Nothing obvious catches my sight, but… That means little.
They’re there. This isn’t a game.
“Here.” Zephyr holds out my hoodie one more time. “You look cold.” Her lips stretch into a caring, encouraging smile, her ears seemingly numb to the baby’s cries.Scary. Scarier than a petite, powerless woman should be capable of.
I snatch the hoodie from her outstretched hand and crouch to bundle the baby—the cult’snewestvictim. Not their first. Not their last.
Leaving him—even temporarily—is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
Zephyr watches but says nothing. Standing, I gesture where I came. “We should get back then.”
She nods and sweeps her hand in alead the waygesture. “Sure… After you.”
The walk back chills me deeper than the cold ever could. Zephyr chatters about rituals and nonsense I’d normally catalog without thinking, but I let her voice drift into the trees and focus instead on counting steps.
I’m going to need to know how to get back here.
CHAPTER 13
LUNA
I’m roused from a deep sleep as something hard and cold wedges beneath my shoulders, but I can’t open my eyes. Not yet. They’re too heavy. My entire body feels too heavy, even as I lift off the ground, my head tipping over what I now make out is an arm.
A masculine scent envelops me: clean sweat warmed into smoked wood, the sharp tang of cold air trapped in fabric, earthier than it should be. I groan on an exhale and let my head loll against a chest.
“I’ve got you, beautiful.”
I stiffen. My eyes flutter open to peek at the outline of Sawyer’s shadowed jaw, light from a lantern licking up his cheek. I don’t know who I expected, but I’d forgotten him. Forgotten earlier. Forgotten yesterday. Forgotten everything.
The peace doesn’t drain so much as it’s swallowed, gone in an instant—steam in a snowstorm. It never stood a chance.
“Why are you so cold?” I ask, my voice as exhausted as I feel. His arms squeeze to hold me steady as I try to stretch myself awake, and I’m reminded of how small I am. How weak he’s made my body.
Sawyer doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look down as he carries me into a bathroom where a claw-foot tub waits, half-full of water.Hotwater—a light layer of steam curling from the surface before it’s eaten by the chilly room.
I latch to his shirt as he lowers me into the tub, but as soon as warmth hugs my frozen bottom, I release. A sigh spills from my chest—one I don’t try to hide—and I sink until a puddle gathers in my belly button.
My eyes close, then snap open at a gentle slosh of water. Dirt ripples off Sawyer’s submerged arms, tiny particles of filth that would seize my lungs if I let it. I hold my breath as he finds the hem of my sweater and pulls it over my head, the soaked material wetting my hair and face as I sit up. He tosses it on the floor while I fold my arms over my breasts.
Next is his shirt, and even in the dim light of a single lantern he’s set at his feet, I can tell that it’s filthy. Dirt cakes into his brow and forms a thin layer on his face, arms, and legs. Pieces of crunchy leaves stick out in his disheveled, wavy hair.
“What were you doing?” I ask, only to lose interest as soon as the question’s spoken. My eyes glue to an ugly, pink burn scar on his chest—a matching set with his hands. Even as he pulls down his pants, I can’t look away.
“Nothing.”
As he hooks his thumbs inside his boxers, I close my eyes and listen to the soft rustle of fabric as it’s tossed to the side. Water splashes when he steps one foot into the tub, his toe edging against my thigh.
With little resistance, I scoot forward at his prompting and hold still while he eases in behind me. The water level rises tothe curve of my breasts as his legs bracket mine. I don’t know if I should fight this, but I’m too tired to try. What he did to me earlier… I can’t take that again.
The water clouds as he splashes his face and arms, little ripples tapping my back. I feel every movement, and it’s almost more intimate than if I’d turned around to watch. But I don’t. Not even when his glacial hand settles on the upper swell of my breast.
I tense; gasp; slap the sides of the tub; curse the cold that bites, then blooms as he draws me to his chest.
I look down at his hand and watch a murky drop slip from his pinky. It catches on the raised edge of my areola—hesitant, punishing—then skims the tight peak of my nipple, a whisper of movement so precise it pulses between my legs.
My eyes close. Steady breaths in… And out. Trying to slow the heart that pounds beneath Sawyer’s palm. The single shell he wears taps the nape of my neck as he plants a kiss to my hair.
None of it is meant to be erotic. I can tell by the tension that compresses the air between us; Sawyer isn’t even here. He’s on autopilot, his mind busy while his body torments me on impulse.
