Page 22 of The Hunter

Then the world slipped sideways again, everything going black before I could make out a face.

When I woke the next time, everything was quieter. Still. Warm.

The scent struck me first — cedar wood and smoke. But also sweet and clean, like lavender and vanilla.

The bed beneath me was too soft. Too comforting. My fingers curled into something thick, like a plush comforter. But it didn’t have that impersonal sterility of a hotel. No. It felt lived in. Masculine. Raw.

Everything smelled like wilderness.

Not chemicals or bleach.

I tried to open my eyes again, more successful this time than I had been in the past.

But the world seemed to be moving, curling and stretching, like I was staring at one of those funhouse mirrors. Still, I was able to make out what appeared to be wood beams stretched across the cathedral ceiling, the grain twisting and flowing like it was alive. A silver light spilled in from a narrow opening in the curtains, dancing across the floor, soft and dreamlike.

I didn’t know where I was, but this wasn’t home.

I tried to search my memory for a hint, a clue as to where I could be, but my brain was foggy at best. The last thing I remembered was spending time in my garden.

The black bird.

A shadow cutting across the grass, like Hades coming up from the Underworld.

Then nothing.

A fresh wave of panic rushed over me, and my heart began to race. I pushed myself upright. At least I tried to. My muscles rebelled, my limbs moving too slowly, like the signals from my brain weren’t strong enough to reach their intended destination.

Then something shifted in the far corner.

A shadow.

Just like in my garden.

Tall. Still. Watching.

I froze, blinking, trying to bring my vision into focus. The world was still soft and warped, like I was underwater, the light curving and refracting strangely.

“Who’s there?” I croaked, my words barely audible.

Several silent moments passed, making me wonder if this was all just a dream, too.

Then a voice cut through the silence.

“Sleep.”

One word.

One syllable.

Yet there was something familiar about the deep timbre. I just couldn’t place how I knew it.

“What... What do you want from me?”

Another long silence passed before a quiet, dark chuckle echoed in the cavernous space.

“I don’t even know.”

His statement lodged somewhere deep in my chest. It wasn’t a threat. Or a promise. Just the truth, unvarnished and raw. I couldn’t remember the last time someone gave me the truth without asking for something in return.Demandingsomething in return. It made me want to ask more. But my tongue wouldn’t form the words fast enough.