The Hunter

“A few years ago, Da was caught having a sordid affair with a married woman. Not just any married woman, actually, Mom’s younger sister, Virginia. Her husband found out about it and tried to extort money from him. It worked—initially, anyway. But when Gin’s husband asked for shares in Royal Pipelines in exchange for his silence, I guess Da figured it was never going to go away completely unless he nipped it in the bud. He made a press release and confessed to having an affair with his wife’s sister, admitting they’d slept together many times, including in his marital bed. Mom was so pissed she kicked him out of the bedroom. But see, his legacy and company meant more to him than their marriage. It hardly even surprised my mother that he went and confessed to fucking her sister in front of the entire world. In a bid to win her forgiveness, Da made this butterfly garden for her, because butterflies are her favorite animal. And Mom, who couldn’t see the irony in that, accepted his apology. Needless to say, Gin, her husband, and my three cousins haven’t been invited to any Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners since then.”

“Jesus,” I breathed out, looking around the room and suddenly seeing it in a completely different light—tainted, somehow. “That’s insane.”

Hunter caught a butterfly in his hand, brought it to his face, and opened his palm, watching it fluttering away.

“Butterflies lead short, interesting, decadent lives. They live for about two weeks and never sleep. They do rest, on occasion. Otherwise, they’re always on the go. They prefer nectar to food, and just like me, they have three legs. But can I tell you the most striking fact about butterflies?”

Hunter’s hot mouth found the shell of my ear from behind, and my pulse stuttered, struggling to stay confined to the limits of my body. When had he gotten so close to me? When did he turn my body so I had my back to him?

I wanted to burst out of my skin and run away from him. From this. I closed my eyes, feeling my throat bob.

“Tell me,” I whispered, expecting the butterfly to fly away at the movement of my mouth. But no. It stayed on my face. I felt it flapping its wings lazily, sloping toward Hunter. Maybe it was waiting to hear his answer, too.

“Suspended development.” Hunter’s lips closed on the lobe of my ear, nibbling softly.

I shivered at the heat of his mouth, and his tongue swiped the velvety part of my ear. I wanted him to tear my dress, throw me on the ground, and take me from behind, making me the prey he so often told me I was.

“When the temperature drops to a certain degree, butterflies hibernate. They actually freeze in time—in age—waiting for summer to come and unchain them from the weather, to set them free. Butterflies can’t fly when they’re cold.”

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” I breathed, thinking about the hours, days, weeks, months, and years I’d been obsessed with proving I was better than Lana. No, not even better, just worthy. It was like being stuck in a constant winter, frozen, waiting for something I couldn’t even name.

Hunter grinned against my ear, his lips skimming down my throat, leaving a shudder in their wake. Our bodies were humming with something dangerous and carnal, and I wondered if people were looking for us. Someone could open the door and see us, and everything we’d worked for—everything we had on the line—would go up in flames.

But somehow, at this particular moment, I didn’t care.

“The prince is not going to save you, aingeal dian. He is stuck in his castle, fighting his own battle. Are you ready to step out of your comfort zone and live?” he asked, almost brokenly. I’d never seen him so bare, so raw. “You have to let life touch you. Drown a little with me, baby.”

I opened my mouth, not sure what was going to come out of it. The minute I did, the orange butterfly fluttered away, swirling in circles upwards, spiraling like smoke. It came to rest atop a fluorescent light. I felt the loss of it. I turned to face Hunter and placed both my palms on his chest, pretending to keep him away, but really, I was looking for an excuse to touch him again.

“You know, I always thought my dad was going to hate you, but I don’t think he does. I think he even likes you a little, in his own, very dry, very cautious way.” I cleared my throat, changing the subject lamely.

Hunter lowered his head, his lips puckering. “He thinks you’re so far out of my league, I don’t pose a threat.” He finished on a chuckle. “And he’s not wrong. As for my da, he wants to strangle you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Only difference is, if he tries to strangle me, my father will strangle him, and Sam will finish the job.” I quirked an eyebrow.

Hunter laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Butterflies danced around us, and I wondered why he wasn’t kissing me. Then I remembered I’d begged him not to.

The teenage idiot in me was disappointed that he’d respected my wishes.

“I’m glad you didn’t grow up here. This place is soul-crushing. I’m surprised Aisling turned out to be so awesome.”

“Aisling is like a cat. She’s got a good amount of souls.” He still wasn’t touching me, taking another step back.

Confused, I kept the conversation going. “I was going to ask, what did you mean by saying your dad is not your mother’s vice? That he doesn’t interest her?”

“She lost interest in him way before he took Gin to his bed.” Hunter cocked his head, smiling lazily. “But I also referred to the fact I’m not his. Biologically, anyway. Mom had an affair sometime between Cillian and Aisling, around the time she found out he was getting BJs from his secretary. It’s the best-kept secret of the Fitzgerald family. I found out at boarding school, through a friend of a friend whose dad knew mine. Apparently I was dubbed Beautiful Bastard at every country club on the East Coast because I was a cute kid, but hella illegitimate.”