Page 145 of The Order

Hunter

Valeriewakesuplongenough to yell at us to shut off the lights. She’s groggy and definitely hungover. Fallan warned me how much liquor she’d had, giving me a brief rundown of all of the events that led to her nestling in his bed. A chair lingers beside the mattress, no doubt where he tried to sleep before Forest knocked on his door.

Valerie had stomped her way over here in a drunken haze, ready to try and get Fallan to sleep with her for what seemed the millionth time. Every time she finds herself over here, Fallan graciously sobers her up, deflecting each one of her advancements despite how much he might want a physical connection.

“Turn that fucking light off!” she groans, angrily rolling over to face us.

“Don't forget you’re inmybed. The last thing you should be doing is bitching,” Fallan says, more annoyed than usual.

“Hello to you too, grumpy,” she looks at me. “What did you do to him?” Fallan shoots me a warning look, telling me everything I need to know about how little he prefers she knew about what happened with Forest tonight.

“Me? I did nothing. You’re the one who ruined his beauty sleep,” I say.

Fallan brews a pot of tea, ignoring the conversation. He’s deep in his thoughts, no longer paying attention to our pointless discussions.

“He would have slept great had he taken my offer to share the bed,” she says slyly. Fallan’s hands grip the kitchen counter.

“You seem plenty sober now… go home,” Fallan says. The statement is far from a request.

Valerie rolls her eyes, pulling herself free from the sheets. She wears a tiny black dress meant to draw the attention of, well, anyone. I try to see the appeal in how the material showcases her body, but I'm unsure why I struggle so often to savor the sight of the supple curves of women—the dress clings to her skin, showing each part of her body through the sheer black material.

Valerie slowly creeps up behind Fallan. I shake my head at her, ready to yank her back by her hair and lecture her like Aaron should be doing. Chances are the bastard is out somewhere as drunk as his cousin is right now. Valerie moves to wrap her arms around Fallan. His head is lowered, his expression unable to be read.

“I understand you’ve had a hard night,” she begins, moving her hand along his sides. He tenses, turning around to grab her wrists. He backs her into the closest wall.

“You don't touch me,” he starts, pointing to her heatedly. “I told you to go home.” She scoffs, shoving him back and away from her.

“An hour with her and you come back more miserable than you started with,” Valerie states, her knowledge of Forest being here no longer something she feels like hiding.

“Not any more miserable than you're making me right now,” Fallan says, ignoring her dig toward Forest.

She swipes up her bag on the floor, giving Fallan a long, hateful look.

“I hope she keeps you feeling conflicted. At the end of the day, you know you can never have her,” Valerie hisses—her deep-rooted contempt for Forest her biggest weapon against Fallan.

Brushing past me, she leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her. The faint smell of her rose perfume lingers around us.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that,” Fallan says, returning to the teapot.

I shake my head at the man, moving closer to the kitchen counter. Resting a hand on his shoulder, I watch as his anger is replaced with another familiar feeling.

Pain.

“I have to ask,” I say, bracing for his reaction. “What are you going to do? How long before your attempts at keeping her out of your life become unbearable?” Spotty memories and patchwork images of the past are all that remain of their twisted history together. How Forest’s past has been torn from her brain repeatedly is something Fallan has hardly been able to explain to me.

How can one girl go from knowing you so intimately to looking past you in a crowd in the blink of an eye? Fallan had spent years holding on to one woman, satiated by only a few smiles from her, not even caring that she didn't remember his name.

“She is nothing like Andrew. I keep trying to compare her to him, thinking it will be easier to hate her given what he did,” Fallan says, staring at his tea as it steeps. “But every time she looks at me, I see that girl from the bonfire or the one from my testing day.”

The hold those brief interactions had on him was enough for a lifetime.

“And I can't stay away.”

I run my finger along my chip. Fallan’s willingness to be open about his unique circumstances and help me deal with the chip in my head is a debt I'll never be able to repay.

“It makes things complicated, given she’s never laid a finger on any Unfortunate,” I mumble. Even I’ve found it difficult not to be drawn to her good nature.

“I’ve never wanted her gone, and it's been hell trying to make her think that's the case,” Fallan says, slamming his fists into the counter. The kettle jolts, its lid falling off onto the countertop.

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