Page 44

Wilde told me he wouldn’t be here today and that I could have the day off. I’m surprised it took him this long to get sick of carting me around, but as much as I was looking forward to a day off yesterday, today it’s not as appealing.

I don’t want to stay in this cabin, because I’m paranoid Antonio will find me, but it’s not like I know my way around this place, and it would be just my luck to wander off and get lost.

Maybe I should have asked Wilde for a lift somewhere anyway.

I’m making my way through a slice of questionable bread when I figure I might as well go and see what Queenie is doing. She has a car; maybe she has plans to go somewhere for the day.

I have to shift the heavy table away from my busted-in front door in order to open it, and when I do, the sight there makes me pause.

There’s a line of salt across the threshold.

Salt.

Is that what Lynx was doing here?

I’m careful to step over it as I walk outside and circle the house to check the windows as well. They’re all covered in the same salt line, and when I reach the back, I find a tree covered in blue glass bottles.

I remember Lynx checking a similar tree last week, and it takes me a moment to remember what he said about it. Something about catching bad spirits?

As much as I don’t believe in this stuff, the fact that he does, and he did this for me, has me feeling a bit gooey inside. The scary, psycho forest dweller has a soft side, and I think I’m tapping into it.

I’ve never been hugged the way he hugged me last night, like we were fused together. For as scared as I was, it was the first time in a long time that I actually felt safe, and as much as I might be attracted to dangerous situations, I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

I do want the adrenaline and excitement, but maybe I don’t have to put my life in danger to get it.

I reach out and run my fingers over one of the shiny bottles, unsure what the fuck was going through his mind when he did this. How does he actually think it works? Like, really? Because it’s obvious he believes it, and it makes up such a large part of who he is, but where the hell did it come from? His family? Who are they? And where are they now? How did he end up in Wilde’s End?

I’m burning with questions, and I know Booker has warned me more times than I can count not to ask, but I don’t think I’m that strong. I’m curious to a fault, and everything I learn about Lynx makes me more confused than ever. I want to pick apart his brain and figure out how he became the man who hates people but is still fiercely protective of them. Who’s scared of everything but fears nothing.

Fuck it. It’s my day off, which means I can spend it doing whatever the hell I want, and what I want is to spend it with Lynx. If it means following him around as he does whatever mundane tasks he has on for the day, then so be it. I might not get all my answers at once, but the more time I spend with him, the more he lets little pieces of himself slip.

I head back inside to grab the machete and then leave. Since Lynx kicked in the door, it doesn’t close properly, but I don’t have anything except my clothes and some food for anyone to steal, so I find a big enough rock to wedge under the front of the door to stop it from blowing open all day.

Then I head to the only place I know how to get to in Wilde’s End.

Without a car, it’ll be a decent walk, but I have all day.

And of course, he’s not fucking home.

I scrub the sweat from my forehead with a huff and thump my back against his front door. It took me two wrong turns and a shaky moment where I really thought I was lost to find this place, and now that I’m here, Lynx isn’t.

Which defeats the whole fucking purpose of coming.

I can’t wear Lynx down if he’s not here to use my tricks on. And yes, they might not be the kind of magic tricks Lynx thinks they are, but they are still tricks. I’m purposeful in how I interact and speak and use my body and expressions to lure him in. Maybe I should be ashamed of myself, but the rush of power I get when I finally win is too addictive.

I’m not going to be able to leave Wilde’s End until I’ve slept with Lynx. It’s as simple as that. I’m every bit as weak and pathetic as he always says I am, because as much as men might be easy to win over with sex, I’m no better. I need these animals to need me.

One last time, I promise myself. Lynx is the ultimate prey, and once I bring him down, no one else will ever measure up. I’ll be able to move to Portland and put all these unhealthy habits of mine behind me. Maybe find a nice guy to settle down with instead of trading myself off for the next thrill.

Heavy footsteps land on the porch, and my head snaps toward the sound, finding Bob standing there.

My face splits into a grin at the sight of the kitty. “Hey, Bobbie Bob-Bob,” I say, crouching down so he can approach.

He immediately does what I’m hoping he will and steps forward close enough that I can smother him in snuggles and kisses. He’s a complete fluffball, like one of my stuffed animals come to life, and the deep purr echoing through him calms me in a way nothing else can.

Bob headbutts my sternum until I land on my ass, then curls himself up on my lap. He’s heavy, and I can barely see past him, but I just lean back against the door and wrap my arms around his warm body. As far as days go, spending it here getting smothered by a wild animal is a decent second.

And if Bob’s back, maybe Lynx won’t be far away either.