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CHAPTER 13

Alana

We’re buried under two blankets and a ridiculous amount of snacks spread across the coffee table.

He’s on one end of my massive couch and I’m on the other.

A respectful distance.

A frustrating distance.

Evil Dead Rise plays on the screen.

My choice, surprisingly.

The scarier the movie, the quieter my mind.

“Okay, your turn,” I say, curled up with the hot water bottle bunny.

“What were you like in high school?”

Hunter raises an eyebrow.

“You mean, before I joined the military and started brooding full-time?”

“Exactly.”

He sighs like this is physically painful to admit.

“I was… very into skateboarding. Had floppy hair. Wore too many wristbands. Thought I was edgy.”

I snort.

“Please tell me there are photos.”

“There were. I’ve ensured their destruction.”

I shift slightly under the blanket, letting the silence settle for a moment before I ask, “Do you like it? Your job, I mean.”

I brace for sarcasm or a shutdown.

But he answers like he’s thought about it a lot.

He nods. “Some parts. I love the tech side of things. Running security checks, mapping routes, surveillance… I like putting the puzzle together before something goes wrong.”

There’s a calmness to the way he says it.

Like he’s good at being ten steps ahead.

Like it keeps the chaos at bay.

He glances at me. “What about you? Do you like yours?”

I let out a small laugh.

“I do. I love designing pieces that make people feel something. Like they’re wearing a little bit of their story. It’s kind of like emotional manipulation… but with sparkly things.”

He chuckles.

“So… witchcraft.”

I grin.

“Basically.”

There’s a beat, then I ask the question I’ve been holding onto.

“Have you ever… killed someone?”

His face doesn’t change, not at first. Just a slow blink, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“Yes,” he says. “It was part of the job. It’s not something I talk about often, not because I’m ashamed, but because it’s complicated. Necessary doesn’t always mean easy.”

I nod slowly.

“That’s… a lot.”

“It is,” he agrees.

“But I sleep at night.”

“That’s something.”

He looks down at his hands for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the blanket.

I study him. The quiet way he carries so much and says so little.

I don’t say anything.

I just watch him, the way his jaw flexes a little, the way his gaze drops like he’s not sure how much he wants me to see.

And then (because the universe has a weird sense of timing) Salem, my moody and judgemental cat, pads across the back of the couch and climbs right into Hunter’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Hunter freezes, clearly unprepared.

Salem stretches, presses his little face into Hunter’s chest and starts purring like a tractor.

I blink. “Okay, what the hell.”

Hunter glances down at the purring fluffball and then up at me.

“Apparently, I’ve been accepted by the council.”

Salem’s approval isn’t given.

It’s earned. And for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, that does something to me.

In Hunter’s lap, he looks like a regular housecat.

Not the oversized, judgmental demon he usually is.

That’s how big Hunter is.

“He’s never trusted anyone, other than me, enough to sit in their lap.’

Hunter snorts a laugh, his hand resting gently on Salem’s back. He doesn’t push him away. He just lets him stay.

The sight of them sends a flutter through my chest I’m not prepared for. Not even a little.

I don’t even bother changing when I finally head to bed. I just curl up in his hoodie. It smells like him. I feel safer wrapped in his scent than I do in my own skin.