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Like Matilda, stealing his hound after he rescued it. The Huntsman channeled his own outrage into his words, giving them a ring of sincerity that made the woman's face light up.
"Exactly," she said. "And I'm sorry to go on about it, but once I get started, I just . . ." She shook her head. "It burns."
"I understand." I truly do.
He reached out and squeezed her hand, and when she met his gaze, he called on his own darkness, the inky essence implicit in the concept of justice and judgment. The Cwn Annwn liked to act as if their actions rose from pure goodness, pure righteousness. That was ridiculous--they were executioners. Darkness personified. What lifted them above their prey was that they harnessed the darkness within themselves to do good. That was the truth his brethren could never accept.
He slid through the shadows of her memory, past the children in the pool and on to a boy in college. A boy who'd spurned her. She watched him from the bushes at night as he drunkenly made his way back to his dorm. When he stumbled and chuckled under his breath, she thought how innocent he seemed, how simple and sweet. Then she remembered how he had taken her by the wrist earlier at a party, squeezing so hard it hurt as he leaned in and hissed, "Stop following me. It didn't work out, okay? Just let it go." Humiliating her in front of others--and now he dared to stagger about, laughing at himself, as if he really was such a good and sweet-natured boy?
She squeezed the knife and ran her thumb along the blade. Blood welled up, and the pain reminded her of his grip on her wrist.
He'd hurt her. Embarrassed her. Rejected her.
He should not get away with that.
The Huntsman stopped the memory there. He tugged it, just a little, bringing it not quite to the front of her mind but pulling forth the emotions instead. The insult. The outrage.
So many people have wronged you. And now you are wronged again by your business partner. Think of what you'd like to do to him. How you'd like to pay him back.
Next to her, the dog whined and danced, but the woman couldn't hear it, lost in the Huntsman's dark embrace.
Show me what you have.
Show me the worst that you have.
It came slowly at first, as if the thoughts were forming for the first time. Of course they were not. They'd been there all along. Her fantasies of revenge. How she would steal the business. Ruin his professional reputation.
More, child. Give me more.
He deserves more.
Her mind skated to the edge of the thought and then recoiled. He let it recoil. There was no hurry. It would take time to swell those thoughts into action.
That was what he needed: action. He could not act until she did.
She would, though.
They always did.
It did take time. Weeks. But the Huntsman was patient. This was his sole purpose on earth, the rest mere filler.
He wooed the woman, in his way. Which did not mean he bedded her--he had absolutely no desire to. Yet he'd come to her as a potential lover, and so he had to maintain that fiction. It was easily done by playing the role of the careful lover, the considerate partner, the man who wanted to get to know her first, romance her, court her. Long coffees at outdoor cafes. Long walks in the park. Long dinners with wine, when she'd drink too much and let him wriggle deeper into her mind. That was how he truly wooed her--easing her along the path from thought to deed. From fantasy to action.
He never verbally counseled her to kill her business partner. That would have been uncouth, and completely unnecessary. In words, he only sympathized with her situation, bolstered her sense of outrage,
fed her paranoia. Yes, her partner was up to something, and he was worried for her. Had she ever considered to what lengths this man might go to steal her company? Of course, the Huntsman didn't think he'd actually hurt her, but . . . he worried. That was all. He worried.
Plant the seeds. Nurture them in darkness and fear. Watch them sprout in her psyche. Vague fantasies solidifying. From "I wish he was dead" to "How would I kill him, if I dared?" and then finally "Do I dare?"
Do I dare kill him?
And can I get away with it?
He helped with all of that, his firm verbal support bolstering her confidence and his subtle mental manipulation knocking away obstacles.
Of course you can do this. You're strong and smart and resourceful.
You're better than him. You deserve better.
