Page 89 of The Hunter’s Affection

If it seemed an odd thing to do, her mother took the news in stride. At least, Charlotte thought so until she blurted, “A boy, then?”

How astute. She was sort of right . . .

“The one you brought here for the fundraiser?”

Charlotte took a sip of water and nodded.

“He seemed . . . awful protective of you.”

“I thought you were going to say he seemed awful.”

Torr hadn’t exactly been a pillar of politeness, but in his defense, he’d stuck up for her—something she hadn’t experienced a lot of with her parents.

Her mother didn’t comment on that.

“You broke up?”

Like a doctor trying to get to the bottom of a patient’s symptoms rather than a mother hoping to understand the cause of her pain, her mother watched her face for clues.

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow,” Charlotte said.

A set of perfectly groomed eyebrows raised, but Charlotte would not budge. Not even under that stare.

“Very well.”

With that, her mother walked out of the kitchen. Charlotte sat with her water, thinking of the last time she’d been in this house. With Torr. The fateful night when two weeks of pure bliss had begun to go downhill.

All because she’d asked for him to turn her.

She understood his concerns, but the thought of being with him, unable to hold her own, was too much to ask. If his cause were to become her own—a worthy one, to protect Cheld like Alessandra—then she would need the skills to protect herself. Without relying solely on Torr.

She couldn’t even move her own car to the side of the road, and Charlotte hated that.

“Sorry.” Her mother came back into the kitchen. “I thought I heard a car.”

Always waiting. She’d tried so hard to get her mother to find her own way. Hobbies, more friends . . . anything that would give her another sense of purpose and enjoyment.

“Do you ever get tired of waiting for him? On him?”

Charlotte clasped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t intended to say that out loud.

Half-expecting her mother to walk up to her and slap her across the face for her insolence, she was shocked when her mother sat down beside her instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” her mother replied tightly. “Not really.”

The hairs on her arms stood up straight.

“But how could you not? Your whole life—”

“Revolves around his,” her mother finished.

Charlotte’s jaw dropped.

“You think that’s news to me? Charlotte, I chose this life. I chose your father. And your stepfather. And though you may not agree with it—”

“I didn’t say—”