I stumble back with a wince when I collide with something solid.
There's no pain but I'm rubbing my forehead, looking up to find the two hefty men clothed in all-black attires blocking my path. Their countenance is forbidding, much like Dad Griffin's, although they're Hunter's bodyguards.
I glance past them to find Hunter still at the counter, so close yet far to reach.
He's slipping from my fingers again and I can do nothing. Nothing. I haven't fought a girl, so why try with two giants? I'll just find a better way to talk with him. Or not talk with him at all even though curiosity gnaws at me.
I hate being kept in the dark. And the more Hunter avoids me, the more I want to understand why, even as he isn't allowing me to do so.
Turning to leave, I'm stunned when the two men grab each of my arms. Their strong hands wrap completely around my arm, tight and painful.
"Fucking let me go!" I scream, struggling to no avail until I end up outside the mansion, thrown into the damn snow.
I watch the men retreat into the hall before I catch Dad Griffin standing at the entrance, his scowl a gelid token of the cruelty I've been dealt.
The man definitely did this. I thought he kept a long sword between us, but maybe he pulled it just long enough to reach me whenever he wanted.
"I hope you shit your pants," I mutter with gritting teeth, my hands digging into the snow and forming tight fists that shape snowballs as Dad Griffin disappears into the hall.
I remain crouched on all fours between two parked cars, disregarding the creeping frost that would soon bite at my hands and knees.
Guests and guards loiter about. Thankfully, the paparazzi have been forced to leave, which is quite relieving. It'd be terrible if this moment trends online.
When I feel hands brush my shoulders, I'm thinking it's any of Morton's friends who sat with him against a light pole by the road. So, my instinct kicks in.
I spring to my feet and hurl the snowballs at the intruder who fluidly dodges them while raising his hands in surrender. I abruptly stop.
That's nothing close to Morton's friends; the latter isn't so fancy to keep people like this around for long. Yet, my stance is defensive, ready to strike again.
I notice how the intruder looks nearly as tall as Hunter. And his black, chin-length hair would have covered his face if a red headband wasn't holding it to the sides.
His tight skin seems to glow, and his facial muscles are defined. Yet, the precise scar slicing vertically across his right eye is what gives him an aura of fatal allure.
"I don't like being touched without permission," I hiss.
The man smirks nevertheless—ballsy for someone who nearly had snowflakes in his damn eyes.
"I'm Zavere. I do not hurt ladies," he says, his voice like a bassoon melody. I bet I could listen to him talk for days without getting bored. Morton should take notes (if he knows what a pen looks like).
"Who the hell are you?" I demand while still wary.
The man slowly bends down to pick up a coat, which may have fallen into the snow when I threw the snowballs at him.
"Someone who's going to keep you warm," he replies before holding it to me. However, I smack his hand, sending the shit right back into the snow.
"Bugger off."
"Okay." He casually turns to leave. He's not persistent—check. "I guess you're not so eager to talk with Hunter, then," he says over his shoulder as he picks up the coat. But then pauses and, turning back to me, mumbles, "I know you two are in a relationship." He's persistent, alright—uncheck. "Why, you think I cannot get close to him?"
I'm looking at him, so he must have noticed my mask of indifference even though his words have already piqued my interest.
It only reminds me now how much I don't know Hunter. His line of friends, his dressing style, and whether he's more of a barefaced man or a makeup lover. We've never really found the purpose to discuss these.
This man here could be his friend or not, but it isn't hard to notice how similar they are physically.
Their noted difference is the aura, which contradicts each other, as an ultra-white rose against a Vanta-black dress. Mr. Zavere strangely seems like the white despite his looks strongly disagrees.
He can do as he pleases. I won't ask him for a favor, yet I want him to do me one. So, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt—indirectly force him to a challenge.
With that, my lips curl down as I sway my head to the sides in a way of a shrug.
"Watch me." He takes the challenge and starts toward the hall before...
"I'll take the coat," I say beneath my breath, regretting saying that and praying he doesn't hear.
But he does.
Stopping in his tracks, he turns, and walks to me; all very slowly, with that smug expression. "Good choice," He utters while trying to drape the coat over my shoulders before I snatch it.
"I can do it myself. Thank you."
Zavere scrutinizes my face. He won't stop staring with that wolfish grin, looking down at me because of his height. Now it makes me feel like a tiny artifact. And that is very much annoying.
"You know, you should try to relax a bit. It's exhausting with all that tension," he says.
"Well, save your advice for the one who caused it in the first place," I retort while eyeing him. "Now, off you go. Shoo!" As I wave my hand dismissively, Zavere huffs before disappearing into the hall.
I watch through the glass windows as he weaves through the crowd to where Hunter's sitting. Then he pats the man's shoulder.
Hunter responds by crossing his arm to Zavere's back and stroking his waist in a friendly manner.
I catch the smile across his face as he clinks glasses with Zavere before the latter leans in to whisper something in his ear. And I don't have the chance to ponder the nature of their relationship before I hear someone sniffing behind me.
"Hm... smells good," Saturn's voice drifts in with a slur, now I wish the music were louder. "How do you keep grabbing good-looking guys for yourself?" she dares to ask. "That's greedy."
"Maybe because I don't have a toxic, stinking trait?" I reply without looking back. "Try washing off some attitude, it helps." If only she takes other's advice.
"You're one… to speak?" Saturn seems to stumble forward. I catch her before she can fall. The girl gives off a sheepish grin, insobriety dancing in her eyes. "You were literally stinking aaallll the… way from where I stood before you had this jacket." She finds her balance and jabs a lazy finger into my shoulder with each of her next words. "I love my attitude just the way it is. Thank you." When she makes to leave, she stops and sluggishly turns back. "By the way, why are you out here?"
"Was kicked out by your kind," I snap as I look away from her to see Hunter sitting alone again. Zavere has vanished from sight.
"Good. I was beginning to wonder when they'd finally do that. Have a nice time here with your non-stinking, non-toxic trait." The girl stumbles towards the road. "Morton, with me!" she yells.
"Can you not see I'm with friends, Saturn?" Morton's voice booms back from the roadside.
"Well, ditch 'em. I need you inside to hold my arm."
Morton's friends split their sides laughing.
"Fuck off! Find your boy toy, dude. Hey, you too." I know the last call is for me, and I flip Morton off. "If you do that again, bitch, I might just have you buried in the snow!" he bellows, but I'm already walking away.
Zavere hasn't seemed to be much help. So, I cook up another plan—a rather punishable one.