The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

Chapter 2

"Here is your room," you whispered.

You lifted the heavy lead key to the lock, turning it until it clicked loudly, and pushed the door open. You winced when it creaked as it slowly swung open and sneered when the floorboards creaked under your feet. You stepped aside and looked back at the man before back at the room, your gaze following his larger form as he slowly entered the room and looked around himself.

"This is a nice lil' inn ya got here, darlin'," he smiled.

"I'll bring you dinner when nobody is watching the kitchen and some clean water and rags so you can clean yourself up," you promised softly.

"When do ya want me outta here?" he cocked a brow.

He lifted his leather satchel up and set it by the foot of the bed.

"They do not come up here if nobody rents a room for the night. You can slip back downstairs when the evening arrives, slip into the drunken crowd and leave then if you wish."

"Sounds like a plan, darlin'," he smirked.

You watched him reach up and lift his leather hat off of his head, chocolate brown locks flying down only to end in a leather strap tying the ends together. He wandered over to the wooden chair in the corner and placed his hat on the table next to it. He slipped his trenchcoat off of his broad shoulders, revealing a cotton shirt stretching over thick muscles and a broad chest. He didn't even fold his trenchcoat, simply tossing it over the back of the wooden chair as he kicked off both of his boots and slipping his gloves off of his hands. You noticed the small scars on his bare hands, white scars on tanned skin stood out the most to you.
He unbuckled his belt and gun holster, placing it right next to hat on the table, kicking his boots under the table and slapping his gloves down onto the surface of the chair.

You gripped the handle of the door and stepped away from the door, eyeing the end of the hallway at the chests lining the wall before turning your gaze back to the man.

"Would you like a wax candle? A lantern? A Bible and cross and rosary for the night so you may pray?" you offered.

"Just the lantern, darlin'," he gazed over his broad shoulder to look at you. "I got my own."

He reached into his leather satchel and produced a thick, worn out Bible covered with some knicks and scratches in the old leather, a wooden rosary roughened up with time and a near empty glass bottle of holy water. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a silver cross medallion tied to a loose strap of leather around his neck.

"As you wish," you nodded.

You started down the hallway, stopping by the wooden stairs to quickly gaze down just in case someone had noticed you were not either outside nor in one of the side rooms, but turned towards the chests and started walking again.

Producing another lead key, you opened the farthest right chest and retrieved a metal lantern with a halfway melted candle still inside. You reached back in and took a small box of tinder matches and slipped them into the pocket of your apron before locking the chest closed.

As you walked back, you slipped a match from the box and quickly flicked it across the rough metal surface of the lantern, striking a small flame that lit the already burnt wicker. You walked into the man's room, placing the lantern down on the empty dresser by the door and placed the box of tinder matches next to it.

"Do you have any preference of food?" you questioned him.

The man shook his head and ran his thumb over the rosary beads, whispering prayers to himself.

"Something that ain't alive," he smirked at you.

You nodded and looked back down the hallway, trying to recollect your thoughts and try to remember what you could steal from behind the bar and manage to sneak up the stairs.