Chapter 12 - Hunter
I stand at the kitchen counter for a long time after the door closes, and the cabin feels different when she’s not in it.
It feels bigger in all the wrong ways, but I can feel her through the bond, just outside and close enough to keep my nerves from fraying completely. Seeing as she hasn’t gone far, I assume she’s at the hot spring. I would’ve gone there too.
As much as I want to, I don’t follow her immediately.
I’m self-aware enough to know that following her immediately would be the wrong move. I need to let the air clear first and let both of us come down from what just happened.
So instead, just to keep myself busy, I fill the kettle, set it on the burner, and stand with my hands on the counter, staring at the grain in the countertop as I wait.
I breathe deliberately like I learned to in circumstances with considerably higher stakes than a domestic argument, which doesn’t help as much as I’d like it to.
You decided to own me.
It wasn’t what I did, even if that’s how she took it. I brought Tessa back here and went through with the mate ceremony because the threat of Hayes was a real one, and because I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone taking her away from me, regardless of how irrational it seemed.
It’s obvious that I pushed her into something she didn’t want, and likely something she’s afraid of, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t real. This connection hasn’t been completed yet, but the pull I feel towards her is something I can’t deny. Even she can’t, as much as she wants to.
The kettle boils, but I don’t pour it.
Instead, I turn the burner off and head outside before I can talk myself out of leaving this alone.
Tessa is on a flat rock at the edge of the small pool, looking at the water with the expression of someone battling too many internal thoughts on their own. The steam drifts between us as I come around the side of the cabin, and when she hears me, her shoulders stiffen slightly.
Still, she doesn’t tell me to go away, and I take that sign while I can.
Reaching the edge of the rock, I lower myself onto it a few feet from her, not too close to feel like pressure, but close enough to exist in the same space quietly.
The water is warm where I’m sitting, as its heat rises through the cold air, and the steam is thick enough to pull the chill out of the darkness around us.
We don’t say anything for a while, and in a way, it’s nicer than filling it with words.
This is something I’ve learned about Tessa in the short time we’ve been together… she doesn’t fill the silence out of politeness. Most people do when the air between them goes quiet, and they feel the need to smooth it over.
Instead, Tessa sits in silence as if it soothes her, and tonight, with the water shifting against stone, I find I’m grateful for that.
I look at the water and try to find a starting point that won’t make her instinctively pull away from me.
“I’m not going to argue what you said before,” I say when it feels right to.
Tessa doesn’t respond, but I know she’s listening. I can tell the difference now.
“You’re not wrong that I handled it badly. Taking you to my place, claiming you in front of the pack before either of us was ready…” I trail off to take a breath, finding it hard to voice what feels like vulnerability. “I really did want to help you, and everything I sprung onto you wasn’t random.”
She hesitates at that, more like she’s resisting the urge to look at me. “What wasn’t?”
“Why I needed you to stay, and why I initiated the bond,” I murmur, stopping myself before I can get in too deep.
This is the part I’ve been less willing to get close to, and the part that requires opening something I’ve had locked down for so long that it feels impossible to let go of. So I take my time and form the words first, revealing as much of it as I can for now.
“I had the feeling something was there, and I needed to know.”
It’s not the full answer, and I know that, and from the slight shift in her profile, I think Tessa knows it too, but she doesn’t push.
As much as I want to be, I’m not ready to give her the whole thing yet. The thought of saying it out loud feels like the kind of exposure I haven’t worked up to yet, more like cracking myself open to let her see everything. While I want her to trust me, I’m not there yet.
“I should have… done some things differently.”
“You should have done a lot of things differently,” she returns a bit pointedly, but not meant with cruelty.
Unable to deny it, I sigh and nod. “Yes.”
“That seems like a big admission for you.”
“I’m aware,” I murmur, feeling like I’m on the chopping block, even if I deserve it. If that’s what it takes to make her see I’m not some kind of monster trying to ruin her life, then so be it.
Something subtle changes in her, and while it’s barely perceptible, that faint easing of the posture she’s been holding since I sat down doesn’t get past me. It isn’t surrender, but it’s an improvement.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I tell her, swallowing enough of my pride to admit it. “I’ve spent a long time making decisions and enforcing them for the greater good without hesitation. This feels completely different.”
“I noticed,” she says.
“I imagine so.”
We both go quiet for a moment, then Tessa sighs and murmurs, “I don’t know how to do this either.”
She’s looking at the water when she says it, but it’s raw enough to feel direct. When I don’t say anything, she continues, “I’ve spent so long pushing through things without anyone noticing I was struggling that I’m not used to someone actually trying, let alone speaking to me.”
Instinctively, something more empathetic pulls in my chest at that, and more than anything, I want to ease that burden for her.
“I know,” I offer, able to see those reflexes of hers whenever we talk. Those defense mechanisms are so deeply ingrained in her that she doesn’t know how to shut them off.
“You don’t, fully.”
“No, not fully,” I agree.
Above us, the pines are quiet as the breezeless night keeps them still, and the sky through the canopy is the deep saturated black of high altitude with the stars shining brilliantly.
In the peaceful moment that feels like a rare concession for us both, I glance at her profile in the dim light, tracing from the line of her jaw to the slight furrow between her brows that means she’s back to warring with herself.
She’s closer than she was now, and I’m not sure when that happened, but it’s enough for me to notice, and to send an unfamiliar sensation up my spine.
The bond feels more like it’s going up in frequency, and urging me to just cut to the chase. Famously, this kind of connection doesn’t care about reason or whatever reservations one might have. Instead, it wants the fastest route to closeness and intimacy and hates being ignored.
At this distance, in this dark, with the steam, the cold air around it, and the lack of argument happening between us, I can feel myself slipping. More so than ever, I’m giving in to that demand and the desire to see where this might go.
“Tessa.”
Her name is in my mouth before I can stop it, sounding softer and quieter than intended.
She turns her head to meet my gaze, and the distance between us is so short now that I can see the reflection of the water in her eyes, and the look on her face that tells me she’s trying to understand how to navigate this situation just as much as I am.
Tessa doesn’t move away. Rather, she looks at me with the anger still there, the hurt, and the wariness she earned through years of being at the receiving end of scrutiny. Yet, she doesn’t dodge me as I expect her to, and the bond pulls like a tide that I can’t fight anymore.
Reaching up slowly and giving her every opportunity to object, I touch her jaw with the back of my fingers in a gentle caress.
She goes very still, more like she’s holding her breath than with fear.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” she murmurs, low like a warning, but I don’t know who she means it for. Maybe both of us.
“It doesn’t,” I agree again, too focused on how beautiful her eyes look in the low light. The very eyes I spent years convincing myself I couldn’t care less about.
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
Even so, she searches for something in my features, be it deception, an angle I’m playing at, or confirmation of insincerity to justify pulling away. All the while, I hold still and let her look because I have nothing to hide in this exact moment.
I watch as her eyes soften fractionally, like she’s allowing herself the chance to see beyond whatever warped image she has of me. At least, the image she remembers from years ago, and the one I’m trying so hard to erase.
When I can’t take it anymore, I close the distance slowly, and her breath catches.
Before I know it, my mouth is on hers, careful of the way I press against her. We both hesitate, as if we’re checking if this is actually happening, then it’s less careful.
It’s not careful at all when her hand comes up to grip my shirt while the bond simultaneously lights up like something that has waited a long time to finally be acknowledged.
Right now, I’m not thinking about what’s wrong or right, or how this moment might change the future for both of us.
For as long as I can, I let myself feel.