Night Of The Hunter

A Warning Sign

His lips felt like a feather brushing against mine—delicate, weightless, almost not there at all. But the sensation was unmistakably real. It ghosted over my mouth with the kind of softness that made my breath catch, like a memory come to life or a dream refusing to fade.

I opened my eyes slowly, only to be met with a pair of piercing green eyes locked on mine. His gaze was warm, intimate, and somehow nostalgic—as if he'd spent lifetimes looking at me this way. A gentle smile played across his lips, one that made my heart ache with something I couldn't name. His nose brushed mine, a tender nudge that made me smile despite the confusion swirling inside me.

Then his lips began their trail—fluttering over my cheeks, down the bridge of my nose, over my forehead, and to my jawline. Each kiss was weightless, a teasing brush that sent electric tingles skating over my skin. The sensation was maddeningly soft, his breath warm as he laughed against my cheek. I giggled, squirming beneath him, my fingers curling into the sheets as he worked his slow torture.

Once he was satisfied—after covering every inch of my face from forehead to chin with those featherlight kisses—he shifted just enough to keep his body from pressing into mine completely. He braced himself with one arm, hovering over me, his presence overwhelming but not suffocating.

The smile on his face slowly faded, his expression shifting to something deeper, more serious. He braced himself with one arm, while his other hand came up to cradle my cheek. His touch was warm, steady, and achingly gentle—like he was afraid I might disappear if he held me too tightly. His thumb brushed across my skin in a slow, reassuring stroke as his gaze searched mine, heavy with unspoken words.

"You have to listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent, the kind of tone that clung to your ribs and refused to let go. His green eyes bored into mine with a look that carried more weight than just the words themselves. "He's coming after you."

I scrunched my brows in confusion, my brain trying to decipher the warning. "What? Who?" I asked, my voice hoarse and cautious.

"It's not me, Bella. But he's coming for you."

My eyes flew open as I gasped for air and bolted upright in bed. My heart thundered like war drums inside my chest. My t-shirt was soaked, clinging uncomfortably to my skin, and my sheets were tangled around my legs like vines. I clawed them off, trying to get air, trying to calm the hurricane inside me. It felt like I'd just sprinted through a battlefield rather than woken from sleep.

Each breath came in ragged gulps until finally, I managed to slow them. I leaned back against the headboard, letting the cool pillow cradle my head as I stared at the ceiling. My pulse still hadn't calmed. My skin buzzed with leftover adrenaline from a dream that felt far too real.

They were always vivid, but this one? This one had burned through me.

Aiden.

His face seemed to haunt my dreams almost nightly, like a phantom I couldn't outrun. It was slowly killing me. I couldn't save him—and my subconscious refused to let me forget it.

It had been years since the compound. Since that final moment, him standing there, electricity arcing off his body like a lightning storm, eyes full of unspoken words, as guards surrounded him. The blinding flash still haunted me. And my sister, dragging me away, kicking and screaming. I'd fought her with everything I had. I wasn't ready to leave him. But she'd been right. Staying would've meant both our deaths.

Since then, I tried to lock the memory away, bury it beneath a thousand distractions. But like clockwork, it surfaced. Night after night. And with it, came the guilt. The helplessness. The ache of what I'd lost.