Chapter 21

With the Hunter’s eyes on me, I couldn’t possibly try anything else against him until it was time to finish him.

My waking hours were spent unwillingly haunted by the questions he posed. Was the Silent Assassin his boss, for lack of better terms, or a warning? I couldn’t figure him out, and I found people so easy to read, especially in the past few years.

This was the first time someone confused me, and I had to admit it was just as much as a thrill as an annoyance. It might just be something to quell my boredom, but I was curious, even if his words were a diversion.

I scoured the unorganized library and found nothing of note, but it gave me something to do. I wanted to catch him alone again, but he was either with Nolan or not so easily found, and I knew it was because he didn’t want me to find him.

I knew he was playing a game, but I didn’t know what it was, and it annoyed me to no end.

As far as I could tell, nothing was told to the Alpha.

I carried on the next few days as normal or as normal as they could be.

***

I turned a corner with my head down, deep in planning. I focused on the familiar frayed edges of the carpet. I didn’t need to look up. I knew where I was and where I was going based on the wear of the carpet.

So many useless pieces of knowledge stored away. So many hours spent wandering these halls trying to do anything to keep me away from my grief, to keep me sane.

I rounded the corner, and his black boots were placed firmly on the edge of the carpet—my map.

I scowled and suppressed an unwelcome twist of excitement. I tried to walk past him.

“You can’t pretend like you didn’t see me.” His rich voice rumbled. “I saw you pause.”

I slowly looked up, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

He raised a dark brow slightly, expecting me to go on, but I didn’t. I held his stare with an impassive one that I hoped bordered on vapid before I stepped past him.

“Simone,” he called, his voice softer than I’d ever heard.

“What?” I didn’t bother looking back.

“Did I do something to make you upset?” he asked, and I spun to face him.

“Am I not allowed a moment of peace to just wander? Or is this an official interrogation?” I quipped, crossing my arms.

“You’ve been looking for me,” he said, devoid of any inflection.

I stilled. “Have I?”

“Yes,” he replied.

I couldn’t say I was seeking him out, but I have been noticing where he was or wasn’t. Maybe I was looking for him.

Fuck, I was looking for him.

“So, I decided to come to you,” he added. “Well, wait here for you to find me.” I breathed through my nose. “You’re welcome.” His mismatched eyes danced.

“Was that a joke?” I asked. He raised a shoulder in response. “I didn’t take you for the joking type.”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt uncomfortable and had an aching need to fill the silence. “So, were you just standing in a hallway, hoping I walked down the hall, or was that another joke when you said you were waiting for me?”

“I took a calculated guess,” he responded.

“There are a lot of hallways.”

“There are,” he agreed.

“So…” I waved toward him, waiting for him to say anything of note.

He looked me over as if deciding something before he loosened a breath. “When you leave a room, if you don’t have anywhere specific to be, you look down. Then, you usually head straight to the stairs at the end of the hall.”

“What?” I couldn’t hide the confusion as much as I couldn’t stop the hysterical laugh that burst from me. “I thought you were being serious at first,” I admitted.

“I was,” he replied slowly, his brows slightly tugged together, pulling over a thin scar. I had to look away; he was glaringly beautiful.

“Okay,” I responded with a smile. “Go on, explain yourself.”

“I don’t know why you do it, just that you do.” His lips set in a thin line. “Why do you do it?”

“Look at the floor…?” I asked again.

“Don’t make me sound unhinged. You were just looking at the floor.”

Then it hit me. The rugs, the walls.

What else did he know? What else could he see that others couldn't?

“It’s a habit, I guess.” A habit I didn’t know I had, a habit he picked up on. What else had I let slip? But he wasn’t normal. He was seeking, searching for someone like me, someone abnormal who only focused on pushing away grief and revenge, someone with a motive.

“Go on,” he prompted after a long moment.

“When I first got here, I—” I paused, trying to regain myself.

I hadn’t ever shared this with anyone else. It was a time I had tried to forget it, and thinking about it felt like hot coals clawing at my insides. “I was… bored.” A light way to put the fact that I was utterly and completely consumed by grief and fear, and anger, such hot, firey anger I couldn’t quell.

He nodded slowly, his eyes intent.

“I made up games to keep me occupied.” I shrugged.

“What were the games?”

How to describe the monotonous games I concocted when I was so terribly alone that the grief I pushed down threatened to rip out of me?

“I memorized things. I—I would see if I could get to the library with my eyes closed and my hand along the right walls, then the left. Once I had that down, I tried to make it to the kitchen or the guest rooms by just looking at the carpet.” It tumbled out, and I didn’t stop it. “I used to cover the sides of my eyes so I couldn’t see the walls and just focused on the wear of the hall carpets.” I smiled despite myself, as if that were a childhood memory I would ever want to cling to.

But it was, technically. A childhood memory I created friendless and alone in the house of my captors.

“You got good at it,” he noted.

I shrugged. “It was harder back then. I didn’t know my surroundings and this place.” I motioned to the stone walls around us. “Isn’t built for ease.”

The sleeping quarters were separate from the main living areas. Different pieces seemed to fit together at random. A thin hallway would connect two wings but then open up to ceilings so high they echoed with even the faintest of whispers.

“How long did it take?”

I shrugged again. “Months, years.” I shook my head as if I could brush off the memory.

I still remember that sharp focus when I willed myself to think of nothing but the frayed rug. The only anger I allowed myself was when I took a wrong turn. It was my way of coping, and it helped to some extent.

“What happened to Blood Moon?” he whispered, and it hurdled me back to reality.

My head snapped up. “You said you knew,” I snapped; it came out a bit harsh. My cheeks flushed. I was angry at him and annoyed I let myself speak so openly.

“I knew there was a challenge.”

“It was a massacre,” I corrected him. My voice was cold and unyielding.

“Where are the rest of them?” he asked quietly.

I clenched my fists. I shook my head. How dare he try to pry out information when he could sense I was vulnerable? But I couldn’t fault him for it. He was here to find a killer, this was his job, and I hated to admit he was damn good at it—too good at it; he kept getting past my mask.

“I’m tired,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I wasn’t surprised to find that was true. Anytime I let myself think of the past, even the past after my family was taken, I felt weary.

I took a heavy step away, cursing myself. His hand encircled my forearm and gently tugged at it to turn me around.“Where are they?” he pressed.

“Gone,” I murmured, and he released his hold on me.

“Oh.” The corners of his lips tugged down, and he met me with an intense stare. “I’m sorry.”

My anger flared. “You asked,” I barked.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted. “Not all of it.”

“Something you don’t know,” I snorted. “That must have been trying for you.”

“I—” he started but closed his mouth. I had never seen him at a loss for words.

“I don’t understand you,” I snapped. I didn’t know what came over me. “You accuse me of something outrageous.”

Poisoning him, as if anyone would believe that. A side of his mouth quirked up, and he shut his eyes before composing his face.

“You come to me with riddles,” I went on. “And then avoid me.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Why?” I demanded.

“I was testing a theory,” he said plainly.

He was infuriating, and I felt my anger slipping through the cracks in my mask. “Care to share?”

He shrugged, but his mismatched eyes were alight with something that I might have thought was playfulness if it was anyone else.

“Fine.” I let out a long breath, trying to recall the person I created all those years ago.

It was so easy to lose it around him; a part of me knew I wasn’t trying to suppress it as much as I should have. The more I got to be what might have been myself, the more I wanted to be.

It was addicting in a sort of way. Even a few short moments of not acting made me feel rejuvenated yet relaxed.

It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation, and I craved something that felt normal, that felt real after all these years of pretending.

“I want to show you something,” he said. “Get your opinion.” It almost seemed like he was asking me.

“I didn’t know we were on the same side,” I retorted, still reeling.

“We aren’t against each other.”

But we were.