Chapter 3
It wasn’t late, barely afternoon, but it was already dark.
Seattle didn’t bother much with daylight in December and by four, the city was wrapped up in shadows and streetlights, everything glittering under a sheet of drizzle.
Christmas lights blinked from shopfronts, stringing cheer across the dark meant for lifting the spirit. And they were successful.
Daphne adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder, the wrapped boxes inside shifting with a rustle of tissue paper.
All gifts for her friends she could’ve ordered online, sure, but she’d been in a mood lately.
Gloomy. Tangled in her own thoughts like sheets after a nightmare.
So, she’d said screw it. She needed out, needed lights and bustle and the promise of chocolate and joy. She’d needed one day in the city.
And she was glad she’d listened to herself.
Shop windows glowed with warm light, dripping with holly and candles.
She’d gotten a bag of cocoa from a cart that cost too much but tasted like happiness; browsed a boutique where the shopkeeper complimented her scarf; even hummed along to the street saxophonist near the bookstore.
Obviously, she’d spent too much time and money at said bookstore, but that was a consideration for another day.
The air smelled like rain and roasted chestnuts and city magic.
It was beautiful.
For a day. By the end of that day, she sure was relieved to be going home.
Mystic Hollow might be nosy and occasionally messy, considering the ratio of magiks, but it was hers. It didn’t have alleyways that breathed wrong. It didn’t have crowds that looked through you like you weren’t there.
She turned down the side road where she’d parked and immediately tensed.
Narrow. Poorly lit. An alley that tried to pretend it was charming with uneven cobblestones and string lights hung too high.
She’d known it wasn’t ideal when she’d left the car, but there had been no parking whatsoever.
Holiday crowds saw to that. She’d circled the block for fifteen minutes before she caved and took this one.
A calculated risk. She’d seen worse, after all.
It all boiled down to being prepared, and prepared she was.
She’d taken a tactical flashlight and a collapsible baton and had tucked them discreetly in her coat.
She wore boots that could kick, earrings that couldn’t be grabbed, and a coat that gave her a full range of movement.
She planned for the worst. Always.
Which is how she noticed him the second she turned the corner.
The man didn’t look threatening, and that was the problem. He was just there. A little too still, a little too centered, standing in the perfect blind spot between two streetlights. Not on his phone. Not smoking. Not doing anything at all. Just watching the alley.
To someone else, he might’ve looked like nothing but background.
But Daphne’s instincts prickled. You didn’t grow up the way she did and miss the scent of trouble. You didn’t spend years in self-defense classes and learn to ignore the twitch of something predatory in the air.
Danger didn’t always shout. Sometimes, it stood quietly in the dark, waiting, and you had to be open to it to catch it.
She stopped walking, and did what every woman trained for a worst-case scenario should do: she pivoted smoothly and started walking back the way she came.
No panic in her steps. No fear on her face.
Just the movement of someone remembering she still had something to do.
She would get to the main road and circle the block.
It was a long hike after a long day, but she’d rather be exhausted than sorry.
Except, a shadow shifted ahead of her. From the opposite end of the alley, the way she’d intended to escape. Another man stepped into view and just stood there.
Shit.
Panic flickered like a match, but she crushed it.
Alright.
Two men. One behind, one ahead. She was boxed in, but not trapped.
Her spine straightened. Her fingers flexed.
The baton slipped from her coat pocket and opened with a soft, satisfying click.
The keys slid between her fingers and became claws.
Her breathing slowed. Her focus narrowed.
She stepped into a doorway shadow just wide enough to cover her back, scanning the angles, the exits, the blind spots.
They hadn’t moved. Not yet.
When they did, she’d be ready.
Let them come.
They started, slow at first, nothing but two dudes passing by, minding their business. Their steps were too focused, though, too synchronized. Closing the space between them and her like they were tightening a net.
As they got closer, she saw their faces.
Drawn, gaunt. Hollowed out by something that had been eating them from the inside long before this night.
Eyes that had seen too much and cared too little.
One had scabbed-over knuckles and skin pulled tight over bone.
The other’s pupils were blown wide, jaw twitching with the tremors of someone who hadn’t slept in days.
Users.
She could see it in the way their shoulders rolled forward, bodies ready to run or hit or steal just to feed the next wave of nothing.
The taller one stepped forward, his voice low and shaking, barely under control. “Drop your shit. Phone. Wallet. Anything with value.”
She didn’t move. “No.”
They hesitated long enough to see if she was bluffing. Then one lunged. She sidestepped hard, pivoted on the ball of her foot, and brought her baton up in a tight arc straight to his ribs. The impact snapped down the alley like a slap.
He fell sideways, gasping.
The second grabbed her coat.
Big mistake.
She twisted, yanked her arm free, and slammed her elbow backward into his face. Blood spattered against the bricks. “You make everything so fucking difficult,” he snarled, stumbling back.
Time stopped.
You make everything so fucking difficult.
You make everything so fucking difficult.
Her breath caught somewhere between terror and confusion. A dull beep filled her ears and her brain. Vision collapsed inward.
You make everything so fucking difficult.
You make everything so fucking difficult.
The cobblestones were just... there. She must’ve fallen. Hands cold and wet on the ground. Knees soaking through her jeans.
Daphne shut her eyes.
She was nowhere. Her world was a void wrapped in panic.
Sounds filtered through–grunts. Moans. A heavy thud. A bone-crack snap.
Then silence.
She scrambled away when a hand touched her shoulder. “It’s me.” The voice was soft, familiar. She blinked fast, over and over, until the edges of a face too perfect to be real took shape. “You’re safe, sweetheart.”
He picked her up like she was made of wind and fear and started walking toward her car.
She swallowed hard, eyes closed, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing her, luring her back from whatever place she’d fallen into.
She clung to him not out of weakness, but instinct, as if her soul knew it was safe here.
When she finally found her voice, it was hoarse but strong.
“Call me sweetheart again, and I’ll punch you in the throat. ”
He chuckled, unfazed, and kissed her hair. Sweetly. Gently. “Noted. How should I call you, then?”
“I have a name, don’t I?”
“Sure do. And a beautiful one at that, but I’m into pet names.”
“Then buy a fucking pet.”
“How about darling?”
“Depends. How bad do you want to hurt?”
“Babe?”
“Seriously.”
They reached the car, and with a strange mix of exhaustion and reluctant relief, she realized his teasing had sanded off the edges of whatever the fuck had happened in that alley.
“Keys?” The car unlocked with a quiet click as they neared. “Convenient,” he noted. “Do you think you can stand?”
The question should have made her hissy, but it was a valid one, all things considered. “Yeah.”
He let her down, keeping his hands close in case she swayed, then opened the door for her. Which is when she realized he had opened the passenger side.
“You’re in no state for driving in general, let alone a three-hour drive over a pass, with snow on the ground and possibly black ice,” he explained, then rolled his eyes, probably taking in her expression. “I wasn’t in your head. It was right on your face. Also, common sense much?”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“Whatever,” he repeated, signaling her to get in. “I’ll drive you home.”
She should have said no. She wanted to say no.
But she also wanted to go home and try to put what happened in order.
And yes, she could have driven, but she’d lived in the area her whole life and knew the road conditions.
In the end, he made her capitulate by saying, “Please, Daphne. Let me drive you home safely. You already gave me a heart attack today. I don’t need any more. ”
~*~
The night outside was mellow and piercing, sweet and unforgiving all at once, like first snow on an open grave. Daphne didn’t say much. Her jaw was tight, eyes forward, body coiled like she was still waiting for the next hit to come.
Hunter didn’t need to read her mind to know she had spiraled and maybe still was, but he did anyway, just skimming the surface.
Mostly, he found confusion. Those words, you make everything so fucking difficult, played on repeat in her skull, tightening, looping, gripping her from the inside out.
Obsessing her because they were tied to nothing.
No memory, just words that terrified her for no apparent reason at all.
Only to give a break, a breathing moment to relax those shoulders and take in a full breath, he asked, “Got all your shopping done?”
She blinked like she was waking up. “Uh?”
He shrugged, eyes still on the road. “Bags. Ribbons. Festive spirit. Holiday debt. You got it all covered?”