Page 39 of Hunting Harbor

I smile, taking her hand and leading her back toward the cabin, back toward her new reality.

Mine.

Chapter Sixteen

Harbor

Iwakewithasilent scream lodged in my throat, my body frozen in unfamiliar sheets. The buttery morning light filtering through the poorly insulated windows feels like a lie—too normal, too peaceful for the chaos spinning inside my skull. Something terrible happens in the woods last night. Something I desperately want to believe is just another fucked-up nightmare born from my writer’s imagination.

But nightmares don’t leave bruises. And I am covered in them.

I lie perfectly still, cataloging the physical inventory of my body without moving a muscle. My thighs ache as if I’ve run for miles. My shoulders burn from being pinned against rough bark. The tender flesh between my legs throbs with a dull, insistent pain that confirms what my mind is trying to deny.

“It wasn’t real,” I whisper, the words hanging in the empty air of the bedroom. “It can’t have been real.”

But even as I say it, my throat constricts around the lie. The sensory memories crash through my defensive walls—the scent of pine needles crushed beneath my body, the cold night air on exposed skin, the weight of him, the sound of fabric tearing, his breath hot against my ear. The mask. That beautiful, terrible mask transforming his face into something other.

I shift slightly, testing my limits, and hiss as pain shoots through my lower body. Fuck. The soreness is unmistakable, the kind that comes from being taken roughly, violently. The worst part is, even though my brain vehemently rejects all this, the rest of me does not.

Including my heart, which, up until now, isn’t an issue—except for the way his mouth crushes mine in an effort to swallow my demons, breathing a new type of life into me. It’s sick, I know… but I want it. He does something to me. Something that feels a whole hell of a lot like freeing me from the shackles of what I should find acceptable.

The sheets beside me are rumpled and cold. His scent lingers there, expensive cologne mixed with sweat and something darker, earthier. The smell of the forest. The smell of the hunt.

Kairo isn’t beside me, but he’s brought me back here—to this cabin. He’s cleaned me, tucked me in, and let me sleep. It’s about as romantic as I’d expect from any normal boyfriend, except forthe fact that he’s a monster in sexy skin and plays the perfect part.

Or maybe it’s just the duality of him. Can’t someone be two opposing things simultaneously?

Had I known, somewhere deep down, that this would happen? The thought stops me cold. My new muse. The masked man in the forest. The chase. The violation that’s both terrifying and… No. I cut that thought off before it can fully form. I don’t want this. I can’t have. I can’t have written this into existence. It’s simply not possible.

Yet my body trembles now with a confusion that disgusts me—fear mixed with something else, something I refuse to name.

I force myself to sit up, biting back a whimper as my bruised body protests. Dark marks circle my wrists like bracelets. Fingerprints bloom across my inner thighs. Evidence. Proof that last night was real.

The room spins slightly as I stand, and I grab the edge of the nightstand to steady myself. I’m naked except for my panties, torn along one side but pulled back into place. The rest of my clothes are nowhere to be seen.

Thirst rears its ugly head, and I become desperate for water.

I rip the top blanket from the bed and wrap it around myself like armor, tucking the edges in tightly until I’m cocooned. Thesoft weight of it against my skin should comfort me, but nothing stops the tremors that run through me in waves.

What now? Run? Scream? Pretend nothing happened? Each option seems equally impossible.

My legs feel like rubber as I cross to the bedroom door. My hand hovers over the knob, trembling. What will I find on the other side—the charming, attentive man who invited me to this remote retreat to help with my writer’s block? Or the predator who chases me through the moonlit forest, his face transformed by that hauntingly beautiful mask?

My heart hammers against my ribs as I open the door and walk out.

Kairo stands with his back to me, the smell of breakfast making my stomach growl. His shoulders move beneath a thin white T-shirt as he arranges something on a plate, each movement precise and deliberate. The same hands that tear my clothes, pin my wrists, claim my body now carefully arrange breakfast. The absurdity of it makes me want to laugh—or scream. I do neither.

I stand frozen in the doorway, blanket clutched to my chest like a shield that can’t possibly protect me. My body can’t decide whether to bolt back to the bedroom or collapse right here. The primal part of my brain—the part that recognizes the predator behind the mask last night—screams at me to run. But where? The cabin is surrounded by miles of wilderness, the same wilderness where he hunts me down like an animal.

The soft scrape of a knife against toast stops. He knows I’m here without turning around. Of course he does.

“Coffee’s ready,” he says, voice smooth and controlled, with no hint of the guttural growls that accompanied his violation of me just hours before.

I flinch at the sound, hating my body for betraying me—not just in fear, but in the unwelcome flutter low in my belly at the familiar timbre of his voice. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He turns slowly. His face is a perfect mask of normalcy: handsome features arranged in a slight smile, strong jawline, stubble across his skin, dark eyes watchful but not threatening. This is the Kairo who charmed me at the bar.

“You’re hurt,” he says, gaze traveling over my face, lingering on the bruise on my cheek. His fingers trace my cheek, lingering on that bruise as his brow furrows ever so slightly.

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