Chapter 6
HUNTER
For the first time in my life, I feel normal.
Or as close to normal as I’m likely to feel.
Not once during my coupling with Fiona did I think about murder or torture or any of the other things that would typically get me hard. I stayed in the moment, immersing myself wholly in the act. Even as I set the table for dinner, I keep thinking about her.
The lust-filled look in her eyes, the way her cunt fluttered around my cock as she came, her desperate hands clawing my shoulders…
The tears in her eyes when we were done.
Those were admittedly confusing, and I still don’t understand why she got so emotional. She’d mentioned how she’d felt on Salem Street when I’d grabbed my clothes and then asked to cuddle, but no good can come from lying down, pressing our bodies against each other.
I’m sure that whatever bad feelings she felt afterward will subside once she sees the dinner I’ve made, and maybe she’ll feel more secure when I tell her I plan on keeping her around. I may not be cut out to be a Keeper, but I see no problem with Fiona and me benefitting from each other’s company.
I set two places at the table and call for her to join me. She shuffles into the dining area in oversized sweats, her red hair looking remarkably tame compared to the nest it was when I found her on the dumpster.
In one of the lower apartments, there’s a closet full of clothes that I’m almost certain will fit her, and if I remember correctly, there are a few pairs of yoga pants, which the guys at the Keep were keen to see their Kept in. Maybe I’ll like that too.
Thankfully, Fiona is no longer crying and there’s no sign of her being upset, which is good because just seeing her makes my cock stir, which is unheard of.
Why I’m so attracted to her is still a mystery, because while Fiona is a work of art, with plump, pouty lips and green eyes that look like finely cut jewels, those qualities have never once attracted me to a woman.
She takes a seat, and I pour her a glass of wine. “Orange glazed pigeon with rooftop greens drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette.”
“Wow, were you like a chef before the apocalypse? Did you cook people?”
Damn, she’s bold.
“The only time I cooked a person was to feed them a piece of themself,” I confess.
“Oh…”
“I did watch a lot of cooking shows, though.”
She grabs her fork and starts in on the pigeon first, giving a satisfied “ummm” with every bite.
After dabbing her lips with a napkin, she says, “I never thought I’d love eating the rat of the bird kingdom.”
“With their prevalence, you’ll be eating a lot. Occasionally, we’ll get to have chicken, but I have to take care not to thin their numbers too much.”
“So…the black uniform Caspian wore…the one I saw in your bathroom after you first took me. Were you, like, the civil police?”
I see no point in lying to her.
“For a time, yes.”
“What happened to the world? Did you guys know the dead were going to rise?”
I set down my fork and clear my throat. It’s not surprising that she would put two and two together, realizing the civil police and rising dead were correlated, and I suppose satisfying her curiosity might give her some peace of mind.
“About six months before the dead rose, I was recruited by a man who called himself Saber to join the civil police. I wasn’t in a position to turn down the job, and I was immediately assigned to this city to assist with civil unrest. We worked out of a place we now call the Keep, which is a big fallout shelter that was made to survive global catastrophes. ”
“So you guys knew…”
“Not at first. Our superiors did, but they kept it from us. As time passed, we began puzzling together what was happening. We knew there were other Keeps around the world working together, but we’d thought it was to find a solution for whatever was going on. Boy, were we wrong.”
“How so?”
“We found out we weren’t saving the world from an apocalypse. We were causing it.”
The look in Fiona’s eyes tells me she will not be getting peace of mind from what I just told her.
“You…you caused this?”
“Not me. Scientists working in a lab did.”
“Why would they do that?” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Why would you work for them?”
“As I’d said, we didn’t know what they were up to.
We started getting orders that were…troubling.
We found out the dead rising was true, but we were told to lie about it.
Then, they started killing scientists, and that didn’t sit well with my people.
What drove us to action was when we learned that the people in charge were planning on moving their families to the Keep so that they could unleash the dead into the city. ”
Her mouth gapes. “So that’s what happened that night? They just let the dead in?”
“Not exactly. Once we learned what they’d been planning, we staged a coup and overthrew them, trying to save the city. Unfortunately, not everyone was onboard, and someone let the dead inside. It was a terrible failure.”
“My mom died that night…”
“Loss of civilian life was never our intention.”
“And my boyfriend…he…oh, my God.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her, which is uncharacteristic of me, but it’s not a total lie. “I’m sure they cared deeply for you.”
She snorts in disgust. “My mother, yeah. Not my boyfriend. A couple of weeks into the catastrophe, he sold me to Madam Levy on Salem Street.”
What do I say to that? I didn’t ask her to tell me these things, but it seems like it would be rude to tell her I’m not interested in the sad details of her life.
Shit—I’m masking again. Acting like I’m fucking normal and like I care about her feelings.
But…a part of me does. A small part. I don’t want her to be sad. Perhaps it’s because it’ll make her less willing to have sex with me.
“Madam Levy told you I was nineteen, but I’m actually twenty-two. Before the dead rose, I was the very definition of pathetic. I worked at a gas station, but I was about to lose my job because I’m so stupid.”
I am not a therapist.
“I dropped out of high school, not because I was edgy or a rebel, but because I couldn’t read. What man would love someone like me? I was stupid to think he loved me.”
My brow pinches together. “You talk well enough, and you were smart enough to survive out there on your own.”
Why am I comforting her?
“I’m dyslexic, and because of that, reading and math are extra hard. My dad disowned me, saying that if I had only studied harder, I’d be smarter. The truth is, I did study, but when it didn’t help, I just gave up.”
I’m not sure if she expects me to say anything, but I can think of no words that would soothe her.
And yes, I do want to soothe her. Not because I’m masking or that I care about her feelings. It’s just that the sadder she is, the harder my life will get.
“What happened to your group at that Keep place?” she asks. “Why’d you leave?”
“They found out about my past and were going to execute me.”
“Your past?”
“Before I was civil police, I was locked up.”
“For what?”
“I was a serial killer.”
“Oh…I guess that makes sense.”
“Saber recruited military and convicts to his cause, so the Keep was a pretty mixed bunch of golden boys and thugs. Most thought I had been military on account of my personality, but I fucked up when I was out on the streets and it made them dig deeper into everyone’s past.”
“What made them dig? Was it what you did to Madam Levy?”
“No, that would have gone under the radar. After you left, I returned to Salem Street and killed the people on the list we’d made, all except one, and it set off all kinds of alarms.”
Fiona’s eyes grow round. Whether it be from surprise or fear, I cannot tell. All I know is that I’m pretty sure I just made a huge mistake.