Out. He would go out.
There’s a muffled part of my brain that says he might not have been able to, that he might be bound in some as-yet undiscovered room, but I can’t seem to listen to that. And I don’t have to. The others will. Noah will.
I’m drawn back to the office with bloody letter opener. Everyone else had guns. Everyone else had knives. Only a small, hunted, cornered thing would grab for such an improvised weapon. And it was clearly used, given the blood. But there isn’t enough blood for anyone to be dead. I track back to the doorway.
In the hallway, I consider my prey’s open paths. He wouldn’t have gone into the big room. There was too much happening in there. Nothing about it would have seemed safe. He would have runaway. So I move in the other direction, imagining his flight and what would appeal to him.
I find a billiards room. It’s quiet and empty—and has an open door. Not broken. Open.
I stalk through the room and out onto a dark patio. I’m on the side of the lodge. Around the corner, the car we blew up as a distraction for our entry is still burning.
Away, he would have gone.
As I prowl across the patio, my nape prickles. I turn partway back, ready to fight. When my hands curl into fists, I realize that I’ve holstered my gun. I don’t remember doing it, but I’m past that kind of fighting anyway.
But Wes only watches me. Even with his face covered, I know it’s him. I know his body language. His finger goes to his ear, and he speaks into a comm device. “Relax the perimeter to the north. One of ours is coming through. Don’t shoot him.”
I turn my back to Wes and resume my hunt. I stalk across the lawn into the woods. The faint, flickering light dies out behindme. Everything gets dark, except where the moonlight trickles down.
I can’t move silently with my boots crunching through the deadfall, but it doesn’t matter. My prey wants to be caught.
At least, he wants to be caught by me. I stop and take off my hat, stuffing it in a pocket. I pull down my gaiter to expose my face. I wait.
Elias is quieter than I am. He creeps out of the shadows and into a pool of moonlight twenty feet ahead of me.
He doesn’t call out or approach. He watches me.
I’m not at all in a headspace where I can make myself say,Come here. It’s okay—because it’s not fucking okay.
I don’t even have the words to tell him that he was bad, that I’m angry. I’ve left all of that behind.
And so has he. I can see it in his body language, the wild, primitive grace of him.
I can’t help it. I growl. He, of course, bolts—and I chase him.
We race through the woods. This is no manicured park but a rough woodland left wild for hunting. Elias leaps a fallen log. He’s fast and agile, beautiful in his flight.
But he doesn’t get far. I chase him down into a creek bed. We splash through the water and race up the other bank. Though he’s fast, I’m more powerful, and I launch myself up the bank as he scrambles. I tackle him at the top, and we go rolling through the underbrush.
He thrashes under me, but there’s no hope for him. I grab the back of his neck and hold his face to the ground. I hook my other arm around his hips and haul his ass up against the hard ridge of my cock. I bite his shoulder.
He quiets under me, though he’s breathing hard. His stiff cock is pressing against my forearm. His hands are fisted on the ground.
Anger is rolling harshly through me. I want to smash his face down harder. I want to tear his pants down and fuck him until he understands how angry I am, how bad he was, how fully he belongs to me.
But I’mtooangry. I’m dangerous. I would hurt him.
Gunfire erupts in the distance, back the way we came, and I remember where we are. I remember that this isn’t just about me and Elias.
So I shove my anger back down. It’s not gone, but it’s buried. For now.
I get up, hauling Elias up with me. He doesn’t resist as I turn him and start to lift him. He wraps his arms around me, his legs too. And I start walking.
Elias clings to me like I’m not going to punish him. Or maybe he knows that I am. I bite his neck hard enough that he whines. He tucks his face against me because he knows that even though he’s in trouble, he’s safe.
The gunfire has quit and the brightness ahead tells me that the lodge is burning. The fire lights up the clearing, flaring bright over a single dark form.
Wes’s eyes flick up to me above his face covering, but they drop again to the screen of his drone’s controller. The rocket launcher is at his feet.
