In Between Seasons

Chapter 28

The trouble with being mad at Hunter was the fact I really couldn't be. He hadn't purposely done anything wrong, and even if he had, he was probably right about what he was doing. Although his motives often seemed foggy, he was usually right in his reasoning. I just couldn't stay mad at him especially after a day of reading Jane Austen. I heard the commotion outside the window of the library and looked down to see the men flooding out of the forest. They were pushing and joking around with one another, glad to be out of Hunter's intense training session, while I was looking forward to one under the coming moon. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the negativity of the common room before placing my book back on the shelf and heading out the door.

"There you are!" Mara called as she moved over to make room for me on the couch. "I was curious if you'd join us at all today. I'm starting to think you don't like us!"

"I just got caught up in a book, sorry," I replied, shrugging and taking the seat she offered.

Mara's lips twitched as she gave a knowing smile. She didn't believe me, and I was fine with that.

"The men are playing poker tonight," Mara explained with a nod over her shoulder. "I bet most of us could kick their asses at it, though."

"Right," I replied, trying to keep the stupid, what the hell is poker, look off my face.

"They have nothing to bet," Mara continued as she picked at her hot pink toe nails.

"They're all the same," Amy interrupted as she came and sat on the coffee table in front of us.

Mara rolled her eyes and stood. "Someone's miserable again—I'll go get some snacks."

I was surprised Amy would make nice with me, but I knew there had to be a motive. I still caved into the curiosity of the moment.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look at my arm," she said, her voice low as she raised her shirt sleeve to show the purple and blue mark staining her skin.

"He hits you?" I asked, letting my eyes widen in mock shock.

It wasn't really a surprise the power hungry men with self-esteem issues beat their wives. Despite its contriteness, and her attitude, my stomach knotted at the idea. I didn't like the idea of anyone being hurt, especially not by someone trained to kill.

"They're all arrogant assholes." She lowered her shirt as she glanced over her shoulder and then back to me. "Self-serving pricks."

I looked over my shoulder at the wasted bottles of beer and men. Hunter stood out against them as he sat playing with the top of his bottled water.

The men burst out in laughter, and I saw Hunter's eyes darken but laughter came out of his mouth, too. It was fake and painful for me to hear when I heard his real laughter so often myself.

"I bet they're talking about one of their wives—some sick perverted joke," Amy said as she grinded her teeth. "At least you don't have to pretend to be in love with him. You're a POW not a POM."

"POM?"

"Prisoner of marriage."

"You never loved him?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder at her husband. He was a towering man with bleach blonde hair and a square jaw. He looked intimidating but very stupid. He reminded me of the men Hunter fought from the McCleary Tribe.

"Look at him!" She widened her eyes as if it was so obvious, but I didn't get what she thought was attractive. "I thought I was in love with him, but I was just in love with his arrogance and good looks. I guess it's the classic cheerleader meets jock thing," Amy finished with a slight shrug.