The Hunted Hunter
I grumbled, throwing a robe on to force him awake.
Maybe waking him up was well timed. He was twitching on the sofa; I don’t think it was good whatever he was dreaming about. He was shaken when he woke up. I could have and should have mocked him and continued to build that wall between us.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do more than scold The Hunter for looking at my legs. I don’t know what his nightmare was about, but given the story he told us, I can imagine several options. The most likely one is his mother’s death. So, I just left him with a snarky comment about not caring, but I did. Caine, help me. I care, I care about him.