Chapter 20

His frame came into view. “I don’t have enough evidence,” he said, walking past me and stopping to stand at the window showing the bleak morning beyond. “Besides, I like to find out people's motives first.”

“Why do motives matter?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Sometimes they justify the outcome.”

“They always do for the people committing the act,” I reasoned.

“Yes,” he mused, “but society doesn’t accept all of those reasons.”

“And you speak for society? As a whole?”

His shoulders seemed to tense a bit. “No. I speak only for me and my brothers.”

“Cryptic,” I responded dryly, closing the book in my lap.

“Not really,” he told me. “We try to uphold justice in a way that works for us, makes sense to us. Nothing is ever entirely good or evil. But we try to help others do good.”

“Except you’re hired help,” I couldn’t help pointing out.

“We choose our jobs.” His voice was hard.

I mulled that over. I wasn’t sure if he truly didn’t have enough proof; honestly, what did a few dried flowers mean? Part of me thought he didn’t truly believe someone like that could actually be the killer.

“And if you decide these deaths are actually all tied together, that there is one person committing them, but that person has good enough motives to satisfy you, then what?”

He shrugged. It was barely a raise of his shoulders.

“Isn’t everyone who ends someone's life on purpose bad?” I asked, scared of the answer I already knew.

“No,” he said too fast.

That surprised me. “No?”

“I’ve seen enough death to know most of it is unsanctioned, unjustified, but not all of it. Some people have no choice; others are forced,” he responded through seemingly gritted teeth. “I’ve seen it all.”

“And you?” I asked, not entirely sure why. “Did you have a choice to, uh, join this, this brotherhood you spoke of?”

“Yes,” he responded and surprised me by adding, “It was the only true choice I made entirely for myself. I was forced into an unsavory lifestyle at a young age. A few of us were given the opportunity to venture out because of an alliance with a powerful Alpha Prince.” He didn’t elaborate, and I was so damn curious now, but the tone in his voice told me he wasn’t accepting questions.

“What is your job title exactly?” I asked instead.

“Mercenaries, for lack of a better term. We’re highly trained, and lethal in every way, the only thing we know is the fighting, the killing. But at least now we get to choose who we do it for.” I hated that I couldn’t see his face, as he spoke to the window, even though I doubted I would be able to read it. “We’ve been using our services to help right some of the imbalance that we created.”

His words, his admissions, seemed to come from a deeper place as if he were finally speaking aloud things that were bubbling up inside him. The things that I kept cutting him off from saying. That, or he was trying to throw me off, use a trick to try to gain my trust and confidence.

Whatever it was, It wouldn’t work.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” I told him.

“Have you heard of The Silent Assassin?” He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at me. “It was one of the many names he went by.”

I flicked back through my memories, waded through the ones that I repressed, and I thought I might have heard something about a wandering assassin from a child's ears where she hid and listened to her parents and Beta and Gamma talking late into the night by a dying fire. It sounded exciting, like a story from a fairytale in real life.

But I knew better than to trust my memory, especially after years of forced suppression and ignoring them all, so as not to cleave open the well that held my unwavering pain.

I realized I hadn’t said anything for far too long, and the grip on the edge of my seat was turning my knuckles white, something I was sure wouldn’t go unnoticed by him. I uncurled my hands and said, “I might have as a child.”

The Hunter seemed to pause, stiffen, but in reality, he was just standing more still than before. ”What did you hear?” He asked, his seemed to harden, and I could sense his sideways glance at me even though I trained my gaze on the fire.

I shook my head as if to erase the memories. “It was from another lifetime. I thought I heard that he was a nomad. It sounded fantastical, but I was a kid.” When I said it out loud, it sounded silly.

“Do you remember what was said about him? Besides him being a nomad?”

“I don’t even know if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Try,” he urged.

I shut my eyes and fought the swirl of emotions that threatened to take me under and focused instead on trying to recall the information. “That he was back near our land, and I think it seemed to worry them. Worry some of them.” I opened my eyes, and I was met with his brown and blue one. He had turned around to me and was studying me with an expression I didn’t have a name for.

“That hurt you, those memories,” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

I swallowed. “It’s just hard to remember that all,” I brushed it off, tugging at the end of my braid for something familiar to do.

“Why?”

I met his eyes. “I thought we were talking about your mythical assassin. Are you looking for him?” I tried a wary smile, anything to turn the conversation away the emotions I still fought to have control over. “Because I can tell you that I have no information, and the only mention of him was when I was a child. I’m sorry I’m not much more help.”

“I know where he is,” he responded. His jaw ticked, and his eyes seemed far away even though they never broke my stare. “I was just wondering if you knew about him.”

“Well, I don’t really, so why don’t you just tell me whatever you were going to say instead of making everything a cryptic game?” I demanded.

I was getting annoyed with this back and forth, but more than that, I was annoyed that he made me go back to that place. The pain still clung to me, the memory of watching my parents with their friends. How happy and carefree and sturdy they were.

“I’ve upset you?” he asked.

“It’s not you,” I huffed.

“You have a lot going on,” he offered.

I met his gaze, with narrowed eyes. I didn’t understand what that meant and I was too drained to even try to search for.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he added and started to walk away.

“Why do you care about the assassin? That I know who he is?” I asked, letting my curiosity win for once with him.

He turned back to me slowly, and I regretted instantly that I was keeping him here longer. His presence was almost suffocating, his gaze too intense.

“I was just trying to explain to you in a way you might understand,” he said.

“Explain what?”

“That I’m not the villain here. In my own way, I’m trying to right my wrongs.”

I pinned him with a wary stare. “Do you work for him? This assassin? Is he your—”

“No—” Anger, mixed with something I might have thought to be longing or sadness. It was an interesting mix that I couldn’t place and the most amount of raw feeling I had from him. “This is a conversation for another time. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I shut it, remembering myself. He turned again, leaving me with more questions than answers. As his footsteps receded down the hall, the room went eerily still.

I felt cold and heavy, and exhausted.