Page 92 of The Huntress

After flicking her fingers, she was clean again, but hungry. Within minutes, she had pasta on the boil with the sauce simmering in a pan. She made enough for George for when Dimitri brought her home. The adage was true—a watched pot never boils. Even though she could make this also appear out of wherever, she had time to spare and boredom to kill.

Halfway through a bowl, there was a knock at the front door.

Bounding over to the door, she flung it open, expecting to see her sister, Leo, or Mike. The dark visage of Stavros shocked her, and she thought her twisted mind had conjured him. He stepped toward her, and she stumbled backward, uncertain what to do.

Mayday! Gabe, we have a visitor. She sent him the picture of Stavros standing in their entrance foyer.

Keep him occupied.

Gabe’s command had her snorting. What tricks did he expect her to do? Dance the hula hoop? Do the fandango? Make a rabbit appear out of Stavros’s backside? Popcorn and a movie?

I can hear your thoughts. Gabe’s humor crossed the link.

Yes, well, what do you expect me to do? Recite Shakespeare?

“This is a surprise.” She forced a tight smile and gestured to the couches, inviting Stavros to make himself comfortable. He’d do so anyway, regardless of her permission. She couldn’t help but sense there was something less intimidating between this man and the one who had her kidnapped. This Stavros appeared broken.

“Since the Holds monitor my every move in the city, your home was a logical choice.” He chose the chair facing the door.

Strategic of him, but expected.

“Your plan is working. Why aren’t you elated?” She slid onto a chair and curled her leg under her backside. She might as well be comfortable.

“Carter’s plan is working—mine was a failure.” Stavros ran a frustrated hand over his face, mussing his hair. “Did Gabriel mention our history?”

“Yes,” she said but refused to say more. This wasn’t Christmas where he could hope she would gift him with information. The bastard would use it against her and her family.

She schooled her features, hiding how delighted she was he’d confirmed his connection to Carter.

“Did he say he killed my sister?” His eyes darkened, as did the skin under them. Contrasting with his serene expression was his stiff body and clenched knuckles.

“No, he said he didn’t know who threw her back, and that she died before the conversion took hold.”

Stavros grunted as his broad shoulders slumped. “Perhaps Gabriel was wise to move on, to find another love.”

“It’s tough to move on after losing a loved one.”

It took her years to return to some sort of normal after Dad died. When Val received the fatal news, Callie had cleansed her home of any reminders of him. She couldn’t deal with both and still be the rock her sister needed.

“I imagine it’s harder for humans with their shorter lifespans,” Stavros said.

I am almost there.Gabe’s voice snatched her breath, and she released it in a slow exhale of relief.

No rush.She punched sarcasm behind her thoughts, to which she sensed his head shake.

“Do you blame Gabe, or yourself, for your sister’s death?” she asked.

Stavros gasped, and he jerked back as if she slapped him. “How dare you?” His voice rose as anger mottled his features.

“Survivor’s guilt is crippling, believe me.” She didn’t know what calmed him—her tone of voice or the sorrow that squeezed out a tear. He settled back in his chair, but his fingers gripped the leather armrests.

Seeing she was getting through to him, she decided to open up, keep him occupied. “Dad’s death wasmyfault. Something no one wants to mention. He died saving me when I rushed in like a hothead. Outliving my older sister would’ve brought me to my knees.” She drew in a shuddering breath, wiping at the tears with trembling fingers. “I can understand your hatred, your unforgiveness. I hunted Dad’s killers and brought them to justice. With Val, how could I kill cancer? What could I do to save her? Hopelessness was the hardest thing to fight. It has no form, no source, and is indestructible. It forces you to face how pointless your existence is.”

“Gabriel has chosen wisely,” Stavros said, his voice above a rasp. “It has been too many years for me to relinquish the battle. Revenge was my focus, what drove me. How do I replace something that is part of me?” He dipped his head, sorrow slumping his shoulders.

“Forgive yourself. Only from there can you start anew. Find what brings you joy, and surround yourself with that. Find what gives you purpose. Without it, life fails to have meaning.” She shook her head. “I struggled. I won’t lie, Stavros. One day you will wake up, and all you will remember is how Abigail made you laugh, the sunlight dancing in her hair, and her teasing blue eyes.” She had snatched the image of her from Gabe’s memories.

“Blue eyes?” He shook his head. “You were a formidable foe. Many times, you almost thwarted my plans.” He rose to his feet, and as he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his fake sorrow slipped from his smug smirk. “Your honorable heart is your weakness, Devereaux. But you are a fool to welcome me into your home, and hope I will change my wicked ways.” He chuckled—cold, maniacal, sending trickles of ice down her spine. “Bid your husband farewell, Callista.”

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