Page 17 of Hunted to Be Mine
He caught my wrist as I turned to leave, his grip exact like before, firm enough to stop me, gentle enough not to hurt. The contact lit up my arm in a way that had nothing to do with clinical interest.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my pulse point. “No more faking anything. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how your body responded to mine. How your pulse quickened, just like it’s doing now.”
I pulled my arm free, fighting to maintain professional composure. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?” His gaze held mine, searching. “You’re the only person who’s seen me, the real me, not just the weapon they made. That makes you dangerous, Selina.”
My first name in his mouth felt more intimate than his touch had been.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Specter,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
His smile was knowing, patient. “You know that’s not my name. Not my real one. I can’t wait until you dig through the broken pieces and find the truth. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
He leaned back against the pillows, his eyes never leaving mine. “Find it,” he said softly.
Against my better judgment, he made me smile—dry and brief. “Let’s start at the beginning and see what we can get.”
“When I kissed you, something happened. Isn’t that a good sign?”
My hand tightened on the doorknob. “That’s not an appropriate therapeutic technique.”
“Isn’t it?” His gaze held mine. “What if physical contact bypasses the cognitive blocks? What if…”
“We’re done for today,” I cut him off, but the seed was planted. What if he was right? What if his episodes weren’t random but triggered by specific stimuli, including our physical contact?
“Think about it, Doctor,” he added with a barely contained smile. “What matters more, your professional boundaries or getting your patient back his mind?”
I didn’t answer, pulling the door closed behind me with a decisive click. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, breathing slow and deep to center myself.
The problem wasn’t that I believed him. The problem was that part of me wondered if he might be right.
Chapter 5
Selina
His stare scraped over me, testing for weakness. “You keep saying you want to help me, but you’re hiding behind that clipboard like it’s body armor.” Specter leaned forward, elbows on the steel table between us. “Tell me, Doctor Crawford, how the hell are we supposed to make progress when you’re afraid to look inside my head?”
Our first official session was going sideways, and we’d barely begun.
“I’m not afraid of what’s in your head.” I met his stare without flinching. “I’m trying to establish a baseline for your memory retrieval. Standard protocol.”
“Nothing about me ’s standard.” His voice dropped a notch. “Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
The briefing room felt too small in face of his focus.
“Let’s try something else.” I set down my clipboard. “Tell me about the first thing you remember after Oblivion took you.”
His fingers tapped a rhythm against the table. One-two-three. Pause. Again.
“Pain.” The word sat between us. “Not physical. More like… absence. Like someone cut pieces from me and I could feel the empty spaces where they should be.”
I leaned forward. “That’s good. That’s…”
“You think that’s progress?” He let out a short, humorless sound. “You want to know what I remember? I remember killing a man who begged for his life in three languages. I remember the weight of a knife and exactly how much pressure it takes to slice through a carotid artery.”
My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. “Those are Oblivion memories. I’m looking for something real.”
“Who says those weren’t real?” His gaze thinned. “Maybe that’s who I was before Oblivion. Maybe they just pointed me in a new direction.”
