Chapter Three Kade
Orange light. Bleeding through the window. Sunset. I blink. My eyes feel like sandpaper. My mouth tastes like copper and ash. How long— The entire day.
I slept the entire fucking day. My body feels heavy. Weighted down. Like I’ve been drugged. But my mind— Still sharp. Still hungry. Still right there on the edge. Better than before. Marginally. The sleep helped. But not enough. Never enough.
I sit up slowly. The room spins for a second before settling. Movement catches my eye. Amethyst. Sitting in the chair beside the bed. Watching me. How long has she been there? She smiles when I look at her. Soft. Knowing.
“How do you feel?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I could lie. Tell her I’m fine. That the sleep fixed everything. But she’d see through it. She always sees through it. And I’m so fucking tired of pretending.
“I’m losing myself to what I am," I say.
My voice is rough. Raw. “Losing control of the monster inside me." I look down at my hands. They’re resting on the bed. Palms up. They look normal. Human. But I know what they’re capable of.
What they want to do. I curl them into fists.
Slowly. Deliberately. Take a deep breath. “I need to leave before I hurt you."
The words taste like failure. Like surrender. But they’re true. I can’t stay here. Can’t keep pretending I’m in control when I’m barely holding on by a thread.
“No." Her voice is calm. Steady. “I have something more fun in mind."
I look up. She’s smiling. But it’s different now.
Sly. Knowing. Desire in her eyes. She licks her lips.
Fuck. I want to kiss her. Want to feel those soft lips against mine.
Want her lips on me. Everywhere. Her mouth wrapped around me.
My hand wrapped around her ponytail. Pulling.
Guiding. Controlling— No. No no no. Because the thought doesn’t stop there.
It never stops there. My hand in her hair becomes my hand around her throat.
Her gasps of pleasure become gasps for air.
The control becomes violence. The desire becomes destruction.
I stand up abruptly. Start pacing. The bedroom feels too small. The walls too close.
“Amethyst, I..."
I run my hand through my hair. Pull at it.
“I can’t. Fuck, I want to. I want to so bad. But the other thoughts that go with it when I think about what I want to do to you. With you. They’re not good. I could hurt you."
She tilts her head. Studies me. Like I’m a puzzle she’s solving.
“No you won’t. I’m not some fragile little girl who doesn’t know how to play rough. I know what I’m getting myself into. And you’re just going to have to find out what it is."
I stop pacing. Look at her. Really look at her.
She’s been planning this. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
She was expecting this. Expecting me to wake up like this.
Still on edge. Still barely holding on. She’s been planning something.
My eyes move over her. Taking inventory.
Fully dressed. Jeans. Long-sleeved shirt.
Boots laced tight. No gun on her hip. No knife at her belt.
She’s not prepared. Not armed. What if something goes wrong?
What if I— She must see where my eyes are going because she reaches down.
Pulls a knife from her boot. Small. Maybe four inches.
But sharp. Efficient. In the right hands, it’ll do the job quick and clean.
In her hands, it’s lethal. But still. I shake my head.
“What if you can’t get to it in time?"
“Kade, stop."
Her voice is firm now. Commanding. “We are doing this. You fucking need it. I am not a little girl. Trust me."
“I do trust you!" The words come out louder than I intended. Harsher. “It’s me I don’t trust."
She stands. Crosses the room. Stops in front of me. Close enough to touch. But she doesn’t.
“Then let me trust you for you." Her eyes hold mine. Steady. Unwavering. “But before anything happens, you need to eat. There’s soup in the kitchen. While you eat, we’ll discuss what’s going to happen."
It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command. And fuck if that doesn’t turn me on just a little.
She’s in control. Even when I’m spiraling.
Even when I’m barely holding on. She’s in control.
And maybe—maybe—that’s enough. For now. I nod.
Once. She turns. Walks out of the bedroom.
I follow. Because what else can I do? She’s already decided.
And part of me—the part that’s still rational, still human—knows she’s right.
I need this. Whatever she’s planning. I need it.
Before I completely lose myself. The kitchen is small.
Warm light from a single bulb overhead. There’s a bowl on the table.
Steam rising from it. She gestures to the chair.
“Sit."
I sit. She sets a spoon beside the bowl. Doesn’t sit herself. Just leans against the counter. Arms crossed. Watching me. I pick up the spoon. Dip it into the soup. Bring it to my mouth. Taste nothing. Swallow. Repeat.
“Ten-minute head start," she says. My hand pauses. Spoon halfway to my mouth. “I go into the woods behind the cabin. You count. Then you hunt."
Hunt. The word hits me like a live wire. Something inside me wakes up. Lifts its head. Interested. The hunger—the hollow, gnawing ache that’s been eating me alive for six days—shifts. Changes. Sharpens. I lower the spoon. Look at her.
“Hunt," I repeat. My voice sounds different. Rougher. Darker. She nods.
“That’s what you need, isn’t it? Not just me. Not just sex. You need the chase. The pursuit. You need to feel like a predator again."
Yes. God, yes. The hunger purrs. Stretches. Flexes. For the first time in days, it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing me apart. It feels focused. Purposeful. Alive. I force myself to take another bite. Another. My body needs the fuel even if I can’t taste it.
“What happens when I catch you?"
The question comes out low. Dangerous. She smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“Whatever you need to happen. I trust you."
“What if I don’t stop?"
The smile doesn’t falter.
“You will." She says this with absolute certainty. Like it’s a fact. Like there’s no other possibility.
I want to argue. Want to tell her she’s wrong.
That she doesn’t understand what I am. What I’m capable of.
But the words die in my throat. Because maybe she does understand. Maybe she understands better than I do.
I finish the soup. Mechanical. Efficient. Don’t taste a single bite. When the bowl is empty, she pushes off the counter. Walks to the door. Stops. Hand on the knob. Looks back at me over her shoulder.
“Ten minutes, Kade. Starting now."
The door opens. She steps through. Disappears into the darkening woods.
The door closes behind her. I sit at the table.
Staring at where she was. My pulse picks up.
Slow at first. Then faster. The hunger sharpens.
Crystallizes. Not the hollow ache from before.
This is different. This is purpose. Focus. A target. I start counting in my head.
One.
Two.
Three.
Watch the clock on the wall. Second hand ticking. Every second feels too long. And too fast.
Four.
Five.
Six.
My thoughts spiral. But not chaotically.
Not frantically. They’re focused now. Laser-sharp.
What I’ll do when I catch her. And I will catch her.
My hands around her throat. Feeling her pulse flutter under my fingers.
Fast. Frantic. Alive. Her body pressed against mine.
Struggling. Fighting. Or maybe not fighting.
Maybe yielding. The thoughts blur together.
Violence and desire. Can’t separate them anymore.
Don’t want to. My mouth on hers. Rough. Demanding.
Taking. My hands in her hair. Pulling. Controlling. Her gasps. Her moans. Her—
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
I’m vibrating. Every muscle coiled tight. Ready to spring. The hunger is awake now. Fully awake. And it’s not eating me alive anymore. It’s driving me forward.
Ten.
I stand. The chair scrapes against the floor.
Walk to the door. Each step deliberate. Controlled.
Open it. Step outside. The night air hits me.
Cool. Sharp. Clean. I can smell the woods.
Earth and pine and decay. And her. Faint.
But there. I close my eyes. Breathe deep.
Let it fill my lungs. My blood. My bones.
Open them. The darkness doesn’t feel oppressive anymore.
It feels like home. I am not spiraling. I am not breaking. I am focused. Predatory. Controlled.
This is what I am. This is what I was made for.
I step off the porch. Into the woods. And start hunting.
The trees close in around me. Shadows thick between them.
Darker here than at the cabin. The kind of dark that swallows sound.
Movement. Everything. Perfect. I move slowly.
One foot in front of the other. Deliberate.
Measured. This isn’t about speed. It’s about the hunt itself.
The tracking. The pursuit. The inevitable conclusion. Rushing would ruin it.