Page 39 of Hunted to Be Mine

I kept contact on his cheek. “You have fought this before. You can again.”

Another flicker crossed his face. The pressure trembled against my skin, force changing like two commands fighting for control.

“System malfunction.” Less mechanical now.

“No.” My voice grew stronger. “Not malfunction. You are breaking through.”

He released. I slumped against the wall, gasping. But he didn’t move away. Standing frozen, caught in a loop without parameters.

Then movement. He crossed to the room’s center. Each step still mechanical, spine rigid. He stopped by the bed, facing away.

I rubbed my neck, mind racing. He hadn’t killed me when protocol demanded it. Something had interrupted: my touch, my words, or the memory fighting programming.

“Specter?”

No response. Motionless, like a powered-down machine.

Then action. Fluid, purposeful, not like Specter’s controlled human movements. This was an operative executing protocol. He went straight to the balcony door and yanked it open.

Cold air rushed in, snow swirling as he stepped out. The winter bite chilled my skin, but I couldn’t move. Fingers pressed where his had been.

What came next made no sense. He positioned himself at the concrete wall dividing balconies. Without hesitation, he drove his fist into the brick.

The sound was dull, sick.

He did it again. Again.

Each strike hit the same spot with the same force. Not rage, but precision. Blood appeared on knuckles, smeared the concrete in even arcs. That expression remained empty, pain just data.

I remained against the wall, lungs burning. Medical training said to stop him before he shattered bones. Survival said to keep back.

The rhythm continued. One. Two. Three. Four. Same sound, same crimson spray, until…

A sound escaped him. Not quite pain, not confusion. Something human breaking through.

His next strike faltered. He stared at the damage like seeing it new. The vacant expression flickered, precision giving way to awareness.

I pushed off the wall, drawn to the balcony despite myself. Winter stung my face as awareness returned to him piece by piece. The perfect posture crumbled first, shoulders slumping. Then came realization as he stumbled back against the railing, staring at what he’d done with growing horror.

I saw the moment memory flooded back, who he was, what had just happened. His eyes lifted to my face, then dropped to where I still held the tender skin. Color drained from him. He backed to the railing, snow swirling, breathing ragged.

This wasn’t the operative or even the controlled survivor. This was Specter stripped bare, realizing what his conditioning almost made him do to me.

I hesitated at the threshold. Fear mixed with assessment. Was it really him? Or another layer to lower my guard?

“Specter?”

I stepped onto the balcony, frigid air sharp in my lungs. Snow hit my shoulders as I crossed over, each step ignoring the instinct screaming to run. My neck throbbed. Logic said to lock myself in the bathroom, call extraction. Instead, I moved toward him.

Specter remained pressed to the railing, snow in dark hair. He tracked me with naked horror, emptiness replaced by somethingworse. Recognition. Recognition of what he’d done. Almost done.

“Don’t.” The word came hoarse. “Stay back.”

I ignored him, closing distance. The damaged fist hung at his side, dripping red on white. The damage was clear, split knuckles, maybe fractures.

“Let me see your hand.” My voice emerged raspier than expected.

He flinched when I reached, pressing harder against the railing. “I could’ve killed you.”