The night he hunts
1167 Words
Chapter 7
The Night He Hunts
I did not sleep after Ryder left.
How could I?
The house still carried his presence—heavy, controlled, impossible to ignore. His coffee mug sat on the counter. His jacket hung over a chair. The air smelled faintly of leather, soap, and the kind of danger that didn’t knock before entering.
Outside, the roar of motorcycles had faded into silence.
That silence felt worse.
I paced the living room in borrowed socks while Daisy snored upstairs like the world was perfectly safe.
Children were strange.
Or maybe Ryder had taught her safety looked like chaos.
My phone sat face down on the table.
Off.
Dead to me.
I hadn’t wanted to see another message from Marcus. I hadn’t wanted to know what kind of fury Ryder might be walking into because of me.
Because of me.
The guilt sat sharp in my chest.
If I had never moved here…
If I had never knocked once on his wall…
If I had kept my problems where they belonged—
The front door opened.
I jumped so hard I nearly screamed.
Ryder stepped inside.
Alone.
His shirt was gone.
My breath caught.
A black T-shirt now hung from one shoulder, half torn. Fresh bruises darkened his ribs. There was blood on his knuckles, blood at the corner of his mouth, and a cut above one eyebrow.
He shut the door calmly behind him.
Like men came home bleeding every night.
“Oh my God.”
He looked at me once.
“I told you to sleep.”
I stared. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are literally dripping on the floor.”
He glanced down at the blood on his hand.
“Floor’s tough.”
I was already moving before I thought better of it.
Bathroom.
Towels.
First aid kit.
When I came back, he was sitting at the kitchen table like a king on a battlefield throne, one forearm resting on the wood, eyes half-shadowed.
I dropped the supplies in front of him.
“Sit still.”
One brow lifted. “Bossy.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Still bossy.”
I ignored him and wet a cloth.
The second I touched the cut on his eyebrow, he hissed.
“Does that hurt?” I asked.
“No.”
“You just made a sound.”
“That was annoyance.”
“At me?”
“At life.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
I cleaned the blood from his face carefully.
Up close, he was unfairly beautiful.
Harsh jaw. Thick lashes. A scar near his temple I hadn’t noticed before. A mouth made for sinful things and terrible moods.
My fingers trembled.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“You scared for me?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“Liar.”
I dabbed harder at the cut.
He didn’t flinch.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I sent a message.”
“To Marcus?”
“Yes.”
My stomach twisted. “Is he—”
“Alive.”
The word came clipped.
“For now.”
I lowered the cloth slowly.
“You can’t just beat people because you’re angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
I stared at him.
He met my gaze without blinking.
“I was focused.”
That was somehow worse.
I moved to his knuckles next.
They were swollen and split.
“You need stitches.”
“I need coffee.”
“You need a hospital.”
“I hate hospitals.”
“You’re impossible.”
His mouth tilted slightly.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The woman who forgets to be scared of me.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
I looked away first.
Big mistake.
My gaze dropped to his chest.
Bare skin. Hard muscle. Bruises blooming across his torso. Ink winding over one shoulder and down his arm.
A wolf.
Its eyes were pale blue.
Just like his.
“You staring, neighbor?”
I snapped my eyes back to his face.
“No.”
“Another lie.”
I stood abruptly. “I’m getting ice.”
His hand caught my wrist.
Everything inside me stopped.
His grip wasn’t rough.
Just firm.
Warm.
Impossible to ignore.
“Thank you,” he said.
The words were low, almost reluctant.
I blinked. “For what?”
“For patching me up.”
“You got hurt because of me.”
His expression darkened instantly.
“No.”
The single word hit hard.
“This is because of Marcus.”
“You went after him for me.”
“I went after him because he touched something he shouldn’t.”
My pulse stumbled.
“Ryder…”
He released my wrist slowly.
Then leaned back in the chair like the conversation meant nothing.
But his jaw was tight.
“What exactly did you do to him?” I asked.
“Broke his hand.”
I froze.
“You what?”
“He uses it to text too much.”
I stared in horror.
Then in disbelief.
Then—
I laughed.
A full, helpless laugh that burst out before I could stop it.
Ryder went still again.
Watching me.
Like laughter from me was a rarer thing than blood.
“You’re insane,” I said.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Daisy padded into the kitchen in star pajamas, hair wild.
She yawned, saw Ryder, and sighed dramatically.
“You bit someone again.”
“I did not bite anyone.”
She pointed at his bloody mouth.
“Then why are you messy?”
I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh again.
Ryder looked at me.
Then at Daisy.
Then at the ceiling like patience was a myth.
“Bed,” he said.
She climbed into his lap instead.
All six feet of terrifying biker king went soft instantly.
His huge hand supported the back of her head. His voice dropped.
“Troublemaker.”
She curled against him. “Did you fix Ava’s bad man?”
His eyes lifted to mine over Daisy’s hair.
“Working on it.”
Something dangerous and tender moved through me at once.
I should have run from men like Ryder.
Instead, I was standing in his kitchen, holding bandages, wondering what it would feel like if those rough hands touched me gently.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
All warmth vanished.
Ryder reached it first.
He looked at the screen.
Then his face became ice.
“What?” I whispered.
He turned the phone toward me.
A photo filled the screen.
My house.
Taken from outside.
Just now.
And beneath it, one message.
YOU CAN HIDE IN HIS HOUSE. I’LL STILL TAKE YOU HOME.
My knees nearly gave out.
Ryder stood.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Then he looked at me and said the most terrifying thing yet.
“Pack a bag.”
“Why?”
“Because now,” he said, reaching for his gun, “you’re moving into my room.”
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