Page 10 of Hunt Me (The Skulls #1)

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Ruaridh

L ooming proud over my abandoned city the moon shines on each rooftop, against the grimy glass windows, and across the destitute streets. She has a habit of highlighting certain aspects of this beautiful city and shadowing away the others. Most horrors exist in the dark, just as she likes it.

My memory of years ago when I had visited the museum on a school trip does not fail me as I round the last narrow step.

If I’m honest with myself I’m pretty surprised that my little deer has followed me this far, but that is why she is mischievous as well.

She has surprised me more than once since I have met her, and it is a welcome challenge to anticipate how she will react to this next chapter of our lives together.

‘My pal and I had come here while hiding from our teacher Mr Griffin. He wasn’t a bad guy, that I knew of anyway, but he didn’t have that social understanding of how to make boring points of history exciting for kids, you know.

’ I look to the wide-eyed woman taking in the curved window.

‘So having explored everything we could in the exhibitions, we searched for something. We found this.’

A room cornered off at the top of a spiralling tower with arguably one of the best views in the city. In front of it an old, worn, leather sofa perfectly positioned to look out of the half-moon window.

‘It’s…’ She doesn’t finish her train of thought as my little mischief approaches the window, mesmerised by the moon.

‘Magical,’ I respond.

‘Terrifying.’

I angle my head, watching her expression. She doesn’t look terrified. When we were in the sewers, it had crossed her features when those rats realised we were there and again when the heads hanging from the ceiling startled her, but I haven’t seen it since.

She looks at me as if sensing my confusion and need to understand her feelings.

‘It’s terrifying how a place built to house so many people is left almost empty.

And the only ones left are monsters.’ I mull her words over.

‘Everyone that is left is a monster in some way or another, though, aren’t they,’ she adds, looking at me, vulnerability shining in her eyes.

I hesitantly nod. ‘Some more than others.’

She doesn’t speak again; she just stands there watching, waiting. As expecting those very monsters she speaks of to jump out from the shadows and come after her.

I drop to the sofa, my legs tired and the balls of my feet sore from our running around today.

I'd expected my outing to go very differently from how it has ended up. I was out to check out sections of the city after the brutal winter as the first signs of the seasons changing began to set in. Instead, I’ve ended up finding this enigma standing in front of me — or should I say she found me.

The cap makes a squeaking sound as I uncork the whiskey bottle, and the strong spicy smell fills the air. I breathe deeply as anticipation thrumbs through my veins and take a gulp of the burning liquid feeling hot as it travels down my throat and warms my chest.

Mischief turns around, her attention caught by my movements just as I had hoped. I like her attention on me; whether that be in fear or lust, I’m not entirely sure I care as long as it is on me.

‘Want some?’ I offer her the already open bottle, not bothering to point out that I had brought a separate one up for her in case she needs it.

She’s observant though and her eyes pointedly look towards the unopened bottle I carefully set down at my feet.

I grin.

Hazel eyes roll and she snatches the already opened bottle from my hand, tipping it back to swallow the deep amber liquid.

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 my body, 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.

‘I wanted to find some supplies before I head further up North,’ she finally responds, and her admission makes me sit up straighter.

Now why would she want to go up North?

Fauna sees my interest and takes it as a sign to continue. ‘Figured the Highlands would be a nice place to settle, to make a home.’ Her voice is quiet as she finishes, as if her hope is a weakness and something to be embarrassed of.

A home. My mischievous little deer wants a home.

Possessiveness fires within me. ‘You won't find a home up there. Well, not a nice one if that’s what you are hoping for.’

‘How?’

‘Past Loch Lomond is a whole different world. You think those rats we saw earlier were crazy? Up North, it is a whole different ballpark.’ I think about how much to tell her, worried that maybe she is drawn to that sort of crazy, that my telling her about them might make her want to go even more.

Small red patches have started to creep up her neck. ‘What’s up there?’

I sigh. ‘Hell.’