Chapter 22 Hunter
Hunter
Thunder detonates over the mansion like someone slamming a door in the sky.
The windows rattle. The lights flicker once, twice—then the house plunges into darkness.
For half a beat, I just stand in the hallway with the silence pressing in, my heart thudding like it’s waiting for the next blow.
Then the generator kicks in.
A low, steady hum rises from somewhere in the estate, and warm light returns to the sconces along the corridor. Not bright. Not comforting. Just there.
The storm keeps raging outside, rain hammering the roof in fast, violent sheets.
I should be going to bed. I haven’t slept in—
No. Don’t count. Don’t give the night more power.
I start toward my room anyway, footsteps measured, shoulders stiff, trying to pretend I’m in control of everything. The mansion smells faintly of damp air sneaking in through old seams.
The scent of rain.
As I pass Adaline’s door, my hand almost lifts.
Almost.
I could knock. Make sure she’s okay after everything that happened tonight. But the moment my knuckles hover near the wood, a cold thought slices through me.
North.
I drop my hand like the door burned me and keep walking. If I stand outside her room and hear her voice say my name, something in me will give.
My bedroom is dark in all the wrong ways. Not dark like sleep, like rest. Dark like the end of a fight where you’re still braced for the next punch.
I shut the door behind me and lean my forehead against it for a moment, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
My injured hand throbs, burned from adrenaline and impact, and the stupid way I clenched it all night. I flex my fingers once.
The ache answers. Good. Something real.
I cross to the bed, drop my phone on the comforter, then pick it back up like I’m possessed. Like the device has a gravity I can’t fight.
HeartLines.
I should not open it. I should not look. But the storm outside keeps beating the house like it’s trying to get in, and the storm inside me is worse. I tap the icon. The chat loads.
Wind.
My chest tightens before the messages even appear, like my body has memorized what it feels like to want her words.
I see her last message, the one I didn’t reply to. The one about the fall festival.
That message changed everything.
I remember that night like it’s branded behind my eyes. Connor’s infuriating smile turning sharp when he realized I was there, Adaline’s chin lifted like she refused to let him see her fear. Heat coils under my skin, my jaw locking as I see him standing too close to her.
And then tonight. Tonight I stepped between them. Tonight I punched him. My thumb keeps scrolling. There are newer messages. Then I see the timestamps.
Thirty minutes ago. My brain refuses to accept it. A cold pulse runs down my spine. She is on a walk.
Now. In this weather. I scroll faster.
Wind: I don’t want to be dramatic, but I feel like I might be lost.
Wind: Not lost-lost. Just… wandering.
My stomach drops, cold spreading under my ribs.
Lost.
The storm outside cracks again, louder, closer. I don’t hear it. All I see are the words on my screen.
My gaze flicks to the timestamp again. I scroll to the last messages.
Wind: I need a friend right now. More than I want to admit.
Wind: I know we don’t know each other’s names. But I think I want to.
Wind: I think… I want to meet you.
Something in my chest caves in. Because that’s what I’ve wanted, and she’s saying it to me.
To me—
When she doesn’t even know that I’m already part of her life.
I stare at the chat window until my eyes burn. I’m here. Always.
But if I answer now, if I type one word, it will feel like a trap.
A lie.
I swallow hard and force my fingers still. She is offline. My mind pivots, sharp. Is she still outside? Is she wandering or really lost in the storm?
But if she’s past the property line, the perimeter alarms should’ve triggered.
They didn’t.
I feel panic rise. I find Adaline in my contacts and call her, but it goes to voicemail. I’m already moving before the thought finishes.
Down the hall to Adaline’s room, I knock, no response, I twist the handle, quiet and pitch dark inside. The storm hammers the roof like a warning. I go knock on Mrs. Lane’s room. She opens the door.
“Please keep an eye on Aunt Jane. I need to step out.”
Her face tightens. “In this weather? The storm’s awful.”
“It’s Adaline,” I cut in.
Mrs. Lane looks worried.
“She went outside,” I add, because the words taste like panic. “She might be off the property.”
Mrs. Lane gasps, a sharp sound from a woman who rarely breaks her calm.
“I’ll call the grounds crew,” she says immediately. “The security—”
“Please do it,” I say, already turning. “Tell them to check the perimeter logs. Now.”
At the stairs, I nearly take them two at a time. I grab a flashlight from the kitchen drawer
And then I’m out.
The storm hits me like a wall. Rain, wind, panic, impact all at once.
Cold rain slaps my face, soaks my shirt in seconds, turns the gravel slick beneath my shoes. Wind shoves at my shoulders like it wants to push me back inside.
Thunder cracks again.
The flash of lightning makes the grounds look like a photograph, black trees, silver lawn, the pond’s surface glinting in the distance.
And then it’s dark again. I raise the flashlight, beam slicing through the downpour.
“Adaline!” I shout, voice ripping raw in the rain.
Nothing answers. Only the hiss of water and the groan of branches. My heart hammers.
My mind jumps to the last thing she wrote.
Lost.
Wandering. Wanting to meet me.
I clench my hand, pain flaring, and force my thoughts into something useful.
Her route. She walks toward the pond. She never reaches it. Always turns back before the property line.
But tonight she kept going. She didn’t stop.
I sprint.
The beam bounces wildly as I run, water splashing up my legs, shoes sinking into mud where the grass has softened. The wind tears at my hair. Rain fills my mouth when I breathe.
“Adaline!”
My voice comes out harsher this time, edged with something ugly.
Fear.
I shouldn’t be afraid.
I’m Hunter Rexon. I’m the man the town whispers about like a cautionary tale.
But this? This is the kind of fear that makes me feel seventeen again.
Helpless. Too late.
Lightning flashes, and for a split second, the path is clear, the hedges, the curve toward the pond, the line where the property starts to thin.
I push harder. My lungs burn. The rain soaks me through to the bone.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, another memory surfaces—Wind once telling me she loves storms.
I remember the way she wrote it. The smell of rain, like storms, made her feel alive. Like the noise and chaos outside could drown the noise inside.
But this storm isn’t romantic. This storm is teeth.
This storm is darkness, downed power, and she is alone with no signal.
“Please,” I mutter, the word ripped out of me before I can stop it.
Another shout. “Adaline!”
The flashlight beam catches movement. A shape stumbling through the rain near the tree line.
My chest locks. My breath leaves me all at once. She turns.
And then she’s running. Straight toward me.
Hair plastered to her face, clothes soaked, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to keep her bones from shaking loose. Her eyes are wide, shining with panic and water.
She sees me. Relief breaks over her face so fast it nearly knocks her off balance.
“Hunter!” she cries.
My name. Out loud in the storm.
She runs faster. And I don’t think, I just catch her as she reaches me.
Her body slams into mine, small and trembling, and my arms wrap around her automatically—hard, protective, like if I hold on tight enough the storm can’t take her.
She clutches my shirt with both hands, fingers cold through the fabric. I feel her shaking, her breath against my throat.
I feel the weight of her fear and the relief of her finding me. And for a second, the storm disappears.
It’s just her in my arms. Alive and safe. The word lodges in my chest like a vow.
My heart hammers like it’s trying to break free. I press my palm to the back of her head, fingers tangling in wet hair, and I pull her closer.
I breathe, “What were you thinking?”
Her face lifts just enough for me to see her eyes. She looks wrecked. And gorgeous.
And too much.
“I got lost,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I… I couldn’t see the lights and my phone—”
“Shh,” I cut in, because if she keeps talking, I might hear the tremor and lose my mind.
Thunder cracks again above us. She flinches.
My arms tighten.
“Come on,” I say, voice low and rough. “We’re going home.”
But I don’t move yet because she’s still clinging to me.
My chest is pressed to hers. The woman who is Wind and Adaline—the one who makes everything else go quiet—is shaking in my arms like she fits there perfectly.
And I realize with a sick, aching certainty, I would burn this whole world down to keep her safe.
The storm rages around us.
But she’s here. And I know, with terrifying clarity, that this is the moment everything changes.
Because now that I’ve found her—
I don’t think I can let her go.