“Don't.” His voice is closer now, edged with something dangerous. “Don't you fuckin' move.”
He emerges from the shadows like something out of a nightmare, tall and broad, those silvery eyes finding me immediately in the darkness. He's breathing hard, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
He looks furious. Terrifying.
“Please don't—” I start, but he's already moving, and I don't even know what I'm asking him.
He crosses the distance in three long strides and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands go to my injured ankle before I can pull away.
“Don't touch me.” I try to kick at him with my good foot, but he catches it easily, his grip firm but not painful.
“Stop.” His fingers probe my ankle with surprising tenderness, and I hiss at the pain. “Christ, lass. What happened? What did you do?”
“Let me go.” My voice breaks. “Please just let me go.”
“Let you go?” He shakes his head, something almost like desperation flickering across his features. “To your fucking death? There are ten kilometers of nothing but woods in every direction from here. You're not far from the cabin at all. You shouldn't have done this. I told you not to run.”
“I don't belong to you,” I say.
“Don't I know it.” He examines my ankle, his touch careful despite the anger radiatingoff him in waves. “Does it hurt here?” He presses gently on the top of my foot.
I shake my head, but when he presses on a particularly tender spot, I cry out.
“Ow!”
“Probably sprained,” he says grimly. “Maybe worse. You can't walk on it.”
“I don't care. I'll crawl if I have to. Anything to get away from you.”
His eyes snap to mine. In the dim light from the solar lamp above, they're almost gleaming like polished silver. “You'll do no such thing.”
“You can't keep me. You can't?—”
His voice is a band of steel. “I can and I will.”
He stands, and before I can process what's happening, he's scooping me up. One arm is under my knees, the other around my back, lifting me just like he did before, as if I weigh nothing.
I struggle, frustration spilling over as I try to beat at his chest with my fists, but it's like hitting stone. “Put me down!”
“No,” he says simply, turning back toward the cabin. His stride is steady and sure, and my protests die in my throat.
Ten kilometers in every direction.
The least I can do is let him bring me back, have some food, and tend to my ankle. And then next time… Next time I'll plan better.
He adjusts me in his arms, shifting my weight, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of how I must feel to him. How heavy I am. I'm not a small girl—I'm curvy and soft, and he can probably feel every damn kilo.
The embarrassment burns hotter than my anger.
“Please put me down,” I say, quieter now. “Please? You can't?—”
“Enough.” The word comes out sharp, and his arms tighten around me. “If you keep fighting me, you're going to hurt yourself worse.”
“I don't care.”
“But I do.” His voice drops, possessive in a way that makes my stomach flip. “I care very much, which is why you will never do this again, Bianca.”
I draw in a deep breath, desperate for him to see reason. “I'm too heavy, Ashland,” I whisper.
