Spirit

She hesitated. Suddenly he was closer.

“The problem is,” he said, “I just can’t figure out what.”

And then, before she had an answer, he was moving away.

God, he was making her insane.

She went after him. “Are you always this direct?”

“Saves time.”

She felt breathless, like he’d snatched control of this little interlude and was now playing keep-away with it. “I can’t even figure out whether you’re mad at me.”

She’d thrown a little plea into her voice, but he didn’t turn. “You’re not fooling me,” he said.

“I’m not trying to fool you.”

“Trust me, Kate, I know a lot about using people.”

What did that mean? She stared after him for a moment, watching him walk. He moved like a jungle cat, all purposeful, calculated motion—wrapped up in fluid grace.

She chased after him again. “I don’t get you,” she said. “Are you interested or not?”

“Not.” He kept walking.

“Liar.”

He lifted a hand in a halfhearted wave—but didn’t even look back.

“Running from a girl?” she called.

He ignored her. So she went after him for real, grabbing his arm from behind and trying to spin him.

Even though she’d seen him fight before, his speed was a surprise. He used her spin to grab her arm. Her defense training kicked in, letting her drop enough to twist free and send an elbow into his gut.

Or it would have been, if he hadn’t deflected her arm. He blocked her next strike and caught her wrist, twisting it to pin it behind her back and pull her close.

Then he didn’t strike back. His eyes were dark, and he held her against his chest.

She stared up at him, feeling his chest rise and fall against hers. His fingers were gentle on her arms, sending little bolts of electricity along her skin. She’d only ever felt strength like this with pain behind it.

Gentleness was new.

“You’ve got some nice moves,” he said.

“Thanks. I was going easy.”

He smiled, but instead of humor it was a little sad.

“Let me go,” she said. “I’ll prove it.”

He let her go. “I really don’t want to play, Kate.”

But she swung a fist anyway, throwing real strength into it. He blocked and trapped her arm, but she twisted free to aim a high kick into his ribs.

She wasn’t ready for him to catch her ankle and take her to the ground.

He pinned her there, but he was smiling. “Still going easy?”

Her breathing was too quick. She almost wished he wouldn’t let her go.

But he did. The smile slid off his face, and he backed up to stand.

She launched herself off the ground to punch him in the stomach, using all of her momentum. Then a leg sweep. He went down.

She was straddling his chest before he could move.

“I can throw you off,” he said.

“But you won’t.” She felt breathless and exhilarated and wished he would. She loved the feel of his hands, the way his power sparked against her skin, the way she felt him in her space.

Hunter smiled. His eyes studied her face, and she knew she was flushed. Her heart was almost louder than the music from the carnival.

Crap. The carnival. She glanced around. Silver was probably watching.

Hunter felt the change. Kate watched his smile fade. “Get up, Kate. I wasn’t kidding. I don’t want to play.”

The Merricks could wait for fifteen minutes.

She put her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him, feeling her hair fall along her face. “Where’d you really learn to fight like that?”

“My father. Where did you learn?”

“My mother took me to some guy who lived in a barn and slaughtered animals to make cured beef. He taught me.”

“Now that’s a touching story.”

She wondered what he’d say if she told him the whole story, how every night Roland had come after her with the same knives he used on the beef.

She wondered why Hunter didn’t know who Roland was. She’d been told that every Guide went to Roland first.

If Roland broke you, you were out.

Hunter was still looking at her. Either he was the greatest frigging actor in the world, or he didn’t know what he was.

Or what she was.

She smiled. “He taught me enough to bring you down, didn’t he?”

Hunter gave her a look, like he was merely tolerating her weight on his chest. “What did your dad think of the slaughterhouse treatment?”

“He didn’t think much about it at all.” She paused and shrugged. “I never knew my father.”

“Divorce?”

“Nope, my mom said she got what she needed out of him.” She raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Get it?”

He frowned and reached up a hand to push a strand of hair out of her eyes.

Such a simple touch, but her breath caught.

She knocked his hand away. She couldn’t take simple touches right now—this was throwing her all off balance. Was she really talking about her mother?

Kate leaned closer to Hunter. “How about a ride?” she whispered.

Hunter’s eyebrows went way up.

She pointed at where lights rose high above the ground, blues and yellows and reds. “Ferris wheel?”

He looked like he was going to refuse.

“Come on,” she said. “Don’t make me kick your ass again.”

He pushed the hair back off his face and sighed.

She put her forehead down to his, until she could feel the rings in his eyebrows, until his breath was warm on her lips. “Don’t make me stare at you.”

He smiled—but pushed her shoulders back until she was sitting upright.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She smiled and rolled off of him. “You have no idea.”

Hunter pulled the door closed and latched it with the little chain. The air whispered to him about the oil of the machinery, the sweat of the college kid checking the latch, and the apple and cinnamon spice of Kate’s lotion or shampoo or whatever.

He didn’t want to admit how much he’d liked their scuffle behind the booths.

It was such a contradiction to the argument with Michael, or the confrontation with his grandfather.

She’d said she was going easy, but she’d aimed hard. He’d had to use true effort to deflect without hurting her, nothing like when he practiced with Becca, or fought with Gabriel. Finding a perfect balance took mental energy and forced clarity, and it was nice to put his worry aside for one minute of the night.

He shouldn’t even be at this stupid carnival. None of them should. But what was the alternative? Sitting around the Merrick house listening to Gabriel’s scanner app? Waiting for Guides to come to town again?

Everyone else had a girlfriend. Hunter had clung to the shadows, looking for Calla. She hadn’t made good on her promise yet—but it was only a matter of time.

And then he’d seen Kate.

He shouldn’t have said a word to her.

But every time she crossed his path, he couldn’t stop thinking of those flirting texts, the way she’d been in class that first day.

Here he was trying to protect the whole county from a psychotic pyromaniac, and he couldn’t stop thinking about one random girl.

“You okay?”

He glanced over. Kate was curled onto the bench, her bright hair flashing with the colored lights on the Ferris wheel supports. She looked so perfect, like an angel trapped in this steel car with him, her trendy clothes so at odds with his piercings and rough-cut hair.

It reminded him of Michael’s comment about the picture.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You were glaring at that bar like you wanted to snap it.” She gestured out at the night sky, where stars hung high above, bright in the crisp air. “It’s a beautiful night.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“I know.” She paused. “Want to spill?”

He sighed. For a split-second, he was tempted.

Then Kate shifted closer. “Why don’t you tell me about Calla Dean?”

His head snapped around.

Kate shrugged. “I heard you had a bad relationship with her.”

His jaw tightened. “You heard wrong.”

“Why would she say it?”

“Because she’s—” He stopped himself.

“Because she’s what? A bitch?”

“No. Because she’s nuts.” He made a circular motion at his temple, feeling the pulsing pain of a headache there. “Certifiable.”

“She seemed pretty lucid to me.”

“I guess sometimes you just don’t know about people.” He looked away.

Silence hung in the car for a while, and he looked out at the other students milling around the carnival grounds. Chris and Gabriel were shooting hoops now at a booth, Layne and Becca laughing with them. He didn’t see Nick and Quinn anywhere.

Then he spotted Layne’s little brother, Simon, at the balloon popping booth, tossing darts with a girl who looked like a freshman. Hunter smiled.

Then some guys he didn’t recognize walked over and got in Simon’s face.

“Jesus,” Hunter muttered.

“You know them?” said Kate.

“Yeah. Hold on.” He fished out his phone and shot off a text to Gabriel.

Help Simon at the balloon booth. I’m stuck on the wheel.

He watched to make sure Gabriel received the text, then relaxed when he saw all four of them head off to help Simon.

“He’s deaf,” Hunter explained to Kate. “He gets a lot of crap for it.”

She was watching him with a bemused expression on her face. “That’s nice of you.” She paused. “I didn’t think you liked that Gabriel guy.”

“Yeah, well . . .” He paused. “It’s a long story.” Then he realized something. “You can tell him apart from his brother?”

She looked startled for the barest second. “Well—his brother’s dating the blonde, right?”

The Ferris wheel stopped to let more people on, and they hung suspended at the three o’clock position.

“Yeah,” he said.

“So . . .” Kate started. “You’re in a love-hate bromance with Gabriel Merrick, you’ve got mixed feelings about this Calla chick—”

“Why don’t we talk about something else?”

She leaned back against the wall of the car. “Like what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You said no games. Who’s the guy in the pickup truck?”

“His name is Silver.” She paused. “He’s a friend.”

Like he would buy that now, after hearing about Quinn’s comments. “Do you make out with all your friends?”

“Only the hot ones.”

He snorted again and looked away.

“Why?” she said. “Interested?”

His pulse jumped, but he had no tolerance for bluffing. He met her gaze head on. “Sure.”

And then she was straddling his lap. The car rocked forcefully, and he swore and caught her automatically, one arm going around her waist, one arm catching the bar for support.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and she didn’t let him go, laughing a little as she pressed her lips to his.

He sucked in a breath and pulled away.

She took it in stride and kissed the spot just below his ear. “Startled you, did I?”

He was very aware of her body and the way she still pressed against him. This was very different from the fight behind the tents. He wanted to move, to push her away, but he was pretty sure his hands would betray him and go the other direction.

Her fingers were still in his hair, her breath against his earlobe, and it was making it hard to think straight.