"Jesus Christ." I press my palm against my chest, trying to slow my racing pulse. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I called your name." His voice is low, careful, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "You didn't answer."
"I didn't hear you." Truth is, I was so lost in my own spiraling thoughts that the entire cabin could have collapsed around me and I wouldn't have noticed.
He steps closer, and I resist the urge to back away. The thermal pants he's wearing hang low on his hips, and his bare chest catches the silver light, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every scar that maps violence across his skin. Even terrified and exhausted, my body responds to the sight of him.
"You're shaking." He reaches for me again, slower this time, giving me space to refuse.
I don't refuse. His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and solid, and I realize I am shaking. Have been since we left town.
"I'm fine." Another lie. I'm collecting them tonight like other people collect stamps.
"You're a terrible liar, Maya." His thumbs stroke small circles against my collarbone, the gesture both soothing and distracting. "What's really going on? And don't tell me nothing. You've been wound tight as a spring since we left town."
"I told you. I don't like it there. Too many people."
"That's not it." His eyes search my face, reading things I don't want him to see. "You were fine until John Davis spoke to me. Then you grabbed my arm like the building was on fire and practically dragged me to the truck."
"I was being cautious."
"You were terrified." His voice drops lower, more intense. "Who are you running from, Maya?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I jerk back from his touch, putting distance between us. "I'm not running from anyone."
"Then why do you live like this?" He gestures around the cabin, at the security cameras, the reinforced locks, the isolation. "Why do you check the perimeter every night with a loaded rifle? Why do you pay cash for everything and avoid conversations in town? Why do you look over your shoulder like someone's coming for you?"
"Maybe I just like my privacy."
"Privacy is one thing. This is something else entirely." He moves closer, and I back up until my spine hits the wall. He doesn't touch me, but his presence fills the space between us. "Talk to me. Let me help."
"You can't help." The words come out sharper than I intend. "You don't even know who you are."
His jaw tightens. "I know what I see. A woman who's scared out of her mind."
"You don't know anything about me."
"Then tell me." His hand comes up to cup my face, and despite everything, I lean into the touch. "Tell me why you're really here."
"I can't."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Does it matter?" I push past him, needing space. "You show up bleeding in my yard with no memory and a body covered in scars. And you want me to trust you with my secrets?"
"I've trusted you with my life." Frustration bleeds through his voice. "You could have left me to die in the snow. Why didn't you?"
"Because I'm an idiot with a savior complex."
"Bullshit." He crosses the room in two strides, backing me against the wall. His hands bracket my head, caging me in. "You saved me because you recognized something. Maybe you understood what it's like to be hunted."
"Stop."
"Make me." His face is inches from mine. "Tell me I'm wrong."
I can't. The words won't come because they'd be lies.
"That's what I thought." He pushes away from the wall, running his hands through his hair. "You want me to trust you, but you won't give me the same courtesy."
