Boots trail me, but this time, I use the shadows cleverly. Men’s figures run by without a second glance.
Thank God. Keep going, Peighton.
I check my phone. Half a mile that way. I can do that. I tread toward the pin, praying under my breath.
A howl. Very close.
I freeze.
Two wolves emerge from the shadows. Then a third. Their eyes glint like amber coins as their bodies circle, low and hungry. They nip at my ankles, my jacket, my hands. I shove one withmy forearm, but it lunges again, teeth sinking into my arm. Pain flares bright and dizzying. Another clamps onto my ankle and drags.
I scream.
A gunshot cracks the night. One wolf drops. The others whirl toward the shooter.
Gustav.
What the—
He fires again and again, face carved from ice and fury. The remaining wolves scatter into the darkness. My breath comes in ragged sobs as he approaches through the snow, boots crunching, eyes locked on me.
“When will you learn the forest will be your grave, not your salvation?”
“When I’m not running from you or your awful world!” I crab-walk backward until a boulder stops me. My limbs shake. Blood streaks my arm and leg. “Please,” I sob. “Please let me go. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be here. I’ll never fit in. I’ll never be what you want.”
He crouches, silent.
“Peighton—”
“Russia isn’t for me,” I choke out. “We’re not compatible. We never were.”
He studies my face long enough to make me tremble harder. Snow gathers on his jacket. His breath clouds the air. Still, he doesn’t speak.
Desperate, I whisper, “Tell everyone you killed me. Say I tried to run and you punished me. You won’t look weak. No one will question you.”
His head tilts, subtle. Interested.
“That’s good advice,” he murmurs, voice soft as frost. “So why can’t you advise me in private... and behave in public?”
My breath stutters. He’s not angry. Not threatening. Not punishing.
“Because I tried. I’m not what you want,” I whisper.
“You are my wife,” he says simply. “I want you by my side.”
“Duty isn’t enough for me,” I say before I can swallow the truth. “I hate this life. I want a new one.”
Snowflakes land on my lashes. He stands, scoops me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, and carries me toward the road. My ankle throbs. My arm bleeds. My heart feels like it’s trying to crawl up my throat.
In the backseat of the car waiting for us, he pulls me close, breath warm on my ear. “It may not feel like it, but you are what I want. And I am what you want.”
I narrow my eyes and study his face. His eyes are warm, his touch gentle, his voice calm. Where’s the tyrant I last saw?
My stupid heart stutters, as if it believes this is the man from my wedding night.
I crush that sense of hope.
“You’re not what I want,” I assure, folding my arms defensively.
