Page 11 of Hunt Me

For now, I’m alone.

Except I’m not, I realize, when I walk a few feet past the graveyard gate and find a body lying between two headstones. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat because oh my god. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my life, but I’ve never seen a dead body just lying out there in the open like this.

Is that a thing?

Is that how they bury people?

But then the body breathes deeply, chest rising and falling, and I realize he’s alive. Peering closer, my heart still pounding, my gaze fixates on his hands, which are resting over hisstomach. They’re pale, covered in a few freckles, and his fingers look rough—like he does some kind of manual labor.

And then I look up at his face, and everything in me shifts because it’s him. My hero. My savior. My dangerous man with powerful fists who has no problem with blood or kissing strangers who are covered in it.

My mouth goes a little dry as I attempt to take a step closer. I want to see him better now that it’s daytime and we’re outside, but I’m terrified I’m going to make noise and won’t realize it. My shoes sink into the soft grass, and I grasp a headstone, dropping down to my knees so I’ll be able to hide if he looks over at me.

For now, luckily, he doesn’t, and I’m awarded a full view of him. God, he looks so strangely angelic here, lying on top of an old grave. In the misty afternoon light, I can see his hair has strawberry blond highlights, and it sits in loose curls over his forehead. His scar is more visible here too—a pale pink, jagged, and unkind.

I can’t help but wonder what caused it, but it doesn’t take much for me to imagine, considering how dangerous he and his brothers all seem. I creep a little closer and watch his breathing a little more. It’s odd that he’s just…lying here, and it makes a surge of anxiety rise up along my spine.

What if this is some kind of medical emergency? Maybe he really is a vampire and was looking for fresh blood but couldn’t find it among the corpses?

I stifle a donkey laugh. God, what is wrong with me?

Why am I catastrophizing a man who is very clearly just taking a comfortable nap in…well…a cemetery? Okay, it’s not normal, but sadly, it’s also not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.

As I sit there, he continues to doze, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do. I can’t keep staring at him until he wakes up, can I? I mean, there’s creepy, and then there’s creepy. I havea feeling a guy like him will appreciate the former and not the latter.

My knees pop as I stand, but if they make a loud noise, he doesn’t seem to react to it. There’s not even a twitch in his face. Glancing to my right, I see a massive willow, branches fluttering in the light breeze, so I head over and lean against the trunk. It gives me a decent view of him while also maybe offering me some kind of excuse as to why I’m here other than to watch him.

God, this would be easier if I had a book, but I don’t even have my phone on me. It’s still sitting in the cup holder in my car.

Fuck, I have no idea what I’m doing—what I’m going to do when he wakes up. If he wakes up before I have to rush back to campus for my final class of the evening.

I settle in with one knee pulled to my chest, at the perfect angle to stare at him, and something in my chest twists.

He really is terrifyingly beautiful.

Like the night I saw him, he’s in dark clothes—deep blue jeans, black boots, a button-up shirt that hugs him in all the right places. He has one foot crossed over the other like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

And hell, maybe he doesn’t.

What must that be like?

I take a breath and debate about making a noise so I can rouse him, but before I can, his eyes fly open.

I freeze. Shit…am I caught?

A second later, he’s on his feet and running, but not toward me. He moves like a fucking tiger, with a skill and grace that should be terrifying. I watch, breath screaming in my lungs to be released, as he darts around headstones, and then, just before he takes a leap past the tree line, I see a small, dark, furry body jump first.

Arhe follows with his arms out, and when he stands back up, he has a very clearly pissed-off tuxedo cat by the scruff. He swipes his hand across his brow, and I realize he’s bleeding from the forehead.

I have no idea what to do. I’m frozen to this tree as I watch him stride with purpose toward the church. The blood streaming down his face makes me feel another pulse of panic. He could have a fucking concussion. Or worse.

Rabies.

I don’t know why that gives me the courage to move, but I find myself jumping to my feet and hurrying toward him as he makes his way around the building. Shit. I don’t see him again. It’s not until I’m on the back side of the church parking lot that I catch him leaning over the bed of a very small pickup truck parked a few spaces away from my car.

My feet must make enough noise on the ground this time because his head darts up, and his eyes narrow, finally locking on me.

I freeze, like a rabbit being tracked by a predator.