Asbjörn comes to my side of the car and opens the door. But instead of offering me a hand, like he usually does, he just opens the door, steps aside with it, and gestures his head for me to exit.
Something has shifted. I know it the moment I see his face. It’s carved in serious lines, and his brows sit low over demanding eyes. He’s no longer my patient protector. He stands even taller than usual, reminding me just how small I am, and there’s this wild energy that seems to simmer in the very air around him.
My nerves jitter as I follow him to the back of the car. For a moment, I think he’s going to put me in the trunk, but then he holds his hand out, palm up.
“Give me your phone and your purse.”
I round my lips, wanting to ask why, but stop when I meet his uncompromising stare. He’s not comforting me anymore. He’s dead serious. I glance behind me—at the deep forest and the rising mountain.
I gulp, feeling like I’m about to willingly step into a trap.
Even so, I hang my purse on his hand, take my phone from my pocket, and place it on his open palm. Nervousness skitters down my spine as I watch him place both in the trunk.
“Empty your pockets.” He holds out his open hand again.
I don’t like this. What I have left in my pockets won’t serve me any good if I’m in distress, but giving up everything makes me feel terribly vulnerable. “But—”
“No buts,” he cuts me off, and I shrink beneath his sharp stare. I haven’t seen him like this before.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching me, his hand hovering between us with quiet demand.
I draw a shuddery breath and take the last items from my pockets and place them in his hand. My keys, my lip balm, and a pack of tissues.
He places these items in the trunk too, then slams it shut. “You won’t need any of those things up on the mountain.”
“Do I at least get to keep my clothes?” I rub my arms to alleviate the chills skating up and down them.
“For now. Once your adrenaline starts pounding, you won’t need those either.”
Closing my eyes, I draw several deep breaths that do little to calm me. “I’m scared,” I say again. When I open my eyes, I’m relieved to find a sliver of sympathy softening the hard lines of his expression.
“Do you remember what I told you about the fear?”
“The fear is part of it. I should not let it control me.”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek. “Good girl. Remember that. Because we haven’t even started yet.”
The reminder sends a bolt of chills down my spine. I draw my shoulders in with a palpable shudder. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
He flattens his palm in a gentle curve around my cheek, but the seriousness that hardens his features again betrays the softness—a dichotomy I can’t comprehend in my fearful state. “It’s too late to back out now, sweet Freja. Only your safeword will make it stop. And theneverythingstops.”
I close my eyes again, needing to focus on the softness of his touch. Because it’s the only thing that will stabilize me right now. I try to purge my brain of his uncompromising stare and just soak up the gentle stroke of his thumb—the warm touch that I trust.
Patient as always, he lets me stay there, gathering my nerve. It takes several minutes, but finally, my muscles soften, my breathing calms, and the fear draws back.This is Asbjörn, Iremind myself. The man who has had me at his mercy so many times over the past months. The caring, attentive, protective man who I’ve come to trust with my whole heart.
At that moment, I see clearly for the first time since my world tilted and my heart broke.
This man—this place—has healed my heart.
Drawing a peaceful breath, I peel my eyes open and look up at Asbjörn. “I’m ready.”
He watches me for a beat, scanning my face and taking in every little reaction. He knows me well, and I know he sees it all. But I welcome the exposed vulnerability.
He gives a resigned nod, eyes closing and opening softly. Then he releases my cheek and takes a step back. “Run,” he says.
“W-what?”
