Fourteen
It was dawn by the time they got back to Astley Manor. The trio shivered against the cold of the morning as they staggered into the entrance hall. There they stood, all unsure of what to do, how to act next.
James was the first to speak, his voice shaking with his own sorrow. "Hunter... do you want to, er, talk?"
"Will talking bring Charlotte back?" Hunter asked in a dead voice. His tired eyes looked up at James. "No, I didn't think so. I don't want to talk."
Hunter sighed and pushed past the others, disappearing into the recesses of the mansion.
Sophie went to follow him, but hesitated, every part of her uncertain. "Should I... is there anything I could do?"
"No." James snapped, then shrugged. "Sorry. But I think we should leave him for a while."
They stood in the hall for several long, silent minutes before James broke the silence again. "Perhaps you should just go to bed, you've had one hell of a night." He suggested, moving off up the staircase himself. One hell of a night for all of them. Christ.
Hunter had wandered into the sitting room, where a fire crackled in the grate. He’d been standing here only twelve hours ago, yet so much had happened.
“Oh, so you all decided to come back then?” A familiarly sharp voice came from the doorway, “I swear you use Hallowe’en as an excuse for all night frivolities, as Young did.”
“Not now, mother.” Hunter said through gritted teeth as he turned to face the bitter little woman.
“Oh dear, what happened?” Mrs Astley asked, somehow managing to make a possibly caring question sound harsh and spiteful.
“Charlotte. They killed Charlotte.” Hunter turned away as his eyes filled with tears. Oh God, why her. He felt as though he’d lost a reason to live. The Shadow Witch was right about him, he was weak because he cared.
Mrs Astley sat down and looked at her son carefully. “Charlotte? That black girl you were infatuated with at university? Well there’s no point blaming yourself, everyone dies and you know that.”
“I do blame myself, it’s my fault mother. All because I loved her.” Hunter felt a pang of regret, he’d never openly told Charlotte he loved her. He had stood back and watched her marry someone else and never said a thing. There was no point lying about it anymore.
“Don’t start fretting over it, George. Anyway, she would never have been a suitable wife. Good heavens, could you imagine a coloured mistress of Astley Manor?”
Normally Hunter would ignore any and all comments from his ignorantly racist mother, no matter how foul, but anger still throbbed in his veins.
“Shut UP, you miserable old bag. Charlotte deserves respect, and as master of this house I will throw you out if you do not hold your tongue!”
Mrs Astley looked affronted, unused to her son being so reactive. She stood up suddenly. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner. Have Charles send tea up to my rooms. And we shall speak when you have calmed down and remembered your manners.”
Hunter watched his mother leave the room. She was an irritating, narrow-minded…
He took a deep breath, his mother had never liked Charlotte, so her reaction hadn’t surprised him. What was surprising was the raw energy of anger that refused to leave his otherwise numb body. Even though he’d not slept that night, he did not feel tired. He wanted to run, to fight, to do something other than give in to grief - and this anger whispered to him that he could. Yet his legs seemed not to respond.
He didn’t know how long he stood there alone, leaning against the fireplace, his knuckles turned white in their fierce grip of the mantelpiece. But he couldn’t feel it. He could not feel the heat from the fire burning his legs. It seemed that nothing now registered beyond the forlorn pounding of bitterness and repetitive thoughts that filled his mind.
“Hunter?” Sophie’s voice broke through as she hovered by the door. But the figure by the fire made no comment, nor even recognised her presence. “George, please.”
Sophie moved quietly towards him.
“She’s dead.” Hunter said in a harsh burst, finally turning to face Sophie. “Charlotte’s dead. I couldn’t save her. Never, never has my job - if I can’t protect those I love… And I’m up against a Shadow.”
“You should have killed her when she was in me. You could have ended it right there.”
When Hunter looked at her he was surprised to see guilt and sadness in that normally cold face and icy hazel eyes. “I could never have killed you, though.”
He stepped forward and took her in his arms, his lips pressing against hers, driven not by lust but utter despair.
Sophie pushed him away immediately, and when she spoke there was a warning plea in her voice. “Hunter, don’t.”
Hunter paused, his thoughts catching up with his actions. But his heart was beating and his breath coursed his lungs. This he could feel. He stepped towards her again.
“Then tell me you don’t want me.” He said softly, wrapping his arms about her elegant frame. His lips found hers again, and this time he felt Sophie yield to his embrace.
*****
It was the morning after the night before. That’s how they described it, wasn’t it? That period of time when rash, passionate actions were shown by the harsh light of day, provoking regret, guilt, and possibly embarrassment.
Hunter awoke early to a still-darkened room. He felt oddly calm, as though the stress, grief and rage of the last two days had, if not dulled, been pushed back to a more manageable perspective.
Hunter shifted his body slowly to sit up. In bed next to him Sophie was still sleeping soundly. He watched her for several long minutes, even in the half-light before dawn she was beautiful, and there was something softer, more serene about her face while she slept. He supposed it had to do with her chill and sharp intellect being reserved for dreams and out of his reach.
He moved slowly so as not to wake her, slipping out of bed and pulling on any old clothes before going downstairs. The rest of the house was still sleeping and as Charles hadn’t lit the morning fires yet, the Manor was cold.
Hunter made his way to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. He sat at the counter, nursing the steaming mug. He waited for the regret to kick in. In general Hunter enjoyed women and never worried about hurt feelings, he never hung around long enough. But Sophie was, well, a friend - and in a moment when he’d been mad with loss he had used her.
Although ashamed about the circumstances, he didn’t regret it, nor did he want to scarper. He hated to admit it, but everyone had been right: he wanted her, cold, unyielding, frustrating Sophie.
Strangely he did feel guilt. That after professing to love Charlotte for so long, he suddenly dared to have a new focus in his life when he should be concerned with mourning.
It was over an hour later when Hunter gained company. Sophie hovered in the doorway.
“Morning.” She said quietly, for once looking completely uncertain.
“Morning.” Hunter echoed.
Sophie made herself a drink then sat opposite Hunter, her gaze averted. They sat in an increasingly uncomfortable silence.
“Look.” Hunter finally started. “I wanted to apologise. My behaviour yesterday was unforgivable; I should never have taken advantage of you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” The single sound was the only reply Sophie could muster. She stared down at her hands, frowning as per usual.
‘Oh’? Hunter was used to much wittier and informative responses from Sophie. He didn’t like not knowing where he stood with her, he’d rather face her anger than try to be sufficed with a little ‘Oh’.
The silence grew and Sophie offered nothing more, her face dark with her private thoughts. Oh dear, this was uncomfortable, bordering on embarrassing. Hunter didn’t deal with that sort of thing, especially when work was likely to be involved. If Sophie didn’t want him, Hunter would have to rethink this living and working arrangement.
Sophie stared into her the steaming coffee, her fingers gripping the mug so tightly that they were turning white.
"That's fine. I understand that you just needed a distraction. So glad to prove useful." She finally answered bitterly, her eyes snapped up to him, cold and furious.
Hunter was a little shocked by her response and sat quietly, his early morning brain trying to catch up. And poor Sophie took his silence as agreement. She sighed, muttering something beneath her breath and sliding off the stool, only thinking of taking her coffee to the privacy of her own room.
"Is that really what you think?" Hunter asked, standing up to block her way out of the kitchen. "That you were just convenient and distracting?"
Sophie reluctantly met his gaze, her anger fading and replaced by what had caused it - fear of the unknown.
Hunter reached out, gently catching her by the arm to stop her from bolting. "I'd never dare think so low of you, Sophie. In fact, the truth is that I think about you more than I should, and I am only sorry that it took the shock of hallowe'en to make me act."
Sophie just continued to stare up at him, her breath increasing in rate, as her eyes dilated as her agitation grew. Obviously Hunter's new answer was no more welcome that his previous one. But then it was suddenly as if she made a decision, to take the risk and the consequences. Sophie leant in closer towards Hunter and kissed him hesitantly.
Sensing that she was no longer about to hit him or storm out, Hunter kissed her back, pulling her in til he could feel the warmth of her body and -
And then he pulled back sharply, swearing and shaking his hand where he'd spilt the hot coffee she'd been nursing so protectively. Hunter shook his head at how smoothly that had gone, then chuckled at an afterthought.
"James is not going to like this." He said guiltily, not wanting to think how uncomfortable his best friend would be feeling. Hunter smiled at Sophie, taking her hot drink from her and setting it firmly on the side before trying that kiss again.