Page 22 of Hunt Me

Is it strange that I find her lips wrapped around the bottle I just drank from seconds ago arousing? Because the feeling of blood rushing to my groin is a dead giveaway.

I shift in my seat, bringing my right ankle to rest on my left knee as I watch, waiting for her next move.

She winces slightly, her tongue sticking out a little at the harsh flavouring, but she doesn’t complain, and I smile, unable to take my gaze away from her.

‘You know I can feel you staring at me right.’

‘I know.’

‘You do it a lot,’ she states, pursing her lips as if considering what her admission means.

‘I know,’ my grin widens.

She scoffs, muttering what sounds like ‘freak’ and turns to look around the small room. There isn’t much in here apart from the overly large sofa and coffee table that is inconveniently between the two of us.

Did she think drawing attention to my staring would make me stop? Make me uncomfortable in some sort of way? If so then she does not know me at all, does not understand the need I feel bubbling up within my chest. The possessive claws that I felt sink into my heart from the second my concussed brain set eyes on her.

‘What is your name?’ I ask.

‘Not much point in telling you.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I need to leave to get back.’ She moves as if to set down the whiskey bottle, and the claws around my heart constrict.

I lean forward, lacing my tone with as much threat as possible. ‘You’re not suggesting that there are others in my city that I am unaware of, are you? Because if that was the case, then I would have to pay them a visit, and I’ve been told I’m sometimes not the most hospitable. Especially, say when I've had a long day…’ I scan her body, ‘hunting.’

She pauses, assessing me. Her eyes narrow, and then she takes another gulp out of the bottle, this time not reacting to the intense flavour.

Her hatred towards me is palpable. The strong emotion comes off of her in waves, but I catch the way her eyes linger on mybody, how she pays my arms more attention, and how her gaze can’t help but flick to my lips, as if she can’t help but be drawn to them, to me.

‘What’s your name?’ I ask again.

‘Fauna.’

Fauna, my mischievous little deer. How fitting.

She speaks as if it pains her to give up this piece of information about herself, and it makes a small piece of the humanity left within me want to soothe her, to meet her there in the middle.

‘Ruaridh.’

Fauna’s wide eyes look to me in surprise, and I try to bury any doubts that arise from being open with her.

‘Ruaridh,’ she repeats, testing out the sound, and I smile in return.

Then it strikes me that I want more from this woman. More than the thrill of hunting her, I want her. To know everything about her.

‘How long have you been in my city?’

‘Not long,’ her posture relaxes a little as she leans against the red brick wall. ‘A couple of days.’

‘How’d you end up in Glasgow?’

‘Once it started to warm up, it seemed right to move on.’

‘Why here?’

Her mouth opens, but she quickly pulls her top lip between her teeth, deciding better than to speak. I wait, allowing her time to construct some form of the truth to tell me.