Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
the rules
BLAIR
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Apparently these are the five stages of grief, but calling them ‘stages’ implies that a person actually moves through each at some point. I’ve never managed to get past anger, and at this rate, I’m beginning to doubt I ever will.
Taking on a new job assignment was supposed to help.
I figured if I could channel my rage into something productive, it may bleed out some of the poison that’s taken root in my soul.
What I didn’t anticipate was coming face to face with a hunter on my first day, freaking the fuck out, then running away like a damn lunatic.
Safe to say that it wasn’t my finest moment.
I’m nothing if not persistent, though, and I’m definitely not a quitter.
I just needed to take a step back and remind myself of the bigger picture.
The reason I volunteered for the hunter taskforce in the first place was to pursue revenge against the organization that gunned down my mate in cold blood, and if the only way to do that is by working alongside one of them, then I suppose I’ll just have to endure it.
If they’ll still have me, that is. Showing up here this morning was a bold move after the way I left things yesterday, but I’m hoping it’ll demonstrate my dedication to the cause. I even came in an hour early so I could settle in, get my mind right, and start chipping away at my task list.
The time slips by quickly, and I’m just getting into a groove when I hear the scuffle of footsteps in the hallway, glancing down at the clock in the lower corner of my computer screen.
7:57 a.m. I typically find punctuality to be an attractive trait in a man, but where my new partner’s concerned, it’s grating. I’d rather he not show up at all.
Even before he steps into the room, I know it’s Matty by the way he smells– clean and masculine, yet lacking the distinct scent signature of a shifter. Human.
Though different from what I’m used to, it isn’t unpleasant.
He smells of soap and sandalwood, punctuated by spicy undertones, and under another set of circumstances, I’d be delighted by its uniqueness.
I’ve always been drawn to strange and unusual things; endlessly fascinated by oddities.
Probably because I’m a little odd myself.
I don’t look up to acknowledge his presence, keeping my eyes trained on my computer screen while remaining acutely aware of his movements as he advances toward my desk. Stepping up to the edge, he pauses and reaches out, setting a paper coffee cup down on the corner.
I flicker an annoyed glance toward the cup, eyeing it with suspicion before begrudgingly lifting my gaze to the man who delivered it. Wrinkling my nose, I ask, “What’s that?”
Matty’s lips split into a wide grin, displaying two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. It’d be a whole lot easier to ignore this guy if he was hideous. Instead, he’s ridiculously cute in a clean-cut, pretty-boy sort of way. Far too good looking for someone who murdered my soulmate.
Logically, I know it wasn’t Matty who pulled the trigger that night, but he’s guilty by association.
“A peace offering,” he drawls, gesturing to the cup. “I hoped you’d be back today, and considering the two of us will be working together for the foreseeable future…”
“Let me stop you right there,” I interject, holding up a hand. “This job is important to me, so I’ll agree to be cordial for the sole purpose of getting it done. But make no mistake, we’re co-workers, not friends.”
“Why can’t we be both?” he challenges, cocking a brow.
“Aside from the obvious, hunter?”
“Former hunter.”
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see the back of my skull. “Semantics. I’m not in the market for any new friends right now. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda going through something.”
“I heard,” he murmurs, blue eyes rounding in sincerity. “Which is why I figured you could probably use a friend.”
“Not interested,” I mutter as I swivel to face my computer monitor again. “And you can take your coffee.”
“Nah, I got it for you. Keep it.”
“I don’t want it.”
Despite the way I feel his stare burning into the side of my face, I don’t turn to meet it, eyes glazing over as they remain fixed on my screen.
“Well, I’m not taking it back, so you can drink it or let it sit there and get cold,” he states matter-of-factly. “Up to you.”
“I’m not drinking it.”
“Fine,” he shrugs.
“Fine,” I grit out, gnashing my molars.
Matty moves away from my desk, stepping around to his own and taking his seat across from me.
As if this situation wasn’t already untenable, the fact that our desks face one another only makes it worse.
Whenever I look up, he’s right there, the glow of his computer monitor reflecting in his eyes and making them appear even bluer than they already are.
Maybe I should talk to Cam or Avery about moving our desks apart.
I’d planned on keeping Cam at arm’s length, given his former Guild affiliation, but Avery and I are friendly enough.
Surely she’d understand why I can’t stand to look at Matty’s stupidly handsome face, knowing what his people did to ours.
Or maybe not, since she looks at Cam every day with fucking hearts in her eyes.
He does get somewhat of a pass since he’s half shifter, though.
Cam’s entire life was based on lies, and once he found out the truth, he quickly realigned his loyalties.
He helped us take down The Guild, so I have to respect him for that.
I’ll also respect him in here, as my boss, and outside of here, as Avery’s mate.
Doesn’t mean I’ll forget where he came from.
Hunters killed my mate, and cozying up to one would only defile his memory.
I barely even knew Dylan, but the fated bond between us was strong.
I’d never felt bliss like when it snapped in, nor loss like when it was torn away.
We only had minutes together beneath the full moon before the gunfire started, but Dylan didn’t hesitate to throw himself in front of me to take a bullet, saving my life at the cost of his own. The last word on his lips was ‘mate’.
I draw a deep breath, rubbing a palm against the center of my chest as if that’ll make the ache go away.
The mate bond was ripped away when Dylan drew his last breath, and I’ve felt hollow ever since.
Incomplete. That’s why I’m here, working for the hunter taskforce– because nobody should have to experience the excruciating pain of finding and losing your mate in a single night, and the best way to honor Dylan is by preventing any remaining shifter hunters from reassembling.
“So, do you like art?” Matty asks casually.
I frown as I glance up at him. “Huh?”
He cards a hand through his chestnut hair, a smile curving his lips. “I noticed you changed your desktop background.”
“Creeping on someone else’s computer is bad etiquette in IT,” I reply bluntly, dropping my gaze to my computer screen.
Matty hisses in a breath through his teeth. “Shit, is it? I didn’t know, I’ve never really worked in IT before. Well, not formally, anyway. I’ve always liked computers, so I’ve dabbled…”
“It’s Banksy,” I blurt, just to shut him up.
“What?”
“My desktop background.” I look up at him, meeting those striking blue eyes. “It’s a popular Banksy piece.”
He grins. “So you do like art.”
I huff an irritated sigh, looking back down at my computer again.
“I’ve been looking for stuff for the walls of my dorm room, but I can’t really figure out what styles I like,” he says, blowing right past my obvious dismissal.
“I ordered this poster of an abstract art piece, but the colors are really bright and clash with one another, it almost hurts to look at it. Think I’m gonna return it for something else, I’ll look into Banksy… ”
“New rule,” I cut in, glaring at him over the top of my monitor.
Matty snaps his mouth shut, lifting his brows.
“No talking.”
He snorts a laugh. “Well that’ll make it hard to do our jobs, won’t it?”
“Fine, no talking unless it’s work-related,” I grumble.
“Okay,” he replies slowly, drawing out the word. “Can I get your phone number, then?”
I flinch back with a scowl. “No, why would I give you my number?”
“In case I need to get ahold of you for work stuff,” he replies nonchalantly.
“No.” I refocus on my computer screen, angrily clicking my mouse as I scroll through to my next task.
Even if I didn’t hate Matty because of everything he stands for, relating to others has never been my strong suit.
I’ve been on the outskirts of most social circles ever since Allison King declared that I was weird in the third grade.
I wasn’t particularly offended by it since I’d rather be weird and interesting than normal and boring, but kids are cruel little shits, so I didn’t get invited to many birthday parties after that.
I did steal Allison’s boyfriend junior year of high school, though, just to spite the bitch. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
I’ve never fit a mold, or even the commonly-used metaphors for being different.
I don’t march to the beat of my own drum; I play an entirely different instrument.
I don’t color outside the lines; I flip the page over and create my own damn masterpiece.
I’m an original, and if that makes me weird, it’s a title I’ll gladly embrace.
Dylan would’ve embraced my weird, too. He was my fated mate; the one person meant for me. He would’ve accepted all my strange quirks and even loved me for them, had he gotten the chance. The hunters didn’t just take his life, they took our future.
Showing any kindness to Matty would be akin to spitting on Dylan’s grave. No matter what side he’s on now, he was a hunter when my mate was murdered. He’ll always be the enemy.
“You okay?” Matty asks, tilting his head.
Shit, I hadn’t even realized I was looking at him.
Glaring, rather.
“Fine,” I growl, eyes pinging back to my screen.