Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“Listening next,” I say.
She exhales slowly, rolling her shoulders as she tries to reset. “This should be interesting.”
I gesture toward the trees. “Close your eyes.”
Her brows shoot up immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Do it.”
“No.”
I step closer again, and this time she doesn’t move away.
“Trust me.”
Her laugh is sharp. “That’s not happening.”
“Then keep dying out here,” I say evenly.
Her jaw tightens, but after a beat she closes her eyes, slow and reluctant. “Happy?” she mutters.
“Not yet.”
I circle her, quiet, controlled, watching the way her body reacts even without sight, the tension in her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing.
“Tell me what you hear,” I say.
“Wind.”
“Be specific.”
She frowns slightly, focusing harder. “Branches moving.”
“Where?”
She tilts her head. “Left.”
“Good.”
I shift my position, changing angles without making a sound.
“What else?”
The silence stretches before she answers again. “Your boots.”
I glance down. I didn’t make a sound.
Interesting.
“How?” I ask.
“You breathe heavier when you move,” she says, still with her eyes closed.
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. “You’re paying attention now.”
“I told you I was.”
“Not like this.”
She opens her eyes and turns toward me. “You always this demanding?”
“Only when I know what you’re capable of.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Which is?”
I step closer again, closing the distance until there’s nothing left between us. “More than you’re giving me.”
Her breath catches again.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “You’re starting to sound like you believe in me.”
“I don’t believe,” I say quietly. “I know.”
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with something neither of us is naming.
Then a branch snaps in the distance.
Both of us turn instantly, the shift immediate, tension snapping into alert.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Her stance changes without me having to say anything, sharper, more controlled.
Better.
“Where?” she asks.
“East.”
She scans the tree line, her focus tighter now. “Could be an animal.”
“Could be.”
“But you don’t think it is.”
“No.”
The forest stills again, too still this time.
She steps closer to me without thinking, instinct overriding everything else, her arm brushing mine, warm and solid. I don’t move, don’t break the contact.
“You said he’s tracking me,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Then what are we doing?”
I glance down at her, then back at the trees. “We’re letting him think he’s still in control.”
Her fingers curl slightly at her sides. “Is he?”
I shake my head once. “No.”
She looks up at me, searching my face. “Why are you so sure?”
I turn fully toward her, backing her just slightly toward the tree behind her, close enough that the space between us disappears again. “Because he doesn’t know me.”
Her breath catches.
“And you,” I add, “you’re starting to.”
The words hang between us, thick and dangerous.
She swallows. “And what does that mean?”
I let my gaze drop, slow, to her mouth, then lift it back to her eyes. “It means he picked the wrong woman.”
Her pulse jumps, visible, undeniable.
“And why’s that?” she asks, quieter now.
I step closer, just enough to feel the shift in her breathing. “Because now,” I murmur, leaning in, my hand gliding against her throat and bringing her ear close to my lips to whisper: “you’re mine to protect now.”
Her breath hitches, and the space between us tightens until it feels like something could snap.
For a moment, I forget about the forest, the threat, the hunt, everything except her. I want to kiss her, my muscles are strung tight, the urge to press my lips to hers is overwhelming. And the worst part? She wants me to—I can feel it in the way her eyes are hooded, hanging on mine, practically begging me to take her.
Then another branch snaps, closer this time, and the moment breaks.
The tension doesn’t. Not even close.
Chapter 9
Maddie
The door slams shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a finality that settles deep in my chest, and just like that, I am alone again. Ethan is doing a final circle of the cabin before we go to bed.
My hand stays pressed against the wood longer than it should, my palm flat against the surface like I might still feel him through it, like I could somehow track where he went or how far he has already moved into the dark.
I cannot.
The silence swallows him too quickly, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his presence.
“Stay inside,” I mutter his last command under my breath, mocking him even as it lingers in my head. “Lock the door.”
I do it anyway.
I check it twice, my fingers testing the handle before I step back, and then I start pacing, crossing the small space again and again, my boots striking the floor harder with each pass as the tension builds.
This is worse.
Waiting is worse.
Not knowing is worse.
I’ve never felt so vulnerable and protected at the same time.
Every sound outside feels sharper now, branches scraping against each other, the wind pushing through the trees, something shifting just out of sight that I cannot see but cannot ignore either.
“Come on,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair.