Page 41 of Oathbreaker

As he continues to gaze at me as if he is looking through me and into my soul, I clutch Kitty tighter to my chest.

“Do you understand what it did to me not to know where you were?”

Kitty’s panting is the only sound in the room for several seconds after Hunter’s raw statement.

He walks closer to me, his arms still crossed as if to prevent himself from touching me. “Do you know what it did to me to know I could have done this long ago, but I didn’t want to push you? That I let you roam free even though I knew people might try to get at you?”

“H—”

“No, Winter.” He hovers over me, his face so close to mine that I can see the whorls of gold in his blue eyes. “My heart was ripped out of my chest the moment I found out you were gone. I died over and over as every hour passed without knowing where you were. If you were suffering?—”

He steps back and spins, walking to the side table. He doesn’t turn around to look at me.

I cover my mouth to prevent the wail I know that’s bubbling up from escaping. I fold my body into itself, literally holding my insides together. In my silent struggle, Hunter leans against the table, his head hanging low.

The low breath he releases shudders, and his anguish is palpable.

My tears race, one after the other.

“What happened here will never happen again. I’d have to be dead and gone for anyone to be able to touch you, and even then, I’ll protect you from the grave.”

He turns back to me with wild, glassy eyes. “Do you understand, Winter?”

I close my eyes against the force of his intensity.

“Yes. I understand, Hunter.” I open my eyes again in time to see him run his fingers through his lush, ebony locks.

“Good,” he replies. He doesn’t look at me. “Get some rest, baby. I’ll tell Ella and Veronica to come by another day,” he murmurs. And then he’s out the door.

Kitty huffs, settling deeper into my side. I know Hunter suffered while I was missing.

How could he not?

It’s been a struggle to look outside of my own pain, my own world of suffering. And maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t care. I want to stay locked in my world of grief. Maybe one day I can leave it.

Today is not that day.

I’m fragile. I’m hurt. I’m not removed enough from this situation to carry Hunter’s or anyone else’s needs.

I can’t hold his pain and mine too.

I rub Kitty’s velvety ear.

I have to look out for myself.

With that thought, I settle down into the pillows that smell like Hunter and sleep deeply for the first time in almost a week.

TEN

HUNTER

It’s funny how his home looks like many others I’ve seen. It’s cookie-cutter, suburban—the house's layout is one of three boring, safe design options.

I run my hand across his gleaming oak desk and my leather gloves whisper across the surface. He’s neat, I’ll give him that. A yellow legal pad sits on the desk at a perfect right angle to his keyboard and a cup of pens.

His leather chair is cheap, though.

I’ve been hunting him for the last two weeks. He’s so easy to spot it’s almost comical. He does the same things, goes to the same places, over and over. No one would have known that anything had changed. But then he went off to buy his newest Porsche in cash.

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