Page 49 of The Huntress and Her Hound

I could just tell him the truth.

But then he’d never want me.

I follow him down the hallway, desperate to stay in his presence. He’s the only person who knows even a little truth about me. But I can’t bring myself to stop him.

“Goodnight, Cher,” he says, turning around. Our eyes lock, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Are we a thing? Did he mean it when he said he didn’t want to share me? Did that mean he likes me?

I swallow hard, feeling smaller than ever. “Night.”

He must sense my uncertainty, because Jude pulls me toward him, cupping my chin. “No more entertaining other men. If I catch you, I’ll make you regret you ever fucked around on me.” His threat sends moisture right to my pussy, and I do something so unlike myself.

I grab his collar and bring his lips to mine. He groans into my mouth as I do my best to figure out how to kiss—something that came so naturally before my life exploded. Jude doesn’t seem to notice, or care, as he wraps his arms around my waist. It’s the most fucking intimate moment I’ve ever had, and the feeling of safety warming my body is nearly as terrifying as it is relieving.

I don’t want him to let go.

But he does, breaking our kiss and untangling himself from me. “Good night,” he murmurs, grazing my cheek. “Sleep tight.”

I swallow hard and nod. “You, too.”

Jude winks at me, and then disappears into his room. I stand there in the hallway, watching as the blue light flickers under his door. I know he’s working. I also know the moment I step back into my bedroom, I’ll be me again. I wrap my arms around myself, and bite down on my lip to stop the cry from slipping through. I’m torn—torn between the truth and who I wish I was. I wish I just had a sex addiction. But don’t.

I kill men, Jude. Not fuck them.

“Ugh,” I mutter under my breath as I force myself to enter my bedroom. Cash lazily peers up at me from his bed. “I don’t think the Evil Queen gets Prince Charming,” I tell him as I strip down, changing into just a T-shirt. I climb into my bed, my eyes drifting to the door.

My phone buzzes against the nightstand, and my heart skips a beat as I imagine Jude inviting me to his room. But when I squint at the brightness of the screen, my breath catches...in all the wrong ways.

Unknown: You bad, bad girl. I saw you kill him. Does your boyfriend know?

I drop my phone, my hands shaking. Who the fuck would even know? Who’s following me? The phone buzzes again.

Unknown: Should I tell him how disgusting you are? A dirty, nasty whore. Would he visit you in prison? That’s where you belong.

I don’t respond, my heart pounding. Instead, I turn the phone off. I can handle someone like this. I knew there was a chance someone would find out what I do. Now they have. I just have to fix it. And it’ll start with Liam. I’ll plan a lunch. I’ll see if there’s any new cases developing.

And I’ll keep it from Jude. I have to.

Then maybe it can be over. Maybe I can be normal...ish.

I close my eyes, the fatigue stronger than the sense of dread and fear looming over my bed like a storm cloud.

***

“Miss Bayne.” Dr. Nile calls. “Can you please see me at my desk?”

I nod, stopping at the exit of the classroom. “Of course.” I spin around and head back toward his desk, eyeing my best friend, Ella. “I’ll catch up with you at lunch.” She gives me a look, but then leaves.

“We need to discuss your essay,” Dr. Nile, my AP English teacher, mutters as he hands me the graded paper. “I expected better of you.”

I stare down at the big fat “C” written at the top. “I... I thought...” My heart sinks, and I can’t even begin to explain myself. I thought I did well.

“I know your living situation is different from the other students, and I think it’s affecting your ability to focus.”

I furrow my brow. “Respectfully, Dr. Nile, I’ve lived with just my brother since I was ten. I don’t... I don’t think that’s what it is—”

“A boyfriend then?” His hazel eyes pour over me, and a shiver runs down my spine. Everyone has a crush on the teacher. He’s only in his mid-thirties, and apparently, he graduated from Harvard—which is impressive. I guess.

“I don’t have a boyfriend...” I answer him as his fingers brush through his dark hair. “I don’t know why this essay isn’t up to par...”

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