Chapter 58: Night sweats and terrors.

When Hunter went back to their shared room, Zyra was not just sleeping... she was snoring loudly. It was understandable because she was completely exhausted, but the sheer sight of her made him freeze at the door.

She was sprawled diagonally across the mattress like a starfish that had survived an explosion. One leg was dangling off the edge of the bed, her foot twitching occasionally, while her left arm was flung over her face as if defending herself from the ceiling light. To top it off, her mouth was wide open, letting out a rhythmic, buzzing snore that sounded like a broken chainsaw trying to cut through metal.

The sound irritated his ears so much that he took a step back and shut the door. After preparing himself mentally, he opened the door and entered again. A fresh snore welcomed him like a drunken trumpet announcing bedtime victories.

"Hot damn! How does a sound like that come out of a body like that?" He muttered to himself. Her snoring was the kind you expected from a grown man, not a tiny woman. When he said he looked forward to peeling her layers, this was not one.

He walked quietly, placing the plastic bags of food on the table. The room was stifling. Even with the window pushed wide open, the air felt like thick, hot soup. It was only getting hotter and hotter. Such weather patterns that had happened during the apocalypse could still happen to date, although thankfully not as intensely as the fiery atmospheric shifts of the old days. Still, it was brutal.

Feeling the sweat pooling at his collar, Hunter grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto a chair. He walked over to the wall fan and clicked the switch. It remained still. He clicked it again, harder. The blades didn’t even flinch.

"Son of a..." Hunter cursed under his breath, shaking his head. What else could he expect from a government owned lodge in a small town?

Giving up on comfort, he grabbed a portion of the food, sat down on the sill right by the open window, and began to eat. The night air gave no relief, and before he could even finish the last bites, his eyelids grew heavy. The exhaustion of their recent expedition caught up to him, and he dozed off right there, his head leaning against the hard window frame.

The last thought on his mind was that at least for tonight, he was saved from the burden of sharing the news of her freedom. Tomorrow, they would deal with it.

But sleep didn’t come easy to Hunter. He woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. His skin drenched in cold sweat.

The cause of his state was a nightmare.

It was very normal for him to have those.... they were the permanent rent he paid for merely existing.... but what scared him further this time wasn’t the dream. It was the woman in front of him.

Zyra was sitting upright on her bed. The moonlight cut across her face, revealing dark circles around her eyes. Her hair was completely disheveled, sticking out in every direction like an explosion in a feather pillow factory. In the dim, shadowy light, she looked somewhat like the monster from his nightmare.

And she was looking at him angrily.

Hunter swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. "Why... why are you not sleeping?" he asked, his voice rough and breathless.

Zyra did not respond. She just kept staring.

Inside her mind, she was exasperated. Was he not aware that he was whimpering and groaning in his sleep? He had been making these pathetic, strained noises for the past hour, completely ruining her rest. But underneath her annoyance, a deeper curiosity stirred. She wondered what the nightmare was about that had terrified him so much. Not once had she seen him terrified...not even when someone had been shooting at them.

Her eyes drifted down, tracing the scarred marks on his bare upper body. There were so many of them. Some were jagged lines, but others looked like massive claws had gone deep into his skin, creating a distinct, brutal cross pattern.

Hunter noticed her intense gaze. Feeling exposed, he quickly grabbed his shirt from the chair and pulled it back on. "It’s hot, I took off my shirt for a minute." he muttered defensively, avoiding her eyes.

This man is traumatized by something, that damaged him, Zyra thought, a heavy feeling settling in her chest.

In her mind, a soft, familiar voice chimed. [I told you that before,] Beauty said quietly. [Ask him... I want to know,] Beauty added, its curiosity mirroring Zyra’s.

Zyra was curious too, but she chose not to ask. They were not that close and pushing a man like Hunter would only make him erect higher walls. But those scars. Had they come from the pits or somewhere else?

"I need some fresh air," Hunter excused himself, his tone clipped. He didn’t wait for her reply before turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door gently behind him.

The moment the door clicked shut, Zyra’s serious expression melted away. She groaned, fell straight back on her back like a chopped tree, and dived back into sleep in minutes.

When she woke up in the morning, harsh sunlight was pouring through the window. She blinked, looking around. Hunter was still not back yet.

Hardly had she thought of him, wondering if he had run off because she was complicated, when the door clicked open. Hunter strolled through the door, looking slightly tired but calm, holding a single, steaming cup of coffee. The rich aroma instantly filled the stale room.

Zyra sat up, rubbed her eyes, and smiled. "Thank you."

Hunter stopped in his tracks, looking at her blankly. "For what?"

Zyra pointed her chin toward the cup in his hand. "The coffee."

Hunter looked down at the cup, then back at her, his face deadpan. "It’s mine. You can go get your own."

Zyra’s smile vanished. She rolled her eyes dramatically and looked away, muttering something about ungentlemanly brutes under her breath.

Hunter didn’t care. He walked over to the table, but as he did, his gaze moved to her hand. He froze. The black tattoo on her skin had grown overnight. It had crawled up her forearm, almost reaching her elbow now.

He raised his brows. Were those new triangles new dungeons? How the hell did the map tattooed on her skin work? Would she run for the hills if he asked her directly?