Erin Dameron-Hill (15 page)

“I don’t know where she lives.”

“She gave me some directions, so hurry it up.”

I stood up on my very strong knees, thank God for small favors, and looked in the mirror. The blotchiness in my face was gone although the raw skin on my right cheek was still blatantly obvious. I don’t know why I was staring back into the mirror because the only person who would see me was the Hunter and I didn’t care what I looked like around him.

So, I grabbed some bronzer and dotted it on my cheeks, forehead, and nose to add some more color and swiped on a clear lip gloss. My hands reached for a blue hair band and I tied back my ratted hair into a knot. I then grabbed some A&F perfume (I use No.9 because it smells like the forest) and spritzed it on my chest.

“Sophie, are you okay in there?” I heard the Hunter say through the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute.”

I quickly ran some deodorant on and opened the door. The Hunter was still in his T-shirt and jeans, only a few rifles were strapped to his back and his thighs. Several pistols were in leg holsters and arm holsters while two knives rested lightly in the wrist sheaths.

I took a step back and asked cautiously, “What’s with all the ammo?” I should have ran right then and there because he was a Hunter and I was his prey. He now had every advantage over me all because I was primping myself. Way to go, Sophie, your life is now over because you can’t outrun a bullet.

“I want to be prepared in case the creature is still lurking by her place,” he then looked at me carefully, not sexually and said, “It’s for your protection. The safety’s are on and the clips are in my pockets. I don’t carry around fully loaded weapons because someone could get hurt.”

I guess that was okay but I still asked him to walk ahead of me. Not only was it safer for me, but I also enjoyed the view. His butt looked like two very firm pillows and I felt my beast slobber as I continued to stare. And hey, don’t judge me, I was only watching him to see if he turned a gun on me. That’s all. I definitely wasn’t lusting after him or anything…anymore.

My beast gave a soft howl reminding me that I still owed it a favor and I ignored it, well, to the best of my ability.

Chapter Twelve

The rain slightly drizzled in the early morning air as the Hunter turned onto S.R. 436 and followed the directions given by Ms. Jean.

His knuckles were as white as paper as he held both the steering wheel and the directions. He would occasionally glance down, only taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

“Do you need me to read off the directions?” I asked, feeling both embarrassed at my attempt to seduce him earlier and useless just sitting in the passenger side watching the rain cascade down the glass pane.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” he said shortly. The Hunter’s body was stiff and rigid, looking very much like stone as I inhaled the nervousness that rolled off him. He was scared and worried. Of what? I don’t know. I didn’t think Hunters could get scared. I know that sounds idiotic, but Hunters are cold-blooded killers capable of ripping a wolf’s heart out with their bare hands, or so I’ve been told.

Watching the nervous Hunter was in turn freaking me out. If he was scared and worried about something, then I should be too. If only I knew of what. Sure, we were probably going to face the thing of my nightmares, which should be scaring the beejeezus out of me but I was remarkably calm. Perhaps the potion was still in my system, calming and relaxing me. If that was the case, then I could only hope and pray that I didn’t try to jump the Hunter again.

It was embarrassing enough the first time. And now that I think about it, why the hell did he turn me down?

“Are you gay?” I blurted out into the dark vehicle. If he was, then that would explain both his style and my rejection. A part of me wanted him to be homosexual so that I wouldn’t have to fret over this attractiveness to him and the other part of me wanted him to be as straight as a board so that maybe, just maybe, I could touch him one more time.

For the first time during the entire trip, he really took his eyes off the road. We swerved a few times until he regained control on the wet highway and I felt the Hummer slow down to nearly a crawl. At this rate, we wouldn’t get to Ms. Jean’s home for an hour at least.

Finally, the Hunter pulled completely over onto the curb and stopped the vehicle. I had thought he was just slowing down to concentrate on safety, instead he was bringing us to a stop, to completely end the weirdness between us. I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. In fact, I wanted to jump out and run away.

Do you know what it’s like to be rejected, to be turned down after you’ve basically opened up your heart and put it on the chopping block? I do. I’ve always been overlooked. I guess it’s the curse of being an orphan--you’re always alone. No one will ever want you. It’s like I reek of desperation, of a secret hope that I will be loved like I’m supposed to be, that I will be protected, held, admired, and respected.

And he was about to shatter that dream just like the rest of the men who had come before him.

I didn’t even want him, the Hunter, not really. My beast did, but I didn’t. He was a dangerous man, a deadly man, so why was I on the verge of tears? Why did I have to feel this way?

So much had gone wrong, so many people had died and I guess I was suffering from survivor’s guilt. Why did it have to be them? Why Billy? Why Charlie? Why Clyde? Why not me?

I was a wreck of emotions and the Hunter wasn’t going to help me fix it. Instead, he was going to ruin me even further.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say getting back my speaking voice, “it’s none of my business.”

He took in a deep inhale and I waited for the bomb to drop. I wondered what an emotional mushroom cloud would look like, feel like.

“Why would you ask that?” he replied slowly and cautiously.

“You have great style. I mean, what kind of man wears an Indiana Jones hat?” I said trying to delay the inevitable. I always lean on insults to throw myself away from the incoming bus.

His dark eyes turned towards mine and in the soft haze of dusk I could see a light blue tinge deep in the iris. His eyes almost glowed with a perfect light in those black depths. The stare caught me by surprise and I nearly choked on my own breath. His eyes were stunning and haunting and I didn’t want him to look at me with those dark, penetrating eyes anymore. It was as if he was reading my mind, intruding into my thoughts that he had no right to be.

“Like I said earlier, this is my lucky hat,” he said with his eyes still boring into my soul.

“Why is it lucky?”

His eyes finally withdrew from me and his hands gripped the steering wheel once again, “Do you really want to know why I wear this hat or is there something else you would like to know?”

He was a good Hunter--he could read emotions, faces, and would know exactly what his prey was thinking. It was a bit unnerving actually and honestly, I didn’t want him knowing my thoughts.

And how would I answer that question? I did want to know what made his hat so lucky but it wasn’t forefront in my mind. I wanted to know why he turned me away. Did I have raunchy hamburger breath or was I not attractive enough? Was my swollen face and watery eyes too much for him to handle? Who turns down a sexual invitation? And why? Why turn me down?

It would have been easy for him. Not only was I vulnerable because I was wrecked with emotions, but I was also under the influence of pretty powerful frog testicles. He could have done whatever he wanted and instead, he pushed me away. What kind of man does that?

What was wrong with me? Why did he reject me?

I knew which part of the question I wanted answered, but did I really want to hear it out loud? What if he turned me down because I was ugly or not good enough? Did I really want to know?

Different events require different types of courage. For instance, if a wild alligator is chasing a person through a swamp, then that person requires physical courage to out run it. If a kid stands up to a gang of bullies then that requires full courage. If a woman wants to know why she was rejected, then that would require emotional courage and I’m not sure I’m that courageous.

But fortunately, or unfortunately, my curiosity had no bounds.

“Why don’t you want me?” I asked honestly and timidly.

“It’s not about wanting, Sophie.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, you’ve been through enough already. I thought I had made that clear earlier. I wasn’t about to take advantage of you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He turned to finally face me once again, his thick and perfectly trimmed eyebrow raised just a little. I scooted closer towards him and listened to his beating heart. It was skipping faster than it normally did, thumping as loudly as the thunder outside. I could barely hear his pulse as the rain pelted the top of the roof, banging away as they landed then cascaded down the steel frame.

My voice was soft and hushed as I asked once more, “Why don’t you want me?”

“It’s not about wanting,” he replied slowly and steadily, his voice barely changing tone.

I felt my chest lean closer to him, closer to that warmth that exuded from his perfect form. My eyes slightly closed as my lips opened, “do you want me?”

I heard the soft gray cloth grind as he, in turn, came nearer to me. I could feel his hand moving towards my cheek, and I waited and I anticipated his touch that I was longing for. I swallowed as loudly and as quietly as I could, careful not to give too much of my emotions away. I wanted him close, so close.

“Yes,” he said as his lips met mine. For a moment, I thought the world had stopped. His delicately firm lips caressed mine so tenderly and perfectly that I forgot about everything. All I wanted to do was kiss him. I breathed him in like air and felt the silky and rough five o’clock shadow scratch on the palm of my hands.

“I do want you,” he said pulling away from me, “but not like this.”

“Why not like this?” I asked sitting back in my chair and feeling the tears well up inside me once more.

“Because of that right there. I don’t want to hurt you more than you’re already hurting. And every time I touch you, I make it worse.”

He wasn’t lying. Because every time he touched me, I was peaceful and once he stopped, the world came crashing back on top of me more painful and depressing than the first time. He was right. I just didn’t want him to be.

And why did I want him to touch me anyway? He’s a Hunter. He kills my kind.

I’m obviously just sexually attracted to him. That’s all. There aren’t any emotions involved here. It’s too soon for any emotions. I just met him a few hours ago so nothing could have developed in that time.

“This isn’t emotional for me,” I said trying desperately to brush away the tears as though I had something in my eyes, “I just want to fuck.”

He snorted and as the car’s ignition rumbled through the storm he replied, “well, that’s not all I want to do.”

I wanted to ask more on that particular sentence, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I guess I had used up all my emotional courage so I just sat back and looked out the window.

For the first time in a few days, I actually smiled. It was a small smile that crept up in the corner of my lips, it didn’t force my lips apart like a laugh would, nor completely upturn my lips like a grin, instead the smile just barely clung to the outer reaches of my lips, filling me with a soft sense of serenity.

It was nice to know that I wasn’t being rejected. He was just taking his time, making sure he wouldn’t hurt me.

Imagine that, a Hunter not wanting to hurt a werewolf. Then again, he didn’t know my secret. My heart dropped and the smile disappeared. What would happen if he did find out? Would he still want me, or would he just desire my pelt?

All of this is just too much. I’ve dealt with enough for the day and I’m pretty sure my mind can’t handle anymore. Women aren’t exactly fragile creatures but we aren’t made of stone either. I wish I was made of stone right now. Stones can’t feel a damn thing. They are blank, hard, unknowing, and unbreakable. I wonder what it would be like to be unbreakable; what would it feel like to never feel again? Would life be empty or would it become easier?

I really need to stop asking so many questions and instead, find the answers.

I’m not one for philosophizing but when so many tragedies befall one person then the person has to ask why. I know I’m not the only one who has ever suffered nor will I be the last, but I still ask, why me? What have I done in my life that Karma is willing to punish me for?

And there I go again, asking more questions. But I can’t help it. I want my friends back, I want my normalcy back, I want my humanity back, and I especially want the Hunter to love me. Love? Really?

I nodded as if answering my own question. Yes, I want him to love me.

Well, since I answered one question, why not have another one answered as well? “Why is your hat lucky?”

The steering wheel turned onto yet another side road and I realized we were pretty far away from city limits. I didn’t know Ms. Jean traveled over forty minutes just to see me. She lived in Leesburg, a smaller town north of Orlando that was not a suburb of Orlando. It was its own city, albeit small and rural. Well, rural for Florida anyway. Nothing was every pure rural down here.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Well, I was looking for a hat and Shirley…”

Shirley. I had forgotten about the gorgeous supermodel assistant that never left his side until told to do so. I suddenly felt outright jealousy. The Hunter and I weren’t even an item and I wanted to know everything about him and his past loves. Was Shirley even a past love? Did he touch her the way he had touched me?

I felt slightly nauseous at the thought. I mean, I shouldn’t even be wondering that because I wasn’t dating the Hunter or even screwing the Hunter--he was just protecting me. That’s all. So, why was I feeling like a betrayed girlfriend?

I didn’t even listen to a word he was saying and I really did want to know what made his hat so damn lucky. Instead, I was seething on the thoughts of Shirley and the Hunter naked in bed, not even in bed, her back against the wall as he held her in place with his big strong arms…

I needed to find out. I needed to know if he and Shirley ever had sex because I didn’t want the visuals anymore. But how on earth would I ask that? It wasn’t any of my business and yet, I really wanted to know.

A thousand ice breaker questions wound through my head: do you ever mix business with pleasure? What is your stance on workplace professionalism? Etc etc etc. until finally, have you ever fucked Shirley?

I really wish there was an easier way to find out.

“Have you ever been in love before?” I asked quietly.

“Back in high school I loved my girlfriend in the only kind of way teenagers can love, hormonally. So, I guess, technically, no. I haven’t had much time for it. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, “no reason. Have you had time for sex?”

He took a deep breath and put the Hummer into third gear slowing down on the wet pavement. The water splashed up the sides of the vehicle as the tires creamed into the deep liquid.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I just want to know you a little bit better. That’s all. I feel like I have the right to get to know you. After all, you are going to be staying with me for awhile, at least until I find another saf…another person to protect me.”