Chapter Two Amethyst
I wait. Twenty minutes. Thirty. Forty-five.
His breathing evens out. Deepens. His arm around me goes slack, the tension finally bleeding from his muscles.
Sleep. Real sleep. Finally. I stay still for another ten minutes.
Making sure. Watching the rise and fall of his chest. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t stir. Carefully, I slide out from under his arm.
Inch by inch. Slow. Deliberate. He shifts slightly.
A small sound in the back of his throat.
I freeze. His hand moves across the mattress.
Searching for me even in sleep. I hold my breath.
After a moment, he settles. His breathing stays deep.
Even. Still asleep. I slip out of bed. My feet silent on the wooden floor.
Years of training make the movement automatic.
Instinctive. I grab a pair of jeans from the chair.
Pull them on. Keep my eyes on Kade the entire time.
He doesn’t wake. I leave the bedroom. Pull the door halfway closed behind me.
Not all the way. I need to hear him if he wakes.
The main room is dim. Early morning light filters through the windows.
Gray and soft. I start pacing. Four steps to the window.
Turn. Six steps to the kitchen. Turn. The same circuit Kade’s been walking for six days.
I can see the pattern worn into the floor.
The path his feet have traced over and over and over.
My chest tightens. He’s breaking. I’ve seen him spiral before.
Seen the hunger take over. Seen him lose control.
But this is different. This is worse. Because before, he had targets.
Structure. Purpose. Even chaos. Before, the Raven gave him direction.
Channeled the need into something productive.
Now he has nothing. Just me. And I can see it isn’t enough.
I can see the restlessness in his eyes. The way he can’t sit still.
The way he keeps looking over his shoulder like he’s waiting for something to hunt.
And no matter how much he wants me, I’m not that.
I’m not a hunt. I’m not a kill. And his body knows the difference.
I walk to the kitchen. My hand trails along the counter.
Something catches my eye. The knife block.
One of the knives is out. Sitting on the counter beside the sink.
The chef’s knife. Eight inches. Carbon steel.
I pick it up. Feel the weight of it. The balance.
He held this. Recently. My thumb runs along the spine.
Not the edge. He didn’t test the sharpness.
Didn’t cut himself. He just held it. Felt the weight.
Thought about what it could do. My jaw tightens.
I slide the knife back into the block. Push it in until it clicks into place. Then I resume pacing.
He’s so worried about hurting me that he hasn’t really touched me in days.
Not the way he used to. Not with that possessive intensity that makes my pulse race and my breath catch.
He’s been careful. Distant. Controlled. Terrified.
Every time I reach for him, I can see the war in his eyes.
The want versus the fear. The need versus the certainty that he’ll lose control and hurt me.
So he pulls away. Keeps his distance. Tortures himself with proximity but no contact.
It’s killing him. And it’s not sustainable.
I stop at the window. Stare out at the trees.
Dense. Endless. The sky not quite illuminating between the trees.
Miles of wilderness in every direction. No one around for miles. Isolated. Private. Perfect.
A sound from the bedroom makes me turn. Movement.
I cross the room quickly. Quietly. Push the door open.
Kade is tossing in bed. His head turning side to side.
His hands fisting in the sheets. Not awake.
But not peaceful either. Even in sleep, he can’t rest. I move to the bed.
Sit on the edge. My hand comes up to his face. Gentle. Soothing.
“It’s okay, Kade," I whisper. “I’m here. Sleep."
He stills at the sound of my voice. His breathing evens out. The tension in his jaw releases. My thumb brushes along his cheekbone.
“I’m here," I say again. Softer. He settles. Sinks deeper into sleep. I stay there for a moment. Watching him. The dark circles under his eyes are worse than I thought. His face is drawn. Haggard. He hasn’t slept in days.
Hasn’t eaten much either. Just paced and chopped wood and ran the perimeter and tried desperately to keep himself busy enough that the hunger couldn’t catch up.
It didn’t work. It was never going to work.
I’ve watched him try to fight it. Watched him throw himself into work.
Into routines. Into exhaustion. It never lasts.
Sooner or later, the hunger always finds him again.
And trying to suppress it—trying to ignore it—only makes it worse.
I learned that in the graveyard. When I gave him a hunt.
When I let him chase me through the city and catch me and take me.
That worked. For days, it worked. Because it gave him what he needed.
Not a kill, but something close. A hunt.
A chase. The thrill of pursuit and capture.
For a few days afterward, he looked lighter.
Like he could breathe again. Like the thing inside him had finally gone quiet.
But days later, the edge came back. Because the graveyard hunt wasn’t enough.
It was a game. A release. But it wasn’t real.
There was no danger. No stakes. No genuine threat. I let him catch me. And he knew it.
I stand. Move back to the main room. Resume pacing. My mind is working. Calculating. Planning. The answer comes before I can stop it. He needs something to chase. He needs a hunt. A real one. Not a game in a graveyard where I’m playing prey. Something that feels genuine. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
Something that feels real enough to quiet the hunger before it tears him apart.
Something dangerous enough to matter. Dangerous enough to hold his attention.
But not dangerous enough to loose him. I stop at the window again.
Look out at the woods. Miles of wilderness.
No groundskeeper to interrupt. No witnesses.
No one to stop us. Just him and me and the trees and the darkness. Perfect.
The plan starts to form. I’ll scout the area during the day.
While he sleeps. Find a path. Identify hiding spots.
Places where the terrain gets rough. Where the chase will feel real.
Then at nightfall, I’ll give him what he needs.
A hunt. Ten-minute head start. But this time, it won’t be a game.
This time, I’ll run like I mean it. This time, he’ll have to work for it.
And when he catches me—because he will catch me—it’ll feel earned.
Real. His. My pulse quickens at the thought.
Not fear. Anticipation. Because I know what happens when Kade hunts.
I know the intensity. The focus. The way everything else falls away and there’s only the chase.
I know how it grounds him. And I know that when he catches me, when he has me pinned and breathless and his—the hunger will quiet.
For a while. Long enough for the Raven to call.
Long enough for us to get out of this cabin and back to work. Long enough. I hope.
A sound from the bedroom makes me tense.
I listen. Nothing. Just Kade shifting in his sleep.
I check the time. Almost seven in the morning.
If I’m lucky, he’ll sleep until noon. Maybe later.
He needs it. Days without sleep have left him running on fumes.
Barely functional. Spiraling. He needs hours of real rest before I can give him what he needs tonight.
I move to the door. Pull on my boots. Lace them tight.
Then I pause. Look back at the bedroom. I don’t want to leave him alone.
What if he wakes up? What if he’s restless again?
What if the hunger takes over and I’m not here to ground him?
But I need to scout the area. Need to find the right path.
The right terrain. Need to make sure tonight’s hunt is everything it needs to be.
I stand there for a long moment. Torn. Then I make a decision.
I’ll stay close. I won’t go far. Just far enough to map out a route.
Find the hiding spots. Make sure I know the terrain.
An hour. Maybe two. Then I’ll come back.
Check on him. Make sure he’s still sleeping.
I can do this. I have to do this. Because if I don’t—if I can’t give him what he needs—he’s going to break.
And I’m not sure either of us will survive that.
I open the door. Step outside. The morning air is cool.
Crisp. The woods are quiet except for the sound of birds and the rustle of leaves.
I take a breath. Center myself. Then I start walking.
Into the trees. Mapping the route. Planning the hunt.
Because tonight, Kade is going to chase me through these woods.
And this time, there won’t be a groundskeeper to cut it short.
This time, it’s just us. And the darkness.
And the hunger. And I’m going to give him exactly what he needs.