for certain she wasn't being held underwater, or even underground, her lungs were able to open and close once more. She could breathe.
Better than that, Jack was above her, holding the metal door of the box open and staring down at her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him.
"It's you."
She would've reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real and solid, if her arms had the strength. This wasn't joy. It was stronger than that because it was like someone had taken a needle and injected her with liquid happiness. "Jack?"
Jack's hands reached in to grab her, yanking her out of the hunter's box by her arms. It hurt a lot as his strong fingers squeezed too tight on the soft flesh of her upper arms, but she didn't mind since she was at least out of that damned coffin.
She was still wearing her dress from the night before, but her heels were gone. The cement floor was cold on her bare feet, but her entire focus was fixated in on Jack's face like a homing signal was calling her to him, his hands, his body. She needed to drink in every part of him. No dream could be this detailed. She could see the bags under his eyes, that he hadn't shaved in a couple of days and needed to comb his blond hair. Or at least give it a wash.
"You...you're alive," she said.
Jack's mouth thinned. His blue eyes were frosty, and his face was solemn as he reached into the tan leather duster he wore and pulled out a set of folded papers.
With a snap, he opened them and shoved them in front of her face. The logo of the hunters was sealed in gold on the top corner. A hawk in flight.
"Do you know what this is?"
"I...yes," she said, and then stared back up into Jack's face. His blue eyes were no longer cold, but incredibly, frighteningly, angry.
The brain-cell-killing panic from before slowly started to creep back under her skin, making Cindy shiver. Her dream hadn't been a dream. Jack had attacked her, he’d put her under with the hunter’s drug of choice, and then he stuck her inside a metal box.
Maybe it was obvious, but her brain was having trouble processing everything and she asked anyway. "So, you became a hunter after all?"
Jack tucked what was essentially written permission from a judge for him to hunt and capture paranormals—and do whatever he wanted to them until they were collected—back into his inside pocket. Did he keep his badge in there, too?
He actually sneered down at her. Cindy never thought she would see such an ugly expression on his boyishly handsome face. In fact, he looked ten years older than when she'd last see him.
"So long as we're here, you're not going to speak to me unless absolutely necessary," he said as he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her along.
" Ow! Jack! What are you doing?" Cindy yelled at his too-tight grip on her sensitive flesh.
Jack squeezed even tighter. "I said don't speak . You don't get to say anything to me."
"I didn't do anything! I never hurt anyone! You know me!"
" Shut up! " Jack yelled, and he shoved her. It was so harsh and unexpected that Cindy couldn't even brace herself for it, and her back and skull hit a concrete wall.
It hurt. A lot. Jack was strong. He always had been. Cindy yelled out from the pain as she slid down to the floor, clutching her throbbing head. She wasn't bleeding, but she couldn't stop her breathing from picking up either.
She panted for air like she was back inside of that box as she shook her head.
This couldn't be real. This wasn't her Jack, the Jack who got offended when a man didn't so much as open the door for a woman, or help another guy get his car started when he was stuck on the highway. He would never do this to her.
Cindy had to brush her hair out of her face. It was all over the place now, and a dull, painful ache started up at the back of her head that got stronger and stronger. Jack was staring down at her, his bright blue eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted.
Whatever that expression was vanished fast as he kneeled down and
Better than that, Jack was above her, holding the metal door of the box open and staring down at her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him.
"It's you."
She would've reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real and solid, if her arms had the strength. This wasn't joy. It was stronger than that because it was like someone had taken a needle and injected her with liquid happiness. "Jack?"
Jack's hands reached in to grab her, yanking her out of the hunter's box by her arms. It hurt a lot as his strong fingers squeezed too tight on the soft flesh of her upper arms, but she didn't mind since she was at least out of that damned coffin.
She was still wearing her dress from the night before, but her heels were gone. The cement floor was cold on her bare feet, but her entire focus was fixated in on Jack's face like a homing signal was calling her to him, his hands, his body. She needed to drink in every part of him. No dream could be this detailed. She could see the bags under his eyes, that he hadn't shaved in a couple of days and needed to comb his blond hair. Or at least give it a wash.
"You...you're alive," she said.
Jack's mouth thinned. His blue eyes were frosty, and his face was solemn as he reached into the tan leather duster he wore and pulled out a set of folded papers.
With a snap, he opened them and shoved them in front of her face. The logo of the hunters was sealed in gold on the top corner. A hawk in flight.
"Do you know what this is?"
"I...yes," she said, and then stared back up into Jack's face. His blue eyes were no longer cold, but incredibly, frighteningly, angry.
The brain-cell-killing panic from before slowly started to creep back under her skin, making Cindy shiver. Her dream hadn't been a dream. Jack had attacked her, he’d put her under with the hunter’s drug of choice, and then he stuck her inside a metal box.
Maybe it was obvious, but her brain was having trouble processing everything and she asked anyway. "So, you became a hunter after all?"
Jack tucked what was essentially written permission from a judge for him to hunt and capture paranormals—and do whatever he wanted to them until they were collected—back into his inside pocket. Did he keep his badge in there, too?
He actually sneered down at her. Cindy never thought she would see such an ugly expression on his boyishly handsome face. In fact, he looked ten years older than when she'd last see him.
"So long as we're here, you're not going to speak to me unless absolutely necessary," he said as he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her along.
" Ow! Jack! What are you doing?" Cindy yelled at his too-tight grip on her sensitive flesh.
Jack squeezed even tighter. "I said don't speak . You don't get to say anything to me."
"I didn't do anything! I never hurt anyone! You know me!"
" Shut up! " Jack yelled, and he shoved her. It was so harsh and unexpected that Cindy couldn't even brace herself for it, and her back and skull hit a concrete wall.
It hurt. A lot. Jack was strong. He always had been. Cindy yelled out from the pain as she slid down to the floor, clutching her throbbing head. She wasn't bleeding, but she couldn't stop her breathing from picking up either.
She panted for air like she was back inside of that box as she shook her head.
This couldn't be real. This wasn't her Jack, the Jack who got offended when a man didn't so much as open the door for a woman, or help another guy get his car started when he was stuck on the highway. He would never do this to her.
Cindy had to brush her hair out of her face. It was all over the place now, and a dull, painful ache started up at the back of her head that got stronger and stronger. Jack was staring down at her, his bright blue eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted.
Whatever that expression was vanished fast as he kneeled down and