Chapter 9 - Delilah
My arms are folded as I stare out the window toward the garden, my foot tapping absentmindedly on the tiles as I gaze at the vibrant flowers glimmering under the moonlight and casting a spell outside my house.
Sighing heavily, I realize that not even the serene beauty surrounding me is enough to calm my nerves.
Hunter is on his way back from Stowe, where he'd gone to pick up his belongings from Sean's place. He's moving into my house, which is a smaller building behind my parents’ massive mansion in Scarborough.
I've never felt trapped in my own space, but tonight, I feel like a prisoner in my home.
It was the one place that had often felt like a sanctuary, especially on those nights when Father would speak about my betrothal to the prince, and I'd retreat to my two-bedroom cottage for fresh air that wasn't choking me.
Tonight, I feel choked, as if the walls are closing in, becoming smaller and suffocating me. Unable to withstand the walls like the enemy stalking me as if I'm prey, I spread my arms out and throw open the back door.
Once I'm outside, the night air gently kisses my cheek as if to console me, allowing me to realize that Hunter moving in is probably for the best.
The charming, charismatic Prince Damion is sticking around in Scarborough for a few days, and I can't be seen without my husband, my mate, without raising suspicions.
I know my parents aren't thrilled that I married someone who isn't an alpha.
The Lycan Prince is set to take his father's place soon as the alpha of their pack in Estonia, which is why he was a perfect suitor for me.
But now that everything is out in the open, Hunter and I don't have a choice but to play along with the act we've set up.
I wasn't expecting him to announce that he's moving in with me, but it was the right thing to do, all things considered. Still, I can't seem to find the light at the end of this tunnel, gnawing my bottom lip nervously as I wait for him to return.
Spotting a silhouette forming at the edge of the woods, my heart hammers against my chest as I recognize Hunter's immaculate, strong frame emerging from the forest. Momentarily stunned, my lips part on my next breath, and my mind becomes an empty abyss of no sensible thoughts.
All I'm focused on is the way Hunter marches forward, lugging a bag over one shoulder, his boots stomping the ground as if each step is calculated.
Our eyes meet, and he holds my gaze even as his body moves, and he continues to approach, and for a fleeting second, I bat my eyelids salaciously as butterflies flutter in the lowest parts of my belly.
Awareness strikes like a chord that matches the way my heart strums, but the sound shatters and breaks off as if the chord snapped. That's when I'm reminded of the pain I suffered when he rejected me, and the broken heart I was left with.
I might have picked up the pieces and stitched my heart back together, but it can never play the music it once did before Hunter rejected me. I have to be gentle with it, cautious, and not allow Hunter anywhere near it, because he doesn't deserve to hear my music.
Gathering up the courage I need to face him upon his return, I'm surprised to see him scowling when he gets close enough.
My lips part, and I'm about to ask why he seems to be in a bad mood, but then I snap my mouth shut because it's not my place. It's not my business.
There must be something wrong with Hunter, though, since he walks past me and steps inside my house, not offering a witty remark in his playful, suggestive tone.
Frowning, I turn toward him, seeing him standing in the kitchen with his bag dangling from one hand.
I clear my throat, but the sound doesn't immediately grab his attention until I cautiously step in front of him, letting the frown slip from my face.
Hunter can barely meet my eyes, his gaze flickering from left to right, his head bent.
“You wanna unpack your stuff? I'll show you which room you're gonna use,” I say, turning toward the hallway.
Hunter only mumbles something inaudible under his breath, shrugging and lifting his bag against his chest as if he's using it as armor. Despite finding his behavior strange, I continue leading him down the hall until we get to the door on the left.
“This is the guest bedroom,” I say as I push the door open. Hunter proceeds to step inside, and I hover at the door, watching him with keen interest since he's being weird.
He hasn't said a word since he returned, and it makes me uncomfortable. I don't know what's going on in his mind, but he's acting like he's out of place.
Huffing, I step in after him and snatch the bag out of his hand, sliding the zipper open and throwing out the contents onto the bed.
I grab his clothes and start packing them in a neat stack in the wardrobe, and take his toothbrush to the bathroom, along with some other toiletries.
When I'm done unpacking for him, I stand between the bathroom doorway and dust my palms together.
“There, everything is unpacked,” I huff.
“You didn't have to do that, Delilah,” Hunter says for the first time, his voice grim.
“I did,” I argue as I head to the door. “If I didn't, you'd probably live out of that bag for as long as you're here.”
I hear the springs give in under Hunter's weight on the bed as he takes a seat, but he doesn't respond, prompting me to turn around and find him staring at me, almost suspiciously, his head cocked to one side.
“What?” I ask, shrugging diffidently with a frown furrowing my brows.
“Nothing.” Hunter tenses, shoulders squaring as he links his hands on his lap. “You just…know me so well. You know everything about me, Delilah.”
Feeling my walls coming up to keep me on the defensive, I cross my arms and scoff.
“Habit. Old habits die hard,” I say. Unpacking for him was something I often did when we traveled for missions and set up in motels or camps to rest at night.
Hunter was always able to live out of his bag, while it infuriated me, and I'd end up unpacking his things neatly.
“It's not just that,” Hunter sighs as he stands up and stalks toward me with even steps, his breath matching his controlled movements when he nears me. “You know every innermost detail about me, D. It scares me sometimes.”
“Is that why you've been grumpy? You do realize that this was your idea, right?” I gulp when his scent swarms my airways and I'm forced to breathe in the same warm air he exudes, but I hold his stare, not wanting to show any signs of weakness in his presence.
“Oh, I know. But then it hit me that no one knows me like you do…” Hunter's voice trails off and leaves a moment of awkward pause.
I notice his fingers twitching when I avert my gaze, and I'm afraid that if I let any more silence pass between us, he'll give in to the urge to reach out to touch my cheek.
We've been down this road before, and I know how it ends.
In my heartbreak, I'm not willing to go there again.
Chuckling lightly, I lift my eyes back to his and narrow my gaze. “I know everyone from our squad well. Too well. We were on lots of missions together, Hunter. I was bound to learn about everything.”
“Not in the way you know me,” Hunter points out.
“You know me intimately.” Another pause spreads out with the awareness that slips through the cracks and has me filling my lungs with his heady, masculine scent.
Like old leather and spice, the fragrance is intoxicating, and there's no way I can defend myself against the natural effect of our mate bond drawing me in.
His scent is bait meant to catch me, the heat he exudes the familiar warmth I've been craving ever since he put an end to the passion we shared, the passionate season dismissed as nothing more than fun.
Then, it hits me. After everything Hunter has done over these past few days, he's been betraying his own words that he used to reject me. From saving me by entering into this fake marriage to the flickers of kindness in his small gestures, Hunter has been showing me that he cares.
He claims that I know him well, but I don't know him well enough. His mysterious past remains a mystery, and I'm certain there's something in there that was the reason he rejected me.
Perhaps a lost lover….
The thought alone sends a shiver down my spine, and I decide not to go there.
It's not my business, anyway. I can't be baited with the unknown, with the mystery that shrouds Hunter like a dark cloud.
I can't rush in like a clueless fool who's going to get her heart broken all over again.
Once bitten, twice shy is how the saying goes.
And I'll be damned if I don't follow sound advice.
Even at our most intimate, Hunter didn't reveal everything about his past to me, and I won't go probing now. He's clearly battling demons of his own construction, unable to accept our living circumstances and acting regretful of it.
It's his own fault.
“I know everyone intimately,” I draw out the word to give it less significance as I roll my eyes.
He doesn't have to know what that single word did to me, and I can't stick around in his presence lest he finds out.
“Goodnight, Hunter,” I call out over my shoulder as I spin on my heel, wiggling my fingers through the air without giving him a second glance.
This might be my most difficult mission to date—living with Hunter—but I've never backed down from a good fight.
Even if it means fighting with my body's urges around him. My heart is too precious to be broken again.
***
I've been tallying the days as if there's an end to this charade, but four days in, I wake up each morning with dread.
This morning is no different, and despite the quiet calm that hangs between Hunter and me, I can't ignore the fact that we work well together in this domestic setting.
While I prepare breakfast, manning the stove to fry eggs and turn the bacon sizzling in the pan, Hunter tends to the dishes, prepares our coffee, and takes out the toast, leaving two slices in a little longer to burn them.
He remembers I like slightly burnt toast. I noticed, but I haven't brought it up.
We work in sync until we're finally seated at the table, the smell of freshly brewed coffee settling over the silence and allowing me to enjoy my meal.
“You didn't forget how I like my eggs…” Hunter surprisingly comments, and I stop halfway through buttering my toast, lifting my eyes to meet his twinkling gaze.
“Scrambled. Like your brain. It wasn't hard to remember that one,” I retort with a sneer as I return my attention to my plate.
Hunter chuckles smoothly, the sound lightly vibrating in my chest as if he's touching me.
I hate how normal any of this feels, and I do my best to remain uptight, pursing my lips as I reach for my coffee mug. I'd rather intoxicate my airways with the rich aroma of coffee instead of Hunter's spicy scent.
“If you're trying to offend me, it's not gonna work,” Hunter calmly says as he leans back in his chair and sips his coffee. “You can throw whatever jabs you want my way, but we both know that you don't mean any of it.”
A flash of sadness passes through Hunter's dark eyes, and a pang of guilt grips my heart for a split second before I remind myself that he doesn't deserve my compassion.
It's only because of the remnants of my feelings for him that still linger that I feel remotely remorseful about the way I've been treating him.
Consciously reminding myself that I need to be as detached as possible so he doesn't have the power to hurt me again, I take a sip of my coffee before setting my mug down with a gentle clink.
“Look, I get that we're married,” I begin, mentally drawing the line I'm about to speak into existence. “But we both know this is fake. There's no need for us to pretend behind closed doors.”
“You think I'm pretending?” Hunter scoffs as he picks up a forkful of scrambled eggs and shoves it into his mouth. “I'm not. But you are,” he says through his mouthful.
I roll my eyes, sinking into my chair. “I told you already, we can't stand each other, so there's no point in pretending unless we need to keep up appearances around other people.”
Hunter nods thoughtfully as he stares at me through narrowed eyes, unconvinced, processing my words with a flicker of doubt and sadness in his skeptical gaze.
“Is this a boundary I'm not meant to cross?”
“That's exactly what this is. As long as we're on the same page, this will work,” I state with a firm nod, ignoring his disappointment and disregarding it because I already know how this ends otherwise.
“Sure,” he murmurs as he picks up his mug, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to gawk at the way his plump upper lip curls over the edge as he takes a sip. “We always worked well together when we were on the same page. This'll be a breeze, no doubt.”
His lingering smirk leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth when I know what he's implying with that statement. He'd often whisper it in my ear on those nights when we were tangled in the sheets, bare and sweaty, praising the way we work together.
This is different, I remind myself, chanting the words repeatedly in my head like the only mantra that'll keep my heart protected from torture. I can't afford to experience the suffering of a broken mate bond; my fear of being rejected outweighs a few moments of stolen pleasure.
“Good,” I say as I dig into my breakfast, at last finding the appetite that was dead during that conversation. “Have you spoken to Tyler yet?”
Hunter nods, his expression hardening when he notes the shift in conversation. We're back to business and dealing with the witch, Gwen, who hasn't breathed a word to Tyler.
“He's bringing her over tonight with Nick,” Hunter informs me.
“Okay. We'll keep her in our holding cells, and I'll try speaking to her again.”
“Promise me you won't go questioning her without me around. I don't trust that witch.”
I purse my lips, contemplating his words and trying to find a deeper meaning in them, but remind myself that it's absurd to care about his intentions.
This is different. This is about the mission, and we're partnered up for this one.
“Fine. But don't question my methods when I speak to her. I know what I'm doing.”
Hunter raises his hands in a show of surrender. “Of course, m'lady,” he offers with a softened gaze. “I'll let you lead on this one.”