Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

‘Becker.’ His name on my lips is a whimper.

The water shuts off immediately. Now the only sound is my chaotic gasps for breath. He appears, like a mirage, making my legs wobble. He looks grave, his naked body dripping wet and oozing wariness. ‘Eleanor?’ He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, coming towards me. ‘Shit, baby, what happened?’

I stagger forward on a meek cry, and he catches me, pulling me up to his body. ‘Fucking hell,’ he curses, crushing me to him and lifting me from my feet, carrying me out of the bathroom. Settling on the edge of his bed, he negotiates my body until I’m cradled in his lap and he’s whispering comforting words in my ear. ‘Shhhh.’ He cups my head in his big hand and rocks me. ‘Eleanor, princess, tell me what happened.’

‘Someone.’ I hiccup over my words, clutching his naked chest like a comfort blanket. ‘Someone was in my flat again.’

His hold of me constricts some more, his chest heaving. ‘You went back?’ He asks it as a question, despite already knowing the answer.

I nod into his chest. ‘To get some clean knickers,’ I tell him.

‘Shit, Eleanor. Why did you go there? For fuck’s sake.’ He’s really mad, and through my fright I manage to wonder why.

I pull away from his chest and find him regarding me carefully. ‘Why are you so mad with me?’

He removes me from his lap, placing me on my still unstable feet, and backs away from me, dragging his hand through his wet hair. ‘You shouldn’t have gone back.’

‘Why?’ I don’t like his stricken expression. At all.

‘It’s not safe.’

‘Why?’ I demand again, focusing on his stressed features, seeing a torn soul before me. He’s behaving oddly. What does he know? Is he hiding something?

‘It’s just not safe,’ he shouts, snatching up some grey lounge pants and yanking them on. ‘Never go back there, do you hear me?’ He gives me a determined stare, effectively pinning me in place.

‘Why?’ I whisper. It’s all I have. Why is he so angry, so stressed? What does he know?

He looks at me like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, his expression wavering between strength and defeat. He clenches his eyes shut for a few moments, gathering some fortitude, then he approaches me carefully, like someone might approach a frightened animal. He takes my shoulders and the warmth of his hold through my clothes makes everything so much better. He pushes his lips to my forehead, breathing in. ‘Trust me,’ he whispers hoarsely. His forearms wrap around my neck and pull me in, his chin resting on the top of my head. ‘Calm down,’ he soothes. ‘Just calm down, and I’ll explain.’ He holds me tight to his body like he never intends on letting me go.

‘I’m okay,’ I lie, wriggling a little until he eases up on his grip, releasing me.

My hands drag across the hot flesh of his back as I pull away. ‘You’re all wet,’ I say meekly, bringing my hands around, showing him my damp palms.

Becker gasps, his face drops, and he steps back, staring at my hands.

I frown and look down.

And stagger back.

Blood.

‘Eleanor . . .’ He barely whispers as my eyes snap to his. Why is he distancing himself? His mouth opens again, but nothing comes out. He’s just staring at my hands that are coated in a diluted mix of blood and water.

‘I don’t unders—’ My words fade to nothing, my gaze dropping to my palms again as something so unbelievable slams into my brain like a bullet, so hard it can’t be ignored. I shoot my eyes up and lunge forward, grabbing Becker’s shoulders and wrenching his body around. He puts up a fight, his face twisting, but I’m determined. ‘Turn around!’

I lose sight of his frightened hazel eyes when he squeezes them shut, and he sluggishly turns away from me, his tattoo slowly revealing itself. The lines, the grey, the shadows, the figures, and labels, they’re all there. The map is dominating his back.

But nestled between the beauty of his mammoth tattoo is something else. Something new. My lungs shrink to nothing. Lacerations. Four long slashes, weeping with blood. Four long grazes stretching from his shoulder to the middle of his back.

Scratches from fingernails.

Oh fuck.

No. Please, no

My fingernails.

I flash back to a memory of me clawing at my attacker’s back, ripping at his sweater. ‘No.’ I shove him away, retreating until my calves hit his mattress and I lose my footing. I land on the bed clumsily and instinctively start scrambling back. Becker slowly turns, and his face tells me everything I need to know. I’m not imagining this. ‘No.’ I shake my head, like I can shake myself away from here.

‘Eleanor, listen to me.’

‘No.’ My back hits the headboard. ‘No.’ If I shout it loud enough for long enough, I might snap out of my nightmare. This has to be a nightmare.