Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  He was an asshole. A yellow-bellied, pansy-ass, cowardly asshole. She was still out there looking for him.

  “Fuck.”

  Stumbling out of that goddamn ferris wheel, all he’d needed was a minute to think and clear his head. Just a minute away from her persistent, tender understanding. Not to mention the altitude. He’d told her the truth, and she had reacted with compassion—which somehow only made him want to claw at his skin. To rip away the parts of him that were so fucked up, and that she seemed to love.

  It would have been better if she’d recoiled from him. The more she wanted him, the more he wished he could be someone - anyone - else. Someone living, breathing, changing. And the more he realized how impossible it was going to be to get her to let him go. To convince her that he needed his blood on her hands and the release that came with death.

  He slammed his fist on the stable wall, and a sharp splinter pierced his skin. Inside, a horse whinnied. He plucked the splinter from his skin and watched a bead of blood swell over the wound.

  What a cruel thing it was, to have blood flowing in your veins, a heart beating in your chest, oxygen flowing through your lungs… and to look into the mirror every day for a century and see the same smooth face, the same boyish blue eyes. His reflection robbed him of his decades—it told the world a lie, because he was a lie.

  As much as he cared for her, Hallie couldn’t change that.

  “Nice of you to wait for me.” Her voice drifted toward him, as if through a fog.

  He glanced up and saw her peering into the alley, breathing hard. He was quiet, unsure how to explain himself, though she didn’t look angry. She approached him, her demeanor calm and easy.

  “So the ferris wheel guys gave us a bunch of free tickets for our trouble,” she said, holding up a stack of orange tickets. In the darkness, he heard the tender warmth in her voice and knew she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t going to push him or fight, and for that, he wanted to kiss her.

  “… so I was thinking we could just get some hot cocoa—and maybe those Belgian waffles I saw while I was chasing you, they looked amazing—and go down to the lake. They’re playing some music down there.”

  The anger and self-loathing burning a hole in his chest seemed suddenly absurd in the face of her simple suggestion: hot cocoa and music by the lake. For all of his problems, sitting by the lake and listening to music… that was something he could do.

  “How do you do that?” he asked, pushing back from the wall with a sigh.

  “Do what?”

  “Act like everything’s not completely fucked up,” he said roughly.

  Her smile faltered, and regret prickled on his tongue.

  “Practice, I guess,” she said quietly, and he held out his hand to squeeze hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it.

  She squeezed back. “I know.”

  — —

  Having traded their tickets for two styrofoam cups of hot cocoa and a pair of Belgian waffles slathered in strawberries and whipped cream, they hurried to the Westie and drove down the winding road to the lake, where they parked and propped open the back, then sat side-by-side on the floor, their feet dangling in the grass.

  Some people had built a bonfire on the beach, not far from where the band was strumming, the folk singer’s melodic voice drifting toward them on the breeze. From their spot in the grass, the orange glow was bright enough that Hallie and Matthew could see each other. He savored the way the light glimmered in Hallie’s eyes and gave her wind-tossed brown hair a fiery glow. Another chilly breeze from the lake blew the scent of woodsmoke in their direction and whipped her curls into his face. With a small curse and apology, she gathered her hair in a messy ponytail, and he fought the urge to reach up and tangle his fingers in it.

  “Your hair is beautiful,” he said, not wanting the moment to pass without telling her.

  She turned pink. “Thanks.” She tucked the stray strands back around her ears, determinedly avoiding his eyes. “Thank you for saying that.”

  He nodded, wondering what had made her so uncomfortable with compliments—and when was the last time someone had praised her beauty… or anything, for that matter, about her at all.

  They ate in silence, listening to the band and the hum of the crowd. Then, when he finished, he turned to her, thoughts of her past still on his mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You just did,” she pointed out, licking whipped cream from the tip of her finger, which sent a ripple of heat through his abdomen.

  He leaned back on one hand. “I hate when people say that.”

  She grinned. “Fine. Yes. But only if I can ask you one, too.”

  Fair enough. He took a drink of cocoa, letting the warmth trickle down his throat before he continued, trying to decide whether there was a more tactful way to phrase this.

  “Why did your father leave you?”

  Hallie stiffened. But he wanted to know. To understand.

  “If I knew that,” she said, “my life would be really different right now.” She brought the cocoa to her lips and drank deeply. It was still hot; she struggled to swallow, and when she spoke again her voice was thin and tight.

  “I mean, I guess he was tired of me.” Her chuckle and shrug fell flat. “After my mom and sister were gone,” she added, “it was just the two of us.”

  “What happened to them?” Matthew asked gently.

  Hallie took another long drink, then stared into her cup.

  “Died.” Another drink. “Car accident.” She drank again and he waited. He understood, how some things could be so painful that you never talked about them, how when you finally did it was like ripping scar tissue in your throat

  “Was your father there, too?”

  She shook her head. Then the words spilled from her lips in a rush. “It was just mom, Maggie - that’s my little sister - and me. Maggie and I were being noisy in the backseat and my mom was upset. She turned back to tell us to be quiet… and she didn’t see this guy run a red.”

  “Hallie… I’m so sorry.”

  “My dad was a mess for weeks, started drinking, and all of the time, he was just angry at me. All the time. And I was a difficult kid… I didn’t make it any easier. I screwed up so much.”

  Matthew swallowed the protests he knew she’d dismiss.

  “So over time he just got angrier and angrier and I guess when he got physical with me,”—Matthew sucked in a breath—“that’s where he knew he’d crossed the line. So he took me to this beach and said to wait for him because he just had a meeting to attend, and he’d be back that evening. But he never came back.”

  The nonchalant way she recited the story burned a hole in his chest. “Hallie…” he began, but she shook her head.

  “No. Nope. He did the right thing. I was okay, in the end, and he got to live his life without the stress I created for him.”

  “He was your father.”

  Hallie bristled.

  “Well I’m not saying it was okay, what he did. I’m just saying I understand it.” Her hands trembled. “I cried and fought with him. I reminded him of her. What else could he have done?”

  Matthew shifted to face her, watching her try to take another sip of cocoa. Her cup was empty, and she stared at it, unseeing.

  “He could have not abandoned his daughter on a beach,” Matthew said, fighting to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. “He could have gotten help or at least taken you somewhere you’d be safe.”

  “I was safe. Louisa and Dani saved me.”

  Her voice broke over their names, and his stomach clenched. He would never say so, but in that moment, as she clutched her empty cup of cocoa on the floor of a van that wasn’t her own, she looked small. Lost. Tired. It took everything he had not to reach for her. What good would it do, anyway, for her to take comfort in him? What they had wouldn’t last… but he also didn’t want to leave her behind without knowing she had someone - preferably many someones - to love her when he was gone.


  “Have you thought anymore about going to find Louisa?”

  She looked at him sharply. “No. Why? I don’t need to.”

  He met her gaze. “You and me… We’re friends now, right?”

  The lines around her mouth and eyes softened. “Sure.”

  “Then I get to tell you that I think you’re making a mistake, ignoring her.”

  He felt, rather than saw, the distance between them grow.

  “I just mean that you deserve an answer. She should have to answer for what she did to you.”

  “Why? It was her prerogative to leave. She didn’t owe me anything.” She picked at the rim of her styrofoam cup. “I was a guest who overstayed my welcome.”

  A spark of frustration flared inside his chest. “And Dani? Did she overstay her welcome, too?”

  Hallie flushed. “Dani was… collateral damage.”

  The irrationality of it all made him want to shake her. Instead, he swallowed all of the protests crowding in his throat and changed tactics.

  “Well, clearly Louisa doesn’t think so. She’s trying to give you money—maybe she wants to make amends, in some way. And Dani… she’s not gone yet. Don’t you think Dani’d want you to contact Louisa?”

  “I don’t know what Dani would want, because she lied to me, and I can’t ask her, because I put her in the hospital.” She stood up, clenching her fists. Restless. “What I do know is that they kept me in the dark about everything because I was trying to fit where I didn’t belong. I’m not going to do that again.” She rubbed her palms against her jeans and stared out over the lake.

  The curve of her cheek, the little bump on the bridge of her nose, the halo of waves around her face—were all thrown into relief against the undulating flames of the bonfire. She glanced back and caught him gazing at her, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he shifted to the edge of his seat, grabbed her waist, and tugged her in between his knees. “That’s a lonely path you’re choosing,” he said, gently squeezing her hips.

  “Maybe,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s also a smart one.”

  “I don’t believe for a second that you’re the reason she left, Hallie. And frankly, it stuns me that you do. There’s another reason. I know it. You just have to be willing to go find it.”

  In the dim light, even with her face now cast in darkness, he saw her throat working, saw the way she bit her lip hard. His chest ached at the sight of her hardened facade cracking. He reached up and rubbed at her lip where she was biting it, so she’d release it.

  Then, abruptly, she broke from his embrace and sank back down beside him, taking up her empty cup again and watching the dwindling, tipsy crowd sing along with the folk singer to an old Dylan song. Most of the remaining audience were carnival employees: a crowd of young and old, all of whom traveled with this show—who would be packing up in a few days and moving on to the next town, the next state… the next lakeside bonfire. Sometimes, he missed that life. On the road, it was harder to feel alone, harder to feel like the world was passing you by.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said gently.

  She sighed. The band shifted into another folk song, this one uptempo. The singer sang of sunrise and sunsets, of a wishing well and time passing. Matthew swirled his own cocoa, then reached over and poured it into her empty cup. She glanced down in surprise and smiled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. She took a sip, then nudged him with her shoulder.

  “Well. I get a question too, remember?”

  He laughed. “Shoot.”

  “Did you get to see Empire Strikes Back in the theater?”

  Matthew burst out laughing.

  “Seriously? A Star Wars question?”

  “I just want to know if you were shocked to find out that Darth Vader is Luke’s father. It’s always bugged me that I never got to watch that movie unspoiled.”

  Matthew crossed his arms, and she raised her eyebrows.

  “I want to point out that I have lived through at least six major American wars, the moon landing, and the invention of electricity, and you just asked me about Star Wars.”

  “What? It’s a valid question. We can get to all the serious historical stuff later.”

  She had a teasing grin on her face, which was remarkable given how harsh his own line of questioning had been. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. He wanted to kiss her deeply, to kiss her everywhere. He wanted a little of her light for himself—that light which somehow managed to burn, despite all of her losses and betrayals.

  “I did see it in the theater,” he began, wrapping a loose thread from her sleeve around his finger.

  She grinned even wider. “Oh my God, did you go dressed as a Jedi? Please say yes.”

  “No,” he said delicately. “I saw it weeks after it released, and everyone was talking about it, so I was already spoiled.”

  Her face fell. “Sorry,” he added. “I can tell you about life without electricity, if you like.”

  With a dramatic sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder, and like he had on the ferris wheel, he indulged in her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He doubted anyone could understand how good it felt, to connect with someone living and breathing, to feel her warmth and heartbeat. He loved the way she sank so easily into his embrace, as if it were the most natural thing, being wrapped in his arms. And it was.

  The leather from his jacket was soft where it conformed to her curves. His hand tingled with the urge to wander beneath it and caress her lush skin. Instead he let it drift up to her neck and then into her hair. She hummed contentedly. Down by the bonfire, the folk singer started leading a plaintive rendition of that Joni Mitchell song about clouds.

  Her pressed his lips into her hair, feeling his throat tighten around the words that threatened to tumble out, words that he knew were too much, too soon… were more than he could ever offer her.

  “So, where were you this week?” she asked. “Cooped up at your place?”

  “Er… no,” he murmured, lifting his head and letting his fingers slide down her neck. “I went for a ride that night, after the fire.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “All over. Here, into the city, to the beach. Being on the bike helps clear my head.”

  “Did it? Clear your head?”

  Of course it hadn’t. He’d never have a clear head as long as she was within reach. Holding her now, he felt guilty for the thoughts that had run through his mind, about abandoning her for good, or about returning and just asking, outright, for the death that he wanted. Even now, he was still questioning what he wanted, what he could give.

  “It helped a little. To be honest… you make things fuzzy.”

  She pulled back a bit and opened her mouth to respond, but then she froze, frowning.

  “Were you gone all week?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Have you been home?”

  “Not yet. I drove straight to your place when I came back. What’s wrong?”

  “Crap. I went looking for you earlier today and your house was a mess. Way messier than you have it. The back door was unlocked. I think someone broke in.”

  Ice trickled down the inside of his chest, coating his ribs. The air froze in his lungs, fear seizing him harder than it had at the pinnacle of the ferris wheel. Not now. They couldn’t find him now.

  “We have to go,” he managed, hoping the panic on his face would be enough explanation. “Let’s go.”

  At that, she leapt off the back of the van and they both scrambled into the front seat. Tossing her now empty cup into the backseat, Hallie revved the van into gear, and they sped off along the dirt road, away from the lake and fair grounds, the music and the bright crackling bonfire.

  Chapter 14

  Hallie was right. They’d been there, looking for something. Looking for him, most likely.

  “Is anything missing?” she asked. They were standing in the middle of his darkened living room, which was littered with papers from the makesh
ift study in his loft.

  There wasn’t much they could have stolen. He kept the most damning evidence of his immortality, like the photographs, under lock-and-key, and his money was safely in the bank. Maybe whoever had been here had come for something other than theft—to find him, or to make a point.

  He supposed he should be grateful. If this were the Guardians, they were capable of far worse than burglary-for-intimidation. And maybe that was the message he was supposed to receive… or maybe this wasn’t their work at all.

  “It’s hard to say.” He tried to keep his voice level. “They could have been going through the—the financial documents I keep up there.” The lie seared his tongue.

  She switched on the nearest lamp, then began straightening the loose couch cushions and picking up the scattered papers. “Should we call the police?”

  “Uh—no,” he said. “Let’s just - let’s - let’s clean up…”

  He couldn’t think straight. Not with her here. Not knowing they might have been there. He should have been more prepared for this. He couldn’t forget that it was only a matter of time, a matter of when not if. He thought of Emmaline, her blood spreading across his mattress; of Isabella, writhing with fever—

  “Matthew. Matthew!”

  Her hand on his forearm startled him, and he jumped back.

  “You’re not breathing. Breathe.”

  He let out a shuddering breath. “Sorry,” he grunted. “Sorry.”

  “Look… let’s just go. Let’s go to my place. It’s been a long night, and we can deal with this in the morning.”

  She was so calm, so steady, that part of him wanted to shake her and make her realize the danger he’d put her in. Maybe then she’d have the sense to do what he couldn’t, and walk away.

  “Okay,” he said. “I can drive.”