FIVE

I feel foolish for telling him goodnight.

The hallway light swings tauntingly, and eerie shadow following it's constant sway. A blizzard has fallen over the village as dusk has, the wind threatening the wood boards that protect us in here. I refuse to intimidated, despite the weather, despite the time of night. I have a job to do, and that is to deliver Marek's dinner.

It's the last night. He's leaving tomorrow.

I allow that thought to comfort me, as I knock promptly on his door. This will be the last night I have to fear him, to bring him his dinner, and be caught in a frightening conversation. Even if, admittedly, I will miss his presence.

The fear has been...fun, exhilarating, in a shameful way that I've enjoyed more than I would to admit.

He opens the door, his scent washing over me, leaving my head spinning. It's an addictive mix of pine and cinnamon, which I hope will linger in this room even after he is gone. Shaking the thought away, I nod at his food in my hands as he steps aside to let me in.

Each time I step over the threshold of his room, I can't help but shudder. He's dressed simply, in a black shirt and loose sweatpants, but I don't spend less than a moment dwelling on that. Instead, I walk to the desk, and place his dinner down, just like I did the first night I met him.

"Didn't know it was your turn to tend to me," he murmurs, his tone deeper as night has fallen, rough around the edges.

As I go to turn around to look at him, I see something glint by his bedside. A crossbow. My stomach turns over dramatically. Then, my frantic gaze lands on his bare hands, arms, which are dusted with the faintest hint of the mark that touches his forehead. How many years has he withheld his magic?

"Fran is dead asleep and won't wake, and Jessa is out somewhere," I say numbly, hardly hearing the words out of my mouth. I can't imagine where Jessa would be, with the blizzard roaring spectacularly outside, shaking the foundation of the Inn.

"Thank you for my dinner," Marek says simply.

He turns his back to me. Shaking my hands frantically, attempting to compose myself, I breathe in deeply. I refuse to act like the demure fool he surely sees me as. A question lingers dangerously in my mind, that has been bothering me since this afternoon.

I clear my throat, getting his attention again. "Can I ask you something?"

He turns around. "Yes, of course."

"Why do you do it? Hunt a Tani? For all you know, it could be a treasured Guardian to someone who isn't you," I say, practically all in one breath. Marek doesn't move, doesn't flinch. There is no ounce of ire to his expression, despite my accusatory tone. It irked me, this afternoon, when he acted so interested in my Tani, when his intentions are to kill another.

His jaw goes slack for a moment, as he breathes in smoothly, loosening it in one sigh. "This creature isn't just a predator. It's a demon. And although my bad luck prevails, I will find it, and kill it."

His eyes are ice, pure and glacial. Despite the fixed pressure of his gaze, I don't look away from him. He speaks true to his name sake. A hunter in it's finest form.

"I know little of the Snow Demon, other than that it's a scorpion like creature. It buries itself in the snow, luring victims before dragging them under the surface, suffocating them," I recall. It's a vicious, dark legend that Jessa informed me of one night. Clearly this Tani is real, if Marek has spent his life hunting it.

"It targets Summoners, leeching their abilities. It loves lost little Summoner children," he says sourly. The icy rage that dances in his eyes has me finally glancing away. It was a mistake, coming in here, questioning him like this.

Yet I can't help feeling drawn to him. I just touched a very sensitive spot, drawing a part of him I never intended to see.

"What aren't you telling me?" I ask softly.

Marek loosens a breath, and in one blink, that coolness is gone, replaced by a soothing calmness. He steps closer to me, my heart jumping into my throat. He's almost so close, I can feel his breath, before he leans past me, grabbing something, clearly not afraid of propinquity as I am. When he steps back, he's holding a glass filled with dark liquid - something he must have personally requested from the kitchen.

"A drink?" he offers. I eye is carefully, unsure of what it contains. We don't offer alcohol here, but I'm not about to sit with him and drink, when I should be working.

"I should really be getting back to duty," I reply uncomfortably.

His eyes darken. "No one else is here. Just us."

Alone.

Suddenly, the blizzard whirling around outside quietens, the other guests dead silent in their room. I can feel how vulnerable, how alone I am. It hits me, that any moment, Marek could hurt me, manipulate me, or worse...

Steadying myself, I remind myself of how kind and gracious he has been thus far. I had no right to delve into what is very clearly personal for him. So, almost as an apology, I take the drink from his hand, taking a sip. It's deliciously sweet and cold.

"I'm curious about your abilities. About you being a Summoner," I acknowledge, my eyes unable to stray from the marking along his forehead, the faintest tint touching the skin of his arms and hands. Maybe it's how foreign he looks that has me both nervous, yet drawn to him. Where I am from, everyone has similar, rather plain features. There was no magic in my village, aside from the Beast.

"You're curious about my markings," Marek breathes, noticing my gaze.

"I'm not very well travelled. This is the first time I've seen anything like this outside of a book," I admit. Thinking about the places he's been, the people he has met and the sights he has seen, I feel foolish for being so young, so uneducated. He can't be more than a few years older than me, but he speaks with such calmness, such assuredness.

He steps backward as I sip my drink, cradling it protectively. I watch him sit upon the edge of the bed, that movement itself suggestive, even as I curse my wandering mind. We are just two people, talking, enjoying each others company.

"I don't use my magic, ever. Never really have," he admits, delving into thought for a moment. He didn't need to tell me that, I can see it in its physical form.

"Why not?"

"Doesn't suit me," he explains, shrugging his shoulders loosely. "Too many people use this power for bad."

"So you're one of the nobles ones?" I ask, my taunting tone arising a smile from that awfully serious face of his. Then he seems to fall back into himself, eyebrows furrowing.

"I hate knowing I could hurt someone. I know I could.”

A solemn air falls upon the room. A Summoner's power isn't created to physically attack someone, but mentally intimidate. A Summoner appears commonly as you are, or sometimes your mother, or a friend. Anyone to catch you off guard, to stun you long enough for them to make their attack. I've never had an experience with one, but I'm already traumatised by the idea of them. I feel slightly more comforted at Marek's abstinence.

"Don't go killing me, Hunter," I tease, although it's half-hearted. "I know the rumour that surrounds you."

"Yes, from people have never met me. They fear a unsavoury occupation," he admits, looking towards the window, where he hadn't bothered closing the curtain. Whorls of snow dance wildly against a backdrop of darkness, rearing up against a vortex of wind being illuminated by the glowing light from this room.

I wrap my arms around myself. "Personally I think I was worried for nothing. You're just a..."

He looks up at me, through a fringe of bronze hair, sensing my hesitation. "Summoner?"

My voice drifts out of me slowly. "A guy, I was going to say. A man."

The soughing of the wind outside accompanies the chill that flutters over me, as Marek stares me down, as if he is trying to read me. Taking another sip from the glass, I savour the decadent, candied taste of this strange drink. If my memory serves me right, Jessa used to drink this religiously at night. I never imagined it to be so sweet.

"You're not just a girl, Akara. You shouldn't be working here," he says smoothly. He knows why I'm here, to serve my Tani and my family. If I didn't work while I preached, I wouldn't have a chance to do what is expected of me. My family as honest, humble farmers who are not particular wealthy.

"I have no other choice. I don't want another choice," I admit honestly.

In that moment, the strangest feeling echoes between my temples. A cloudiness creeps upon from the depths of my mind, sinking in behind my eyes, making me shake my head irritably. It's too foreign to be tiredness, but sudden fatigue has me swaying uneasily upon my feet.

Marek looks sad for a moment, looking down at my glass. "Then I suppose I don't regret anything."

"What do you mean?" I question, trying not to appear ill, even if the hurriedness of its onset has my stomach turning. I should leave, it was wrong of me to linger in his personal room so long when I'm on duty. It's just so easy to get swept away in conversation.

"I hope when you wake up, you'll see it from my perspective. You'll trust me," he murmurs, more to himself than me. I blink through a messy haze, my eyes failing me.

"Okay Hunter, what are you talking about?"

I step forward, as if to reprimand him for speaking in such tongues - or maybe it's my foggy confusion that keeps skewing his words - but my knees buckle beneath me, forcing me to catch myself on the desk. Marek stands, yet not frantically, as if he doesn't sense danger.

"You should lay down," he advises, reaching for me. I don't pull away from his grasp, the strong hands that keep me stable. My desire to lean into his warmth, into this able body of his that could keep me up right is intoxicating.

He guides me toward his bed, my ankles tangling around themselves uselessly.

"On your bed? I don't think so," I comment definitely, before another wave fatigue hits me, and I collapse upon his bed, struggling to muster up a smile despite myself. "Okay, maybe for a moment. What is this stuff?"

Marek pulls the drink from my hand, that I miraculously haven't spilt all upon myself. His expression is stoic, controlled, conducting himself in a manner that I would applause if I had the ability too. My panic at my ill state is constrained to my mind, making tears suddenly swell up within my eyes.

"A herb. It's natural, don't worry," he breathes, sitting next to me and my incapacitated state.

It hits me in one fluid moment, as I consume the reality of what he has done. "You drugged me."

"I'm sorry, forgive me," he murmurs, running a soft hand along my sweating forehead, willing me to close my eyes and succumb to the taunting darkness.

And I do, with no other choice but to close my eyes, and let it whisk me away.