Page 44 of Cruel Cravings

“Brontë?” I repeat, and then I get it. My eyes widen as I meet his gaze and realize he’s given me his name.

It’s weird to think that it feels significant. It feels like a secret shared between two confidants. Something intimate in a way I can’t explain.

“Brontë,” I say again. I step closer. “Do you want me to put your mask back on?”

A second passes. And then he nods. It’s a stiff, slow, single incline of his head. I grab the minotaur mask that I’d tossed to the floor last night and slide back into his lap. He’s so warm, the energy that comes off him instantly heating me up. I look him in the eye as I pull the mask back over his mangled face.

He releases a deep breath as if comfort has been restored. The one thing he needs is back.

“Why do you wear it?” I ask. My hand glides across the contours of the leather mask, my fingertips feeling every ridge that represents the monstrous minotaur. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars. They’re a part of you.”

An abrupt knock interrupts the moment.

I draw back in his lap, glancing toward the front door.

My heart flips inside my chest. From through the part in the curtains I can make out who’s on the doorstep. It’s a man dressed in what looks like a sheriff’s uniform.

14.Jael

Nasty - Tinashe

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

My stomach twists as I think on my feet and then snap into motion, zipping around the room to clean up anything potentially suspicious.

…like the chained up, hulking, six-foot-something stalker who’s wearing a minotaur mask?

I shake away my inner voice and focus on cleaning up what I can. The torn down newspapers, the empty mugs of coffee, the blood splatter that I cover with a rug. Turning to Brontë, I press my fingers to my lips signaling he stay quiet.

For once, his lack of interest in speaking works to my advantage.

I check my reflection in the glass lamp on an end table and then step to the door as more knocks echo from the other side. Smile on and tone pleasant, I draw the door open just enough to keep most of the room hidden, including Brontë.

“Good afternoon,” I greet. “Can I help you?”

“Ma’am.” He tips his hat, his large ears sticking out. He’s older, mid-fifties maybe, with a strong build that shows he keepsin shape for his age. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Sheriff’s Deputy Dudley. I live just down the road.”

When I don’t say anything, he clears his throat and presses on.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before, and I figured I’d introduce myself. In uniform, I’m Deputy Dudley, but otherwise, you can call me Harrison. And you are?”

I hesitate half a second, though keeping my smile. “Jacqueline Hyde. I have no uniform, so it’s always just Jacqueline.”

He chuckles. “Well, Jacqueline, always nice to see a new face. I was on my way home from a nightshift and noticed the lights on in the Klum’s cabin. And the station wagon in the drive too, of course.”

I go stiff, my smile faltering.

“I thought it was odd,” he continues, “because the Klums left days ago from their annual trip up here. They went back to their main home in Easton.”

“I’m renting the cabin,” I lie. “Just for a few days while I’m in the area.”

The deputy raises a skeptical brow. “Is that so? They’ve never rented it out before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. I’m just here getting away from the city noise. A nature treat for myself.”

“And hunting?” He gestures to the hunting knife strapped to my hip. The same knife I’d used to cut up Brontë. The dried blood stains the tip of the blade in true incriminating fashion.

I give off an airy laugh, like he’s told a joke. “Yes, and hunting. It’s a hobby of mine.”

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