Page 35 of Operation Wolf: Hunter
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
He eyed me skeptically. “When was the last time you ate?”
I shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare. “I might have managed a few bites of breakfast.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Eat some of this before you keel over and die.”
He shoved the piece of catfish between my lips before I could protest. An instant burst of flavor made me completely forget about anything but my hunger. Snatching the Tupperware from Hunter, I devoured almost two-thirds of the meal before finally handing it back to him.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
Hunter patted me on the back. “That’s my girl. I bet Mrs. Jones heated up this food for you anyway, didn’t she?” he teased.
I nodded, and we lapsed into a comfortable silence as Hunter finished off the rest of the meal.
“You’re looking a lot better,” he said quietly, hooking an arm around my shoulders and drawing me against him. “Did you sleep well?”
“You could say that.” I’d slept heavily, dreamlessly which I was grateful for. “I want to explain myself to you.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Hunter said, rubbing my shoulder in a gentle rotation that soothed me. “Everyone has their moments sometimes, and I don’t fault you for wanting to give Twilight a good burial.”
“Yes, but you don’t understand,” I protested. “When we buried Twilight today . . . well, I wasn’t totally burying Twilight.”
Hunter was silent for a moment. “Then who were we burying?”
I let out a long sigh. “When I told you my mom died of cirrhosis of the liver . . . well, I lied,” I said, my shoulders sagging a little. “Not that she wouldn’t have died from that eventually or from overdosing on heroin or something, but that isn’t what happened.”
“How did she die, then?” I could hear the frown in Hunter’s voice as he tried to figure out where I was going with this.
“She was attacked,” I whispered, my body trembling slightly as the memory of that horrible night took shape in my eyes. “I came home to check on her one night, and she was in her room with . . . a man.” I shuddered. “She often brought men home, usually for sex in exchange for a quick fix, but something wasn’t right this time. I heard screams and someone snarling, and I opened the door to find . . .”
“To find what?”
I laughed nervously. “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy. The police and my neighbors all thought I was crazy too.”
“Try me.”
“Well, the only way I can describe him is as some kind of monster,” I said. “Like a wolf-man or something. He had coarse, thick hair all over his body and bloody fangs that looked as though they could bite clear through my arm.” I shuddered again. “For a moment, I thought he was going to attack me too . . . but he just turned and leaped straight through the window, shattering the glass. When I looked over the side of the sill, I could see him running away in the distance even though it was a two-story drop. I called 9–1-1, and even though my mother’s body was covered in claw and bite marks, they didn’t believe me when I told them what I saw,” I whispered. “Shit. Most of the time, I don’t believe it myself. So, I put it behind me, went back to college, finished my degree, and started working.” I shook my head, consumed with self-loathing. “I didn’t even arrange a funeral for my mother. She was cremated by the state. They offered me the ashes, but I refused them. God only knows where they ended up.”
“Oh, baby.” Hunter dropped a kiss on the top of my head and rubbed my back. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for that, not after the way your mother treated you.”
“My grandparents did,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’d never met them in all my life because they wanted nothing to do with me . . . their out of wedlock grandchild. You see, her parents were deeply rooted and involved in the church. Her father was a pastor and her mother the church clerk. So, they disowned my mother for being unmarried and pregnant, but a month after her death, they came out of the woodwork, scolding and blaming me for what had happened to their daughter. They read about her death from the obituary in the paper and demanded to know why they hadn’t been told or informed about any funeral or anything.” I smirked a little. “I might have said a few unkind things to them in return.”
“That’s unbelievable.” Hunter’s voice was dark with anger, and I looked at him in surprise to see a thunderous scowl on his face. His expression softened a little when he saw me staring. “You deserved better than that, darling.”
A lump formed in my throat in response to the compassion in Hunter’s voice, and I turned away before I started tearing up. “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I’ve never believed that people deserve anything other than what they make for themselves in life, and I’ve worked hard to live up to that ideal. But I guess I must have felt guilty in the back of my mind, about not honoring my mother’s death, because when I saw Twilight, covered in those scratches and bites . . . it reminded me of my mother, and I just lost it.” I took a deep breath then, and as I let it out, I felt some of the weight on my heart dissipate. “I guess, when we buried Twilight, I was really burying my mother.”
Hunter nodded. “Mrs. Jones thought as much, though she didn’t specifically say anything about your mom. She just said she figured you were probably grieving about more than just Twilight.”
I smiled a little. “She’s a wise woman.”
“Yes, she is.” We sat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s presence, before Hunter spoke again, “You know, I’ve never met a woman like you before.”
I arched a brow. “You mean, a crazy person?”
Hunter laughed. “Oh no, I’ve met plenty of those. I mean someone as fiercely independent as you,” he said, smiling down at me. “Or as hardworking.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise even though the battered part of me wanted to soak it all up. “There are other women out there who are more successful than I am.”
