“Yeah, poor guy was skin and bones. He had one eye swollen shut, and he looked at me like I was a monster. Whatever human he had been around before didn’t treat him right.” He sets the cigarette on the can he’s using as an ashtray and leans down to rub Ares’ face with both hands. “When it was obvious that he wasn’t going to come to me, I went back in the station and grabbed someone’s half-eaten sandwich from the refrigerator. Even then, it took another hour to get him to trust me enough to take the food. Almost froze my balls off.” He winces. “But once he ate, he let me get close enough to wrap him in my jacket and get him in the car.”
I look down at Ares, his thick brindle fur and soft brown eyes. I feel even worse about what happened in the fire.
“When I got him back home and into the light, I realized he was filthy and covered in fleas. So I bathed him, gave him a little more food, and just talked to him until he was comfortable.”
“And now he looks at you like you’re the most important person in the world.”
He laughs and scratches behind the dog's ears. “Eh, he knows who feeds him, that’s all.”
It’s not all, I know that for sure. Hunter, whose hands want to hurt more than help, bonded with this sweet creature that just needed a home. I look at his face. “He made you less lonely.”
“He kind of did.”
He bends, hand searching for something under the desk. When Ares sees the stuffed owl, he starts to wag his tail. Hunter gives the happy dog the toy, who takes it in his mouth and crosses the room to hop on the couch.
“How come I’ve never seen you smoke anywhere else?” I ask.
“I try to limit it,” he says, inspecting the smoke curling off the tip. “In case you haven’t heard, it’s not good for you.”
“Then why do it at all?” Hunter’s fit. I know he and Damon work out in the gym over in the dormitory with the other guys. I’ve seen his body and I know he takes care with what he eats. So, why the cigarettes? That’s what I want to know.
He considers, like he’s deciding whether I get this piece of him.Finally he leans back, the hand holding the cigarette resting on the counter.
“Since I had some experience in radio and was willing to work the graveyard shift, they offered me this shift. No one else wants to talk to the void every night.” His lip quirks. “But I wasn’t very skilled with the conversation part. I knew how to cue the board, ride the gain, keep the levels clean. But chatting to myself? Nah.”
He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and inhales, letting his words and smoke fill the room.
“I stole my roommate’s pack on the way out the door that first night. No fucking idea why. I think I knew I was going to have to be someone different the minute that mic came on. I couldn’t just be all in my head, fixated on math and physics formulas. I had to become someone new. A voice. A persona.” He meets my eyes, measuring for judgment.
There’s none there. I’m fascinated.
“And apparently the guy who hosts Royal Noir smokes.”
“I’ve never done it,” I admit. “Smoked.”
“Good.” He flicks ash into the can. “It’s a filthy habit.”
“Could you show me how?”
His brows pull together, like he thinks he misheard me.
“Hex–”
“Please,” I say softly. “I never got to do all the things normal girls got to do. I was locked up in Strong Manor preparing for…” Well, the King. For him. For a life I had no idea how to live.
Something shifts behind his eyes and he exhales through his nose and looks at the cigarette like it’s the problem. Then back at me.
“Once,” he says. “You hate it, we’re done.”
I nod immediately.
He taps ash into the can and brings it toward me, stopping just short of my mouth. Close enough I can smell it, dry heat and paper and something bitter underneath.
“Don’t inhale,” he says. “Not at first. Just draw it into your mouth.”
I lean in.
The filter brushes my lower lip and he stills, just a fraction, like that contact landed somewhere it shouldn’t.
