Her breath hitches, and the space between us tightens until it feels like something could snap.
For a moment, I forget about the forest, the threat, the hunt, everything except her. I want to kiss her, my muscles are strung tight, the urge to press my lips to hers is overwhelming. And the worst part? She wants me to—I can feel it in the way her eyes are hooded, hanging on mine, practically begging me to take her.
Then another branch snaps, closer this time, and the moment breaks.
The tension doesn’t. Not even close.
Chapter 9
Maddie
The door slams shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a finality that settles deep in my chest, and just like that, I am alone again. Ethan is doing a final circle of the cabin before we go to bed.
My hand stays pressed against the wood longer than it should, my palm flat against the surface like I might still feel him through it, like I could somehow track where he went or how far he has already moved into the dark.
I cannot.
The silence swallows him too quickly, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his presence.
“Stay inside,” I mutter his last command under my breath, mocking him even as it lingers in my head. “Lock the door.”
I do it anyway.
I check it twice, my fingers testing the handle before I step back, and then I start pacing, crossing the small space again and again, my boots striking the floor harder with each pass as the tension builds.
This is worse.
Waiting is worse.
Not knowing is worse.
I’ve never felt so vulnerable and protected at the same time.
Every sound outside feels sharper now, branches scraping against each other, the wind pushing through the trees, something shifting just out of sight that I cannot see but cannot ignore either.
“Come on,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair.
I grab my camera without thinking, my fingers tightening around it like it is something solid, something real, something that can keep me grounded when everything else feels like it is slipping.
I move toward the window, instinct pulling me forward, and then I stop.
Backlit.
His voice echoes in my head, steady and certain.
Step away from the window.
I glare at the glass anyway, my jaw tightening, but I do not step closer.
I hate that I listen to him.
I hate even more that he is usually right.
Another sound cuts through the dark, closer this time, and my pulse jumps as I strain to hear, forcing myself to stay still long enough to make sense of it.
Then I hear voices.
Male.
