Page 27 of Hunting Harbor

It’s just a weekend. I’m here now.

I’ll stay.

Chapter Eleven

Kairo

She’sconflicted.Icansee it in her eyes. She doesn’t know whether to be terrified of me, or aroused. But it doesn’t matter. I gave her the ‘choice’ to say no. She gave herself to me. Willingly. And now… we're here. She has nowhere else to go, no one else to hear her lovely screams.

Harbor nods when I tell her the room is hers, but I see the slight tremor in her lip, the rapid beat of a pulse just beneath translucent skin. Her hands grip the strap of her bag, knuckles white with unsaid things. It's not too late to take her now, press her against the rough cabin walls and make her mine. Instead, I wait. I tell her how comfortable the bed is, the view we have of the stars if we sit outside. My words slide over her as she keeps gnawing on that lip.

I hear her breathe again. A small sigh, a rabbit's whimper. It's delicious. Her panic and excitement are the same, and I can tastethem both. She listens to my explanations with careful nods. There are moments when she seems to relax, a little less tense, but the fear creeps back in. Her every movement betrays her. I smile as I mention the nearby waterfall. I can see the moment she imagines herself safe and alone. Her face tilts, and her eyes widen with suspicion, knowing that nothing will be as she imagines.

I assure her the cabin is completely off the grid. Just the solitude she wanted. She's the mouse who ran into the trap, mistaking it for a home. She blinks at me, and I almost let a laugh slip, the kind of laugh that would send her running if there were anywhere to go. It’s fine. There will be time for the fun later. I take a step back and mention needing to visit the main lodge for supplies. She settles slightly at the idea of being left alone, her grip on the bag loosening just enough for me to know she believes she’s safe.

Harbor's voice is so soft when she finally speaks. It comes out a hesitant whisper, like she might regret it as soon as it's airborne. “Thank you, Kairo.” The way she says my name, like a plea and an accusation wrapped in a single syllable, makes me want to hear her scream it. Choke on it as I shove my cock down her throat. This endless edging is enough to drive me to madness, but still, I play the game. Harbor is like a fine wine. Not to be rushed or glossed over.

No, she needs a steady hand, a confident man, someone who will guide her through those sick fantasies she keeps locked in her hand and inside her fiction. She thinks I'm the answer to her ending, a strange and temporary savior. She thinks she can use me and discard me, but there is no end. Not to this. Not to us.

“It's a pleasure,” I say, watching her eyes as they dart away, finding more solace in the walls of the cabin than in my presence. She’s skittish, and it thrills me. It won't be long before she's cornered, with nothing but her desperate words between us.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, almost timid, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. “I… I can sleep on the couch.”

“Nonsense. My mother would kill me if I made you do that.” I let my gaze linger just a second longer than necessary, watching her flush spread like an infection. It’s a lie. My mother is a venomous snake. She doesn’t give a fuck about me anymore than I give a fuck about her. “The more comfortable you are, the more you’ll write.”

She looks into my eyes and for a moment, I’m transfixed. I want to swim in her emerald depths, feel the way the gold slams against my skin, the cold edge to the warmth inside.

I smile and the expression feels wolfish. “Just settle in. You’ll get your groove back.”

She'll pour her little heart into the keyboard, convinced this is her salvation. Convinced that isolation will bring the words, that they’ll come so fast she won't even see me coming.

I suggest she start writing as soon as she can. She's got the look of a woman who needs distraction from the thoughts clawing inside her skull. I mention that writing is all about confrontingfear. Her unease will feed her. It will be her muse. “Besides, I have a feeling you're drawn to darker things.”

She says nothing, but the redness on her cheeks gives her away. She looks down, unable to meet my gaze. She's unsure, fragile. A porcelain doll with a crack, and I'm the one holding her together.

“You'll surprise yourself,” I tell her, brushing against her as I turn to leave. I can almost feel her tremble as I touch her, just enough to know she wants this, wants me.

“I hope so,” she says, more to herself than to me.

Outside the cabin, I breathe in the sharp, cold air. I'm a patient man, but the way she trembled makes me want to take her, to see the look on her face when she realizes there is no one else for miles, no other cabin, no other soul. I imagine the moment when she stops pretending she doesn't want this, when she gives in to the only reality she has left: me.

She will never leave this place. Not without me on her arm, under her skin, crawling around, whispering to her that her desires can only be satiated by me. That I’m the only one who can possibly understand what it’s like to live with the lust of a monster.

I head towards the main lodge, thinking of Harbor alone in that cabin, how she must look sitting at her keyboard, thinking the first words of her ending will be hers.

Noah was there. Of course he had shit to say about my endeavor with Harbor, but all I had to do was look at Cassidy and smile and he shut his fucking trap. Of course, I’d never do anything to his girl, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t kill women. I may or may not have killed a few nosy boyfriends who got pissed their chicks bounced on my dick instead of theirs.

But that’s all in the past.

The hike home was long and boring, but I got us what we needed and now… I’m standing behind a tree, watching her.

She's already pulled out her laptop, fingers frantically typing, exorcising her demons before they take hold. Harbor’s afraid of her own mind. It makes her easy prey. I'd already had Knox set up the Wi-Fi blocker on one of his trips here to build our cabin. Soon she will feel nothing, smell nothing, want nothing but me. I chuckle as I head towards my car, methodically removing the battery and putting it in the small shed the boys and I use to get into the basement. It runs along this short path and under the house. She'll try to escape soon. I’m counting on it.

There’s anticipation crawling under my skin. My mask is just inches from my fingertips and I long to pull it on and get the party started. I imagine her eyes widening, the frantic shuffle of her feet as she finds each door locked. I imagine the moment she gives in, and the thought of it is better than I can stand. She’s going to write her romance story, and she doesn’t even know she’s living it.

As I store the battery, I feel my patience slip. I tell myself not to rush. I need to watch her, to let her fear brew, to see the confusion and despair settle into her features. I am the audience and the actor, and this is a play with one beautiful ending.

A shrink might call this psychotic. Or narcissistic. The play on forced love, confusion and a dash of PTSD.

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