Page 5 of Haunting the Hunter

Staring into the mirror, my eyes trace the scar on my face that reaches from my cheekbone down to my jaw. The reflection blurs. Like I’m not here but instead watching from the other side of the glass. I focus on my hair… It’s been too long since I’ve had it cut properly. Then I see it, a shiny silver strand caught in the black mass.

“Are grays normal at my age? Must be stress…” I mumble. My voice sounds hollow, like it’s not even mine.

I lean closer to the mirror, inspecting the silver intruder. The closer I get, the more disconnected I feel. My face seems… off. The edges of my features seem soft and out of focus, like my reflection doesn’t belong to me anymore, my dark eyes unfamiliar.

As the steam fogs up the glass, further distorting my reflection, I squint, leaning in. It almost looks like another face is overlapping mine… like a shadow over my own, or an overlay of someone else’s expression.

I wipe away the fog, but the other face vanishes, leaving only my own, strained and blurry. I rub my eyes, trying to shake the feeling off. It was just the steam. A trick of the light.

I step into the shower, hoping the water will ground me, bring me back to something real. The heat pours over me, hitting my scalp, my back, rinsing away the day’s grime and tension.

Under the steady rhythm of the water, my body relaxes, lost in the comfort it provides. Time slips away, but in the reprieve, my mind drifts, too quickly, back to the mission.

Flashes of my parents’ bodies tangled in their bed.

The cold sting of the ritual room.

Artifacts glinting under dim light.

The memories bear down, heavy and unwanted.

No. No distractions.

Not now.

I was groomed to take over the Order of the Covenant. So, I know how to end them. My next target is within reach, and now that I’ve gotten rid of his daughter, gaining access to him should be easy. I force my mind back on track.Concentrate. There’s still work to do.

I step out of the shower, wrapping my towel around my waist as I crawl into the bed. The cool fabric against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the night. Sleep drags me under, and my dreams are fragmented, distorted—nothing that makes sense, everything twisting.

Except for one thing.

I see someone. They’re holding a book, eyes focused on the pages, but as if they sense me watching, they look up.

They don’t have a face.

Just an empty space staring back at me, like there’s a black hole in the place where a face should be. But before I can truly process… oh fuck no…

The blackness pulls at me, swallowing me whole, deeper and deeper until it feels like I’m falling—endlessly falling into the void. Eyes surround me.

So many eyes.

Waiting.

Watching.

I can feel them on my skin. They’re everywhere, and it’s fucking suffocating. Then, I hit bottom, but it’s not what I expected. It’s soft. A familiar warmth, like the feeling of being caressed, even though I can’t see anything.

My body tenses, but the touch is gentle—delicate. Hands glide over my skin, tracing my chest, neck, and arms. Electricity pulsesthrough each touch, and goose bumps rise as my body responds, even though I can’t explain why.

I feel myself growing hard, the touch both foreign and strangely familiar. Hands explore my body, moving lower, their fingers grazing my hips and then my thighs. It feels too real, too intense, like something I’ve always wanted but never let myself acknowledge.

“Fuck…” I mouth in a breathless whisper. “Who are you?”

There’s no answer, but they continue to touch, intimate and precise. The sensation overwhelms me. On instinct my hips begin to rock into it, as if I am no longer in control of my body. Then, without warning, my cock is freed from the confines of my pants and I feel it being taken into their mouth. A blurred aura. Lips moving up and down in rhythmic precision, too perfect to be real.

“Oh my God…” The words escape me, muffled by the pleasure. “So good, too fucking good.”

I reach my hands out to find something, anything, but my searching hands meet only air. Nothing tangible.