“What did they want?” I ask quietly, edging closer.
“They wanted to take you for themselves. I saw the gleam in their eyes, Avery.” Wyatt finally turns his head to look at me, his eyes swimming with defiance and misery. “I will not let them have you.”
“And even now that you… that they possibly have Meg, do you think I’m in danger?” My pulse thunders in my ears, and Baxter lays his head on my thigh. Wyatt’s stare is unmoving, unnerving, as I swallow hard.
“I do.” He nods slowly. Suddenly, I’m on high alert. Every crack of a branch, every flap of a bird’s wing. My eyes dart around the forest as if I’m in enemy territory, and I shuffle in closer to Wyatt. He tracks the movement, staring at the spot where my arm is now pressed against his, but he doesn’t comment on it.
Somewhere amongst this new information is the sinking reality I don’t want to face. Wyatt’s arm shifts, resting over my back and opening his body to me. It’s a simple gesture that I accept, while the small voice in my mind screams even louder.
“You were always going to take me away, weren’t you? The sedative… you had it all ready.” I piece it together like broken fragments of a puzzle. The resulting picture is framed by Wyatt short huff.
“Not as ready as I’d have liked. If you hadn’t burst in, I could have finished my letter to the Souls explaining everything. I could have packed your belongings. I thought I had at least until morning.”
“You were telling them the truth?” I plead, begging for something to hold onto. I don’t want Wyatt to always be my villain. Fuck knows I’ve tried my hardest to paint him as anything but. He gives a single, jerky nod, and my whole world spins.
This wasn’t some last resort Wyatt thought up on the spot—to whisk me away from the ones I love because that’s simply who he is. The man who can’t stand to see me happy.
No. I see him clearly now. Every sharp word, every secretive glance, every maddeningly frustrating decision. It was never about control. It was fear. It was a desperate man drowning in his own darkness, willing to burn his bridges and break his bonds just to keep me alive. To keep me safe. In that aspect, he is the same as the rest of the Souls, despite his actions being less than favorable.
I search his face for something, anything, to suggest this is another one of his cruel jokes, but there’s nothing there—just raw, unfiltered conviction. Wyatt just watches me, his face like stone. The realization is suffocating. He’s sacrificed so much—his loyalty, his crew, maybe even Meg—all for me. And the sickest part? He doesn’t even expect me to forgive him.
He doesn’t care if I hate him, as long as I live.
My chest tightens, and my hand instinctively grips the fabric of my shirt, desperate to anchor myself to reality. Baxter whimpers again, his head pressing into my thigh as though he can feel the storm brewing inside me.
“Wait. My…my belongings,” I whisper, playing his words back on a loop. Beyond the sentiment, I see the cracks now. I see the fear that lingers just beneath the surface, the way Wyatt’s fingers twitch against his knees. Parting my dry lips, my voice cracks as if saying the words will seal my fate. “You make it sound like I’m never going back.”
A low, heavy sigh escapes him as he pulls me closer. My face leans into the rise and fall of his chest, into the tender kiss he places on my head. I know it’s coming, but if I bury myself into his body, perhaps I’ll be saved from hearing it. Or at least, save myself from Wyatt’s probing stare when the first tear escapes my eye.
“Avery. You’re never going back.”
Chapter Six
Despite Avery’s reservations, I wasn’t lying when I told her tonight would be colder than before. I could sense it as night fell. The sweat coating my skin quickly became a straightjacket, encasing me with the bitter cold biting at my limbs. And with the blanket of darkness came another set of problems involving the lack of sight and the stirring of nocturnal creatures. It was time to stop, even if we desperately wanted to keep going.
Now I’m lying in that darkness, actively listening to the broken silence beyond the walls of the tent. Avery is facing away from me, curled in the sleeping bag with her back pressed against my front. She didn’t fight me this time. I know my admission has rattled her, but it’s better this way. At least she won’t keep trying to run off and jump into a random vehicle just to get away from me.
I slip into a light daze, my thoughts growing muffled. Avery’s hair tickles my nose, the curve of her back following the length of my torso. She has no right to feel this good after two days of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. I made a vow with my dick to behave tonight, but she isn’t helping.
My stomach rumbles, a hollow sound that can’t be filled with brioches and protein bars. We need real food. Even though we’ve been walking all day with exhaustion weighing us down more than thebottled water on my back, and we’ve covered a huge distance, it wasn’t quite far enough. Tomorrow. We’ll reach civilization tomorrow.
A soft whimper sounds within the tent. I suck in a breath, instantly on alert. It wasn’t Baxter, who’s quietly snoozing in his own sleeping bag in the corner. It sounds again, punctuated with shallow and erratic breathing. Avery’s body shudders, small tremors rolling through her frame as if she’s fighting something invisible. Shallow, uneven gasps slip through faint, broken whimpers. Her hands clutch at the sleeping bag, tightening and loosening in a rhythm that mirrors her jerky movements.
She shifts against me, her legs kicking slightly, as if trying to run but unable to get away. The barrier stopping her is my arm curled around her middle. She scratches at my skin, throwing her head back and forth.
“Avery?” I whisper, giving her a small shake. To push myself up, I have to withdraw my arm from beneath her head, and this makes her nightmare worse. “Avery,” I try again, leaning over her trembling frame, probably exactly like the monster of her nightmare is currently doing.
“I don’t…” Her lips mumbling, forming words I can’t quite hear but can feel. The look on her face, pinched and desperate, sends a shiver down my own spine.
“Avery, it’s Wyatt.”
“Wyatt,” she mutters, and her voice trembles. “I don’t want… I don’t want you.” Swallowing hard, I breathe against the sudden slice of pain that slams into me. Lowering my gaze, I absentmindedly stroke her damp hair.
“I know, Angel.” I continue to stroke her, trying to comfort her through the subconscious hell she’s been dragged into. No matter how many times she jostles or how many times she tells me she doesn’t want me, I don’t push away. I can handle the pain, just about. But it’s the weight of her distress that presses down on me. The drive to stop her from hurting that brings on the sharp, undeniable urge to pull her out of it, to make it stop.
“Avery, wake up.” I say roughly, a command she can’t deny. Her eyes fly open, wide and disoriented, as she sucks in a sharp breath. For a second, she looks like she doesn’t know where she is or who I am, but then her gaze locks on mine, and some of the panic ebbs away.
“Wyatt,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “What happened?” Everything taut and raging inside of me stalls, a frozen abyss whileshe’s looking at me like that. Not like the monster. Not her villain, but her hero. She’s quick to blink away the admiration, shutting down before me. It takes every shred of my control to not crash my lips against hers—anything to bring that look back. To rid myself of her rejection.
