Something breaks loose inside me–a taut wire finally snapping. I reach for her, hands finding her waist. She jerks back, shoving at my chest, but I’m stronger, heavier, running on rage.
Hunter’s voice cuts through the rush in my ears. “DK–stop!”
I lift her, holding her against my body, and carry her over to the creek. Cold water seeps into my boots, but I don't care. I drop her in a shallow pool and throw her back, kneeling over her thrashing body. "Maybe a little immersion therapy will bring back your fuckingmemory." Taking her by the shoulders, I push her head under the water, submerging her face.
“DK!” Hunter yells, but it’s faint under the ringing in my ears and the ash coating my throat. His hands grab at my back, doing his best to get me off of her. But fuck that. I shrug him off and push him back with a hard shove against his chest.
“What do you remember, Arianette?” I grab her again with both hands and wrench her out of the water. “Who took you? Where did they hide you? What the hell did they do to you?”
“I don’t know!” she shouts, water sputtering from her mouth.
“Yes, you do! It’s in there, you just have to stop fucking around and find it.” I dunk her under again, thumbs pressed into her collarbone. Dragging her back out, I lean in close. “Tell me. What did it smell like? Taste like? Feel like?”
She gasps for air, water lodged in her throat, and she still gives me nothing. I tighten my fingers and clench them in her soaked hoodie. I start to dunk her under again when I’m yanked back, harder this time, and tossed into the creek. Hunter steps between us. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
For a second, I don’t know. My pulse is pounding too loud to tell.
I look over at her. She’s trembling, eyes huge and glassy, the fear in them slamming through whatever fury had a hold on me.
The world snaps back into focus—the creek, the trees, the smell of cold earth. I drag a hand over my face and step away, the weight of what I almost did settling like lead in my gut.
“Stand down,” he tells me, eyeing me like he does Ares when the dog itches to run off. The tone tracks, since I’m the one acting like an animal. While I lick my wounds, Hunter hesitates across from me, frozen halfway between the creek and her. She’s on her knees in the mud, hair dripping, gasping for breath. Every instinct in him is to stay back–he’s not joking when he says he doesn’t do touch–but she’s shaking so hard it’s almost violent.
“Whatever. It’s not worth it.” I sneer, wiping my muddy hands on my jeans. “She’snot worth it.”
He curses under his breath and moves toward her anyway. “Comeon,” he says, voice rough, all function, no comfort. He reaches out, stops an inch from her shoulder, then forces himself to bridge the gap. His hand closes around her arm, firm but careful, and he hauls her to her feet.
She sways, unsteady. He keeps his grip just long enough to make sure she won’t fall before he lets go, stepping back fast, like the contact burned. “Let’s get out of here,” he mutters, leading the way up the bank.
I hang back, water dripping from my clothes, every muscle locked. My pulse hasn’t slowed since I lost it. By the time we reach the truck, my hands are still shaking, though I’d rather die than admit it.
Hunter leads her to the passenger side, but says, “You’re not getting in my truck wet and muddy.” His eyes dart over to my soaked t-shirt and jeans. “Either of you. I spent too much time and money getting those seats put in. I keep a blanket for Ares that you can sit on.”
Again, the animal similarities have gone too far.
Arianette pulls off her hoodie and struggles to peel off her jeans. Her tank top and panties cling to her like a second skin. Jesus. Thank fuck I’m so cold, I think, peeling off my own shirt and jeans, down to my boxers. At least the temperature keeps my hard-on in check. My piercings draw on my nipples, and I can’t keep my eyes off the bars I gave her, hard and throbbing under the cotton.
I definitely didn’t think this through.
We toss the wet clothes in the back of the truck, and I keep my eyes off her ass as she climbs inside the cab. There’s no hiding the way she inches away when I crowd in next to her. The heat is on blast, but it does nothing to warm her up. She’s trembling again, rubbing her arms for warmth.
“Come on, Hunt, get us out of here.”
The air inside the cab is thick with silence combined with simmering rage and the low rumble of the idling engine.
Oh, and don’t forget the smell of wet dog.
Christ.
I stare out the windshield, water still running down my neck,pretending I don’t see her shaking between us. Pretending I don’t see the way Hunter grips the wheel, white-knuckled, like it’s the only thing keeping him from coming apart.
Pretending, most of all, that once again we’re not failing our house and the King, and for me, that’s not acceptable.
4
Timothy
The firein the hearth crackles low, throwing shadows across the shelves that tower to the ceiling, doing little to fight the chill seeping into the stone walls as winter approaches. It’s formally a library, although recently it often feels more like a cage of my own.
