“Why do you choose now to have a moral compass?” I whimper, not receiving an answer. My thrashing isn’t as vigorous now, the cold seeping into my bones. Adrenaline subsides, causing my body to be racked by more shivers. The bump on my head refuses to be ignored now, and it begins to throb insistently. I don’t want to lean into Wyatt’s warmth to feel the heated breath fanning my ear, but I find myself doing it anyway. He’s a poison, and I’m addicted.
The silence stretches a thick, oppressive weight between us. Wyatt's grip is firm but no longer bruising. My sneakers skid against the leaves, but the more compliant I become, the more gentle Wyatt is. He turns me to face forward, his hold more like a hug from behind. Each stride of his legs guides mine forward like some kind of dance. As if I’m not relenting to his decisions.
Baxter is pacing around outside the tent, howling and uneasy from the commotion. Wyatt releases one of the arms banded around me to stroke Baxter’s head, reassuring him. I’m in half a mind to use the distraction to my advantage, but what’s the use? I’ll just be dragged back by my hair next time.
Breaching the tent, I expect Wyatt to shove me inside. Instead, his hands grab the hem of the hoodie, and he drags it over my head.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I gasp, slapping his hands away when he reaches for my T-shirt.
“You slipped in a mud patch,” he grunts. I blink rapidly, only now noticing the smeared mud over his front. As if nothing happened outside beyond a moonlight stroll for lovers, the corner of his mouth hikes upwards into a smirk. “Plus, I’m going to need your body heat if we’re going to make it through the night.”
Then he whips my T-shirt up and over my head, quickly shovingdown my sweatpants. Luckily, he doesn’t seem bothered about removing my underwear because my puckered nipples have everything to do with the cold and nothing to do with him. Baxter tilts his head and whines as if he can detect the lie on me. Dammit.
Leaving me to attend to my sneakers and the rest of the sweatpants now pooled at my calves, Wyatt undresses, tossing our soaked clothes aside. He layers the sleeping bags on top of one another to soften the hard ground and unzips the top one, gesturing for me to get inside.
“Good thinking of Hux to get two-man sleeping bags.” He’s still smirking, and I feel my nostrils flare. I don’t know who I despise more. Morally grey Wyatt or smug bastard Wyatt. A beat of stubbornness passes, my arms crossed over my front. With the fall of night, a blistering cold has settled, rooting itself into my very being. Huffing in defeat, I slip into the quilted sack.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I narrow my eyes before rolling onto my side. I listen to the double-zipping of the entrance, the rustling of Wyatt settling Baxter into a sleeping bag of his own, and the shuffle of him scooting in behind me. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his solid arms around me and dragging us together, skin to skin, my back to his front. His crotch is nestled against my ass, a little jolt coming from his cock. “What did I just-”
“Relax, I’m only human. I’ve had more visceral reactions to spooning Axel.”
Like a slice of tension through the air, we both suddenly tense. My eyes sting with unshed tears, the effort to be strong all of a sudden was too taxing for my body. Is Axel having a nightmare right now? Fearing where I am or what’s happening? Are the others crowding around to comfort him, or are they arguing over who should have been there, who should have stopped this? It’s the not knowing that hurts the most.
Before long, rain patters steadily on the tent’s roof, masking some of the noise from the forest. I can still hear the occasional crack of a branch or rustle of leaves carried on a light wind. It seems like the world is at war with itself, while my mind does the same. Every second that passes, I feel like I shouldn’t be here. I should be out there doing something productive. But the thought of moving again so soon causes my limbs to weigh heavier into the makeshift mattress Wyatt has made for us.
“I left a note,” Wyatt murmurs quietly, like a confession meant onlyfor the rain to hear. His voice disarms me for a moment. “I told them it’s best this way. That I’d look after you until it’s safe to return.”
The weight of the blanket suddenly feels like it’s made of lead. His chest rises and falls in a controlled rhythm that contrasts sharply with my own erratic breathing. His calmness infuriates me, despite the way I try to mimic it. To channel it. Swallowing against my head, Wyatt chooses his words carefully.
“And I’d really like to keep that promise, if you wouldn’t mind pressing pause on running away or trying to get us killed.” Oh yes, his words were delivered so gently, yet they’ve sparked something sharp in me. I glare at the tent’s rippling wall.
“Why should I make any of this easy on you?” I huff a bitter laugh, caught up on his audacity. He’s making out this is all my fault, my choice. As if I wasn’t blindsided, drugged, stuffed into the SUV against my will, and catapulted into who-knows-where.
Wyatt leans back slightly, his hands braced on my hips. I ignore how warm they feel and the large span of his palms that I’ve craved to pass over my body for a long time. Longer than I care to admit.
“That’s fair,” he says at last, devoid of his usual edge. Silence falls over us once more, the rain filling the void like a metronome to our shared tension. After a while, I convince myself he’s fallen asleep. His heart beats against my back. His limbs are perfectly curled into mine, lending as much warmth as he is taking. A small yawn tugs at my mouth, and I allow my eyelids to droop at last.
“Would it help if I told you I tried to offer myself to Fredrick first?”
The whisper jolts my eyes back open. Nothing in Wyatt’s position has changed, not even a twitch of his fingers. His breathing is level, and his heart rate has the same annoying steadiness. I must have dreamt it. A trick of my mind, constantly trying to redeem Wyatt. The biggest form of self-sabotage I’ve ever experienced, I think to myself as I let the draw of sleep pull me back under again. As if Wyatt would take Meg’s place. As if he would sacrifice himself for me.
Chapter Four
I lie still until Avery’s breathing evens out, soft and steady against my chest. I hold her until I no longer have a convincing reason to, until sharing warmth is no longer a justification to keep my hands on her flawless skin.
She doesn’t stir. If she heard me, she doesn’t show it. It doesn’t matter either way. My confession doesn’t reverse the damage I’ve done. The harm that lurks in the quiet, that manifests in the dark corners of my mind, curls its fingers around my throat like the bind I can never escape.
Avery may be safe here with me, but that safety is a fragile illusion I’ve stolen. Ripped from the hands of men who once called me brother. They won’t take me back now. I burned those bridges to ash when I stole their girl.
She wasn’t even supposed to become one of us, and damn, I tried to prevent it. I’ve betrayed her trust more times than she can comprehend. I’ve sabotaged her happiness in the name of protecting her, when really, it was just about keeping her for myself. A woman I never planned to pursue but couldn’t watch my men seduce her either. Selfishness. Pure selfishness.
The tent walls feel smaller with every passing second. The air becomes heavier. A shiver shudders down my spine, and I instinctively know he's back. I don’t turn my head, already knowing what I’ll see. Afigment of Ray, his body shifting and warping like smoke. He rarely has a face, but those pale eyes haunt me regardless. I suppose it goes hand in hand with how far my sanity is slipping on any given day. He doesn’t speak, as he never does. He only watches. Waiting. Expecting.
Since Avery burst into my room and decided sedating her was the best option, Ray has been distant. It’s as if my focus on her blocks him out. Yet, the longer I’m with her, the less comforting his presence feels. Imagining him doesn't bring me any closer to the man I didn’t get a proper chance to know. It’s become a twisted mockery of what he never had. I grip Avery tighter. She’s real. The only thing that’s ever felt real.
The shadow pulses as it closes in, causing the air to grow colder. I try to blink back the image, knowing that it’s not real, but a clawed hand reaches toward Avery’s sleeping form regardless, hovering just above the bare shoulder that’s slipped free of the cover. My breath hitches.
Not her.
