends, and trying to stop Hunter from eating Dove’s dick jerky, I might’ve given myself away to Wrenley—if Dove isn’t lying and hasn’t already told him.
He’s an investigative journalist, it wouldn’t be hard to piece it together, considering how close Dove and I are.
Looking at him through the side mirror, I inwardly sigh. His eyes catch mine, a knowing spark in them that serves as an answer to whether he already knows.
Looks like we have another name to add to the list of people who know about the Siren.
Fantastic.
Hunter’s parents live just under three hours north of the city near the Massachusetts border. When he said “farm,” I pictured acres of corn, cows, and a big red barn. Instead, their farmhouse sits on an acre and a half, and while they do have a barn, there are no sprawling corn fields or cows.
Well, they have two cows. Along with chickens, some turkeys, four goats, and two of the fattest pigs I’ve ever seen.
Carla gives me a tour while Hunter’s dad, David, and the guys bring our bags in. Dove goes with them so Hunter’s mom and I can get to know each other, and if looks could kill, Wrenley would be digging her a shallow grave right now.
It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with Carla, but I didn’t have parents growing up. Not ones who gave a shit about me. I’m terrible with parents. It’s part of why Nathaniel and I worked so well together—we both had trauma caused by the people who were supposed to take care of us.
But a few minutes into our walk, I’m doing better than expected. Hunter’s mom radiates a warmth that beats back the November chill—kind and accepting.
“I just want my boy to be happy,” she says. “You’ve been making him happy for a long time. I’m glad you’re letting him do the same for you now.”
Shockingly, I can see myself living here.
There’s something about the vast area that calls to me.
I don’t know if it’s the sense of owning something that seems larger than life, or maybe having a place where I could dispose of my victims more easily—or how free the dogs are as they venture ahead of us, sniffing all the animals curiously.
Bessie, a milk cow, moos from behind a fence, eyeing the dogs as their winter coats rustle with each excited wiggle. It reminds me of that scene in 101 Dalmatians when the puppies hide in a barn.
Pepper clucks happily in Carla’s arms as she gushes about how elated she is that the mangy chicken and I bonded while they were on vacation.
“It really is a miracle. When she was a chick, Doc told us there was no hope and to put her down, but Hunter insisted she just needed extra love. He drove up every weekend to help. Now look at her.” She pets Pepper’s head gently.
“Our girl is nearly eleven. That’s longer than the average life span for a chicken, you know. ”
“No wonder you’re such a spicy nugget—you’re a wise old lady, aren’t you?” I reach to stroke her, but a flutter blooms in my belly. A breath whooshes from my lungs, nausea rolls through me, and I rub my stomach. “I think the bean is excited to see the animals.”
“Is the baby kicking?” Carla’s dark eyes light up, and she leans forward before catching herself, as though she doesn’t want to overstep.
“Yeah, I think? It’s like a bunch of bubbles popping at once.
I thought it was gas, but now I think it’s the baby.
” A rush of frosty air envelops me as I unzip my jacket and grab her hand, placing it where the baby keeps moving.
“You might not feel it yet, but if this is a preview, I’ll be lucky to have all my ribs intact by eviction day. ”
She releases a watery laugh, tears shimmering. “Hunter was a rowdy baby, too. His father always said he’d grow up to be a pro wrestler.”
“Really? David seems more like the baseball type than wrestling.” I’ve known him all of five minutes, but he’s tall and lean, and I thought Hunter once said he could’ve gone pro if not for a shoulder injury.
“Oh—David is Hunter’s stepfather,” Carla explains. “Hunter’s biological dad left when he was younger.” She turns back toward the house—a gentle cue to head in.
“C’mon, boys,” I call the dogs. Zipping up, I fall into step beside her. “Hunter never mentioned that.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Carla’s tone turns melancholy. “Logan—his father—cared enough to leave. He couldn’t clean up his act. Drinking. Gambling. He divorced me before he got into enough trouble that we’d lose the house. Kindest thing he could’ve done for Hunter.”
My heart aches for the father of my child, for my friend who carried so much of my pain and never spoke of his own.
“It’s what the boys bonded over,” she adds, nodding toward the house.
Frosted grass crunches under our boots as we grow closer to the white, ranch-style home.
“Their fathers leaving. Even years later, Hunter was deeply affected when Wrenley’s mother moved him across the country.
He’s always feared the people he loves most abandoning him. ” Her tone is leading. I hear it.
Wispy clouds form from my breath as I process what she’s saying. Leaving, the way I did last time, hasn’t crossed my mind since we found out about the baby. There’s only one instance in which I can imagine needing to flee the city, and that’s if Hunter finds out I’m the Shadow Siren.
If that happens… everything will change. Hunter is thrilled about this baby. What if he decides their mother is a monster? What if he thinks they need protecting—from me?
Carla’s gentle cadence pulls me back. “Thank you for letting him do the gender-reveal cake,” she says, laughing as she strokes Pepper. “That boy has dreamed of having a family of his own for as long as I can remember. He used to say he’d name his first daughter Faline, from Bambi.”
Laughter bubbles from me at the image of a young Hunter scribbling baby names.
As if conjured, present-day Hunter steps onto the wrap-around porch as the dogs bound up the stairs.
He bends and somehow gathers all three in his arms. I take the chance to drink him in, trying to imagine him as a child—precocious and certain.
It’s just like him to already have names picked out even though he hasn’t mentioned it.
I don’t want him swallowing joy to avoid my reactions.
He deserves to be happy. He deserves a real family.
“Admittedly, I feel bad I haven’t been more excited.
It’s just hard, you know? It was a surprise after all, and kids weren’t really on my radar if I’m being honest.” Absentmindedly, my hand smoothes over my stomach.
“Thank you for welcoming me into your family. I know this baby will be so loved, and I never had that growing up.”
Carla squeezes my shoulder. “It takes a village, dear. We’re yours now.”
My eyes sting at her offering. The cold cools the tears on my lashes, and I swipe them away before Hunter looks over, a wide smile breaking across his chiseled features.
I want the village she promises. Holidays on the farm. Birthdays in the city. More kids filling the halls of Hunter’s home. Baseball games and picnics in the park.
Little lavender bows and an unusual name—like her mother.
Something prickles in my chest. Fierce protectiveness wrapped in unyielding devotion. For the first time since finding out… I feel like a mother.
“Thank you, Carla. I’d really like that.”
“You shaved your beard!”
Water drips from Hunter’s half-naked form as he appears in the doorway from the en suite. A towel hangs loosely around his waist, curls lying haphazardly across his forehead, brushing the tops of his glasses—the old pair he’s been wearing more because he knows what they do to me.
“Mom wants photos tomorrow, so I figured I’d clean it up. Forgot my moisturizer, though—guess I’ll have to get some from between your thighs.” He chuckles and waggles his brows.
I bite my lip to hold back the rush of need that sluices through me like a water-park slide.
The walls here are paper-thin, and I am a loud lover—that’s one of Hunter’s favorite things about me—so deciding to withhold until we’re back in the city wasn’t hard… for me.
Hunter seems determined to change my mind. Grinning, like he knows exactly where my thoughts have gone, he asks, “Like what you see, Little Rabbit?”
“Don’t tease me.” I relish the way his eyes track my fingers as I trail them down the valley of my breasts. I used to want a boob job, now I can’t wait for these monsters to deflate post-bean. “This morning was supposed to hold us over until we get back home.”
“Well I’m absolutely ravenous for you now.” He prowls to the end of the bed, climbs up, and slides between my legs with catlike grace, gently kissing up my stomach to claim my mouth with an urgency that heats my skin and soaks me through.
As if baby bean knows this is a bad idea, the strongest flutter yet hits just as his hand passes over their home. The force steals my breath like a bucket of ice water.
“You okay?” He nudges my nose, shifts to his side, and props up on an elbow. Irritation vanishes as he lowers his head and kisses my belly. “Stop being feisty, will you? Your mom is fragile.”
A laugh bubbles from my throat as he wraps his arm around my middle and lays his head on my stomach.
If only he knew how wrong he was. I may be little, but I can still tie a man up and lift my weight on a pole while I slash his throat open.
It’s the constant flutters tipping me toward nausea that’ll take me out.
Idly, I run my fingers through his curls as they air-dry—frizz be damned. “Hunter?”
“Hmm?” He nuzzles my skin, hugging me closer.
“I kinda like the name Faline. If the baby’s a girl.” I’ve been rolling it around my tongue since Carla mentioned it. Saying it out loud, I realize how much I love it.
Hunter barks a laugh, then looks at me, amber eyes lit with amusement. “Oh god. What else did my mother tell you?”
“I’m serious! I love it. It fits our little family.”
Something shifts in his gaze—from warm and playful to guarded yet vulnerable. “It does, doesn’t it?”
He gathers me in his arms, pulling my softness to his hardness as he sinks against the pillows. “Faline Remington,” he tests. “People are going to think we’re those parents who don’t let their kids eat sugar and don’t own a TV.”
“No way. Our kids will be the cool ones who get along with everyone.”
“And what about a boy’s name?”
“Okay, hear me out, I don’t hate Forest.” Craning my neck to look at him, I smile when I find him trying—and failing—not to grin.
“Forest and Faline, huh?” He nudges my nose and kisses me lightly. “Planning a future with me, Bunny?”
“I think I am.” The words come out soft and a little broken. He kisses me like the glue that’s been holding me together for longer than I care to admit.
“It’s about damn time, Little Rabbit.”
“Why me?” I ask the question that’s been burning at the back of my mind for as long as I can remember. “You’ve always been so sure of me. Of us. Your mother even mentioned that she was happy I finally came around. What is it about me that attracts you?”
“Well, besides your good looks and stunning personality?” he teases, sobering when I level him a look. “Since this is apparently a weekend for sharing, I guess it won’t hurt to show you. But if you laugh, I promise you punishment will be swift when we get home.”
Curious, I sit up as he pads over to retrieve something from an old, distressed desk. “When I was a teenager, we were up here for the weekend and my mom picked Practical Magic for movie night. Have you seen it?”
“Of course. It’s a classic. Not to mention, I’ve seen everything with Nicole Kidman.”
He smirks, climbing back onto the bed. “Remember when the girl writes down everything about her perfect guy? I guess I was inspired, because I came up here and figured it couldn’t hurt to try the same thing.
Minus the flowers and herbs and spell and all that.
” He hands me a weathered piece of paper that’s yellowed at the edges.
“I was always a hopeless romantic. Even then.”
His thumb sweeps my cheek, vulnerability bright in his whiskey eyes. Jerking a chin at the paper, he bites his lower lip, and drops his gaze. Threading our fingers together, I read it silently.
Unique name.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
Short.
Stubborn but kind.
Loves a hobby as much as I love jazz.
Playful.
Loves animals.
Has quirky interests, like liking cartoons, even as an adult.
Sees the bad in the world and wants to make it right.
My hand flies to my mouth, eyes brimming with tears.
Written on the paper, like a Practical Magic recipe, is me.
“Hunter…”
Brushing my hair over my shoulder, he nuzzles my neck, pressing a chaste kiss to my flesh. “I knew I loved you long before I met you, Little Rabbit. You’ve been my dream for a long, long time.”