That night [M]

Chapter 36: That night [M]

Five weeks ago

In a run-down motel tucked into the edge of a sleepy town far from the North American Hunter Association headquarters, the night hung heavy with quiet tension. The parking lot was empty save for a few rusted cars and a flickering streetlamp that painted the gravel in pale orange light.

From the sky, a figure descended—graceful, controlled, and unmistakably dangerous. Mirelle Alden landed without a sound, dressed in a charcoal six-piece suit that looked absurdly expensive for the setting. She moved like a shadow, stepping on air as if it were solid ground until she reached the second-story window she'd been given.

With two fingers, she tapped.

A moment passed.

Then the window creaked open.

Inside the dim room stood Raina Langston, arms crossed over her chest, standing tall in her usual uniform: a gray pencil skirt, sheer pantyhose, modest block heels, and a crisp white button-up tucked in with military precision. Her thick braids were looped into their signature low bun, not a strand out of place. Her eyes—sharp, unreadable—narrowed slightly at the sight of her unexpected guest.

Mirelle climbed through the window with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves before straightening up.

"Well," Mirelle said, folding her arms as her gaze swept across the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet, "stooping to new lows, aren't we, demon?"

Raina didn't flinch.

"You should know by now—trying to assassinate me won't work."

Raina smirked and responded. "Unfortunately. I wish it would. But I don't think anyone's invented a poison that works on SS-class hunters."

"Bummer," Mirelle replied, voice dry. "Maybe one day."

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the hum of the heater and the muffled sound of traffic from a highway far in the distance. Despite the cold setting, the air between them was thick with something warmer—sharp-edged familiarity, something that bordered on amusement but didn't quite touch safety.

Mirelle slid her hands into her pockets.

"So. You sent the card. The address. The time. I was curious." She tilted her head slightly.

"Why the secret rendezvous, Langston? What are you and your charming uncle planning now?"

There it was—that smooth, accusatory tone laced with calculated civility. Mirelle always knew how to speak like someone ready to gut you, even when smiling.

But Raina wasn't easily baited. She tilted her chin up, not rising to the taunt. If anything, her expression sharpened further.

"I didn't invite you here to talk about him," she said. "This isn't his idea."

Mirelle's brow lifted. Now she was intrigued.

That hadn't been the answer she'd expected. Raina rarely made moves that weren't tied to politics, policies, or her uncle's shadow. The idea that she might be operating independently—well, that was something new.

Mirelle tilted her head.

"I'm listening."

Raina met her gaze without hesitation.

"I've heard about your bedroom activities."

A pause. Then Mirelle arched a brow.

"What about them? Want to experience them for yourself?"

"Yes," Raina said simply. Her voice didn't waver. Her eyes didn't flinch.

Mirelle blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then she scoffed.

"Oh, I see. Tomorrow's headlines to read: 'SS-Class Hunter Accused of Assaulting Politician's Niece.' Nice try. Honestly, I'm disappointed. Even an assassination attempt would've been more creative."

She turned her back, already walking toward the window.

"Wait," Raina said, her voice smaller now.

"I'm serious."

Mirelle stopped.

The room felt impossibly still. Moonlight washed across the floor like a spotlight between them.

"I don't think you've forgotten," Mirelle said coldly, not turning back.

"But I hate you. I want you dead, little miss puppet."

"Exactly," Raina whispered.

"I want you to fuck me—with that energy."

That got her attention.

Mirelle turned around slowly, an eyebrow rising. Her gaze was unreadable, half-shadowed, but very much alert now.

"I know it's a mistake," Raina continued, her fingers moving to the buttons of her shirt.

"A bad one. Tomorrow we go back to normal. We pretend this never happened. We keep hating each other, keep playing the game... But for tonight, I want something different. I want you to channel that hate somewhere else."

She slipped the first button open, her expression unreadable.

Mirelle's eyes dropped, then lifted again. "I can't say I haven't imagined this scenario once or twice."

Raina said nothing.

Mirelle hesitated—then sighed.

"Fine," Mirelle said, narrowing her eyes. "You're sure you're not drunk?"

"As sober as I was when I screwed you over earlier today," Raina replied, her voice dry, almost amused. She let her shirt fall open, revealing dark, lacy underthings that made a mockery of her usual buttoned-up exterior.

Mirelle stared, expression unreadable for a moment. Then she muttered under her breath, "Bitch."

She reached into her pocket, fishing out a thin, silver bracelet etched with faint sigils. With a quiet snap, she clasped it around her wrist.

"What's that?" Raina asked, watching her.

"Limiter," Mirelle said casually. "Locks my level. Wouldn't want to accidentally kill you when things get too exciting. That'd make a mess of the headlines."

She laughed, low and dark.

"No turning back now."

Before Raina could react, Mirelle crossed the room in a few sharp strides and kissed her—hard. No warning, no hesitation. It wasn't soft or sweet. It was all fury and hunger, her hand sliding around Raina's neck like she was staking a claim.

Raina didn't just take it—she gave it back. Fierce, unrelenting, like she'd been waiting for this all along.

They broke apart a moment later, breathless.

"It's not too late to walk away," Mirelle murmured, her voice a rasp of velvet and venom. Her thumb moved from Raina's neck to brush along her lower lip, slow and deliberate.

"I might ruin you for all the rest, you know."

Raina's eyes gleamed, a storm of desire and defiance.

"Do your worst," she said, daring her.

Mirelle leaned in, close enough that their breath mingled.

"I hate you so much," she whispered.

"You'll feel me for days. I hope you tipped the motel staff generously—because when I'm done, your screams will wake up the entire building."

With that, she shrugged off her suit jacket, the heavy fabric falling to the ground with a dull thud. Her fingers made quick work of the buttons on her inner vest, which joined the jacket on the battered motel floor.

Raina didn't blink. "Promises, promises," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut.

And then silence. Charged. Expectant.