Page 22 of Hunting Gianna
Behind us, the forest is silent. Even the birds are smart enough to stay quiet.
I make her look. I stop us at the body, force her to open her eyes and take in the stillness, the ruin of the man who thought he could save her. The smell is thick, coppery, sharp. I kneel beside him, unhurried, and press my hand into the open wound, the heat of it still alive and throbbing.
I look up, let her watch as I smear it down my face, then across hers, bright red streaks like war paint.
“Was his life worth your little run?” I ask, voice muffled behind the mask.
She doesn’t answer. Her teeth are clenched so hard I think they’ll shatter. Her chest rises and falls, breath a thin whistle through her nose.
I stand, step into her space, close enough to hear her heavy breathing, to feel it fan over my skin. I lift her chin with the tip of my blade, gentle as a lover, and study her eyes.
“Look at you,” I murmur, “covered in someone else’s mess. You’re perfect.”
Her knees give out, but I catch her, haul her up against my body, her feet just barely ghosting the ground.
I kiss her, forcing her mouth open, let her taste the death on my tongue. She chokes, almost retches, but I hold her tight, one blood-slick hand cupping the back of her neck.
“Bad little bird,” I whisper against her lips. “Trying to fly away.”
She shudders, and slumps into my chest as I lift her off her feet and sling her over my shoulder.
She’s limp. Not unconscious, not broken, just… surrendered. I like the weight of her. I like the way her hair brushes my back, the way her feet dangle, like she trusts me, even though it’s clear she doesn’t.
She has to know I’d never hurt her.
As I walk, I hum, low and tuneless. The same lullaby I heard as a child, the only thing I remember from before I became this.
At the cabin, I set her on the couch. I cut the rope, but she doesn’t move, just stares at her hands, the red slowly fading as I rub the life back into her.
I crouch in front of her, peel off the mask, let her see my real face.
She looks at me, eyes red, devoid of emotion. “What now?” she whispers.
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “Now,” I say, “you learn how to stay.”
She starts to cry, quiet and steady, tears carving clean rivers through the blood on her face.
I watch, content. The world is quiet again. Everything exactly where it belongs.
Mine.
Chapter Nine
Gianna
Hewalkedmebackto the cabin. Slung over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes. I hated that I liked being taken care of this way becauseheis the reason my entire world just derailed.He’s a fucking psychopath!The same blood that's drying on his knuckles smears onto my legs with every jostling step. I feel the stickiness, smell the iron. I want to get it off me.
The trees look different now. Less like guardians, more like voyeurs, silent witnesses to the absolute derailing of my world. My head feels like a split log. My body moves without me. He’s still in the mask, the demon face red and black and slick with splatters, and he moves with a confidence that says he belongs here, that the universe was built around this moment.
We reach the porch. He kicks the door open and places me on the couch before cutting off the rope. I am numb. My wrists were chafed from the rubbing of the rope, but he tries to soothe the ache with his fingers. These hands don’t even feel like mine. Nothing does.
He’s behind me, peeling off the mask, but I only see it in the glass reflection—his face flushed, lips parted, sweat sticking his hair to his brow. He looks... alive. More alive than anyone has a right to be after what he just did.
“Stay,” he says.
The word is simple, but what the fuck else am I supposed to do? I collapse onto the couch. The fabric is soft, old, and beige, but I already know it will never come clean again. Some of the hiker’s blood smears onto the armrest as I smush myself into the back corner, and a strange, giddy part of my mind thinks: At least it’s not on the carpet.
He stands in the center of the room for a moment, letting the silence build. I want to say something. I want to scream, beg, bargain, do anything except sit here and let his world become my world. But I don’t. I just breathe, counting the seconds, waiting for him to snap.
