Chapter 23 Adaline
Adaline
I slam into him like my body has been searching for him—this exact solidness, since the storm swallowed the path behind me.
Hunter’s arms lock around me, hard and fast, the kind of grip you don’t use unless you’re terrified of losing someone.
The rain is still hammering down, wind whipping my wet hair into my face. But the second I’m pressed against his chest, something inside me unclenches so violently I almost sob.
His heart is racing, thudding against my cheek through soaked fabric, and it’s the most grounding sound I’ve ever heard.
“I found you,” he says, voice rough, breathless. Like he ran through the entire world to get here.
I can’t make words. My throat is tight and burning. I just nod into him and cling harder.
He’s warm. Not comfortable, warm. I feel the heat of a man who sprinted into a downpour and didn’t stop until he had me.
His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading into my wet hair like he’s anchoring me to him. The other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush. My body trembles so hard my teeth chatter.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, the words ripping out of me. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”
“Shh.” It’s not a shush. It’s a command wrapped in something gentler than I’m prepared for. “Not right now.”
I swallow, pressing my cold cheek against his chest again. I want to cry. I want to dissolve into him and let him hold all the fear I’ve been carrying.
His thumb strokes the back of my head, slow, steady. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”
The word hits me like a lifeline, my lungs finally finding room to expand.
I haven't felt safe in a long time. Not the kind where my muscles stop bracing. Not the kind where my heart stops preparing.
But in his arms… I do.
My stomach flips anyway, like my body doesn’t know what to do with something this steady.
He leans his mouth close to my ear so the storm can’t steal the words. “Let’s go home.”
My arms tighten instantly.
“No.” It slips out before I can stop it, panicked, desperate. He stiffens just slightly, then relaxes again as if he understands exactly what I mean.
I’m not saying no to the mansion. I’m saying no to letting go of him.
“Adaline,” he says, low. “We have to get you out of this.”
“I know,” I whisper, but I still don’t loosen my grip. He exhales against my hair.
“I’m not leaving you,” He says.
My eyes sting. I nod again, because I can’t trust my voice not to break.
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts his stance, turning his body so he blocks the wind, shielding me like a wall. His chin dips, his cheek brushing the top of my head for half a second, barely a touch, barely anything, and I swear it anchors me more than the words.
I stay like that, held tight in his arms, while my shaking gradually changes from wild panic to exhausted tremors. He keeps whispering, softly, constantly.
“Breathe.”
“I’ve got you.”
I don’t know how long we stand there. Long enough that the storm feels farther away. Long enough that my heartbeat stops trying to climb out of my chest.
Finally, I lift my face. Rain runs down my forehead, over my lashes, dripping off my nose. My lips are numb with cold. Hunter looks down at me and… freezes.
It's dark, cold, and all I feel is his warmth and his intense grey eyes, locked on mine with an intensity that makes my stomach drop. His jaw tightens like he’s holding back something sharp.
Something heavy. Something he’s not ready to let go.
For a split second, it feels like he’s about to say something that will change everything.
His mouth parts, and my breath catches.
He swallows, and whatever he was about to confess gets shoved back behind his lips. His gaze flicks once, just once—to my mouth, then away like it’s a mistake.
“Come on,” he says instead, voice-controlled, almost too controlled. “We’re going home.”
He steps back and reaches for my hand. I look at his palm like it’s a question.
Then I place my shaking fingers into his, and his grip closes around me instantly, firm, warm, and unyielding.
He starts walking, pulling me gently but decisively. I stumble at first, legs heavy, shoes sinking into mud. The ground is slick, unpredictable. The rain is so hard it feels like needles.
Hunter doesn’t let me fall.
He adjusts his grip and steps slightly in front of me, guiding me around the worst patches of mud like he knows the terrain by heart, like he’s done this a thousand times.
My teeth chatter again. My whole body is shaking. I’m drenched to the bone, and I can feel water pooling inside my shoes.
I swallow hard, throat burning with the urge to apologize again.
His shoulders are tense. His grip is gentle, but his posture is pure rigid control, like he’s holding something dangerous inside himself.
We make it halfway when another violent shiver tears through me, so hard my knees buckle.
Hunter stops immediately. He turns fast, like he felt it through the air.
“Hey.” His voice drops. “Look at me.”
I try. I do. My vision blurs, rain and exhaustion, and lingering fear mix together.
“Just—” I start, but my jaw trembles too much to finish.
“Stop.” He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds… focused. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically.
He gives me a look that could cut glass. “You’re not.”
Before I can protest, he pulls me into his arms again, full-body, chest-to-chest, hands firm against my back. His skin is warm beneath the damp fabric. I can smell him, rain and clean soap, and something deeper. Just… Him.
He rubs my back in slow circles, palm moving steadily as if he’s trying to calm my nervous system with touch alone.
“You’re okay,” he says against my hair.
I nod against him, eyes closing for just a second.
I want to stay here. I want to melt into this and pretend the world doesn’t exist beyond his arms.
He pulls back just enough to see my face. His hands stay on my arms, balancing me. His eyes search mine like he’s scanning for damage.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I should have grabbed my jacket for you.”
I realize then that he must have just run out like this, looking for me.
“You okay to walk?” he asks.
I nod quickly, too quickly. “Yes. I can.”
He studies me for a beat longer, like he’s deciding whether to believe me.
Then he takes my hand again. This time, he doesn’t let our fingers link lightly.
He interlaces them fully, threading his fingers through mine like it’s the only safe way to keep me upright.
The mansion comes into view through the rain, dark shape, glowing windows, steady and waiting. Relief makes me weak. We reach the covered entry and step inside, dripping water onto the stone floor. My hair clings to my neck. My clothes feel heavy, soaked, and uncomfortable.
The air inside is warmer, but my body is still shaking like it hasn’t caught up to the fact that I’m no longer lost.
Hunter doesn’t release my hand as he leads me up the stairs. The hallway lights are dim, and there’s a faint hum in the walls, like the house is half-awake, half-asleep.
When we reach my bedroom door, Hunter pushes it open, and the room is dark.
Pitch black.
He flicks the switch once. Twice.
Nothing.
He curses under his breath, the sound low and vicious.
“Of course,” he mutters. My stomach drops, irrational panic flaring again. “What—what’s wrong?”
“Power’s out in some sections, the hallway sconces are dim, but your room’s dead.” He steps into the doorway, scanning, then turns back to me. Then he presses the flashlight into my hands.
“Change into dry clothes,” he says, voice clipped but not unkind. “Now.”
He waits a beat, then adds, “I’m going to check the generator in the basement.”
He pauses again like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he points at me. “Dry clothes. Now”
His eyes meet mine, steel and storm. “Adaline.”
The way he says my name makes my spine straighten.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He nods once, satisfied, then disappears down the hall like a shadow.
I step into my room, flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. My hands are shaking as I shut the door behind me. The click sounds too loud.
I change quickly, peeling off damp clothes. My fingers fumble with my wet socks, numb and clumsy.
I pull on an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, thick dry socks. I towel my hair until it’s not dripping, then wrap it into a messy bun.
Even dry, I can’t stop shivering. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating. I sink onto the edge of the bed and breathe. The adrenaline starts to fade, leaving exhaustion behind.
That’s when my stomach growls, loud, sharp, undeniable.
I freeze. Had I eaten today at all?
I had coffee. Maybe a bite of toast. Then the fundraiser. Then everything feels a blur.
The realization lands like another wave of weakness.
I haven’t eaten all day. A knock sounds at my door. My heart jumps.
“Adaline.” Hunter’s voice, right outside. He knocks again.
“I’m here,” I whisper. He slowly opens the door an inch. Dim light from the hallway, glowing behind him. When his eyes flick over me, dry clothes, socks, hair wrapped up, something loosens in his expression like he’s relieved I listened.
Then his gaze drops to my face.
“You’re still shaking,” he says.
“I’m fine,” I lie again.
He makes a sound under his breath like he’s sick of my lies.
“Come with me.”
“To where?”
He doesn't answer and simply holds out his hand.
I stare at his palm, then at his face. His eyes are firm, but there’s something else there too, something restrained, something that looks dangerously like care.
I place my hand in his.
He closes his fingers around mine and leads me down the hallway, while the storm rages outside and my heart tries to figure out why being held by him feels like the only thing keeping me together.
A few days ago, he wouldn’t even meet my eyes. Tonight, it feels like he’s holding on and refusing to let go.
He leads me toward the kitchen like it’s a decision he’s already made—one he expects me to follow. And I do.
I don’t resist. I don’t even consider it.