Page 34 of Roped

His green eyes shine like emeralds. Like tiny but ferocious fires that I feel in my own belly. I don’t know how I can think what I’m thinking in this moment, but it’s unmistakable. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s the most beautiful man there ever was. In the pale moonlight, his sharp, cutting, angry features glow, just like eyes, and truly make him look like an angel. But then you see that scar running along the length of his face and you know he’s not just an angel. He’s a fallen angel who lost his wings and turned into a devil. And stupidly, you think you can’t even blame him for the horrible things he does because he didn’t ask to be a devil, did he? He was made into one.

My Phantom. No, my Cowboy Phantom with a haunting face and a tragic history.

I step closer to him, keeping my eyes locked with his. “Please. Please, just… I won’t do anything like this again. I promise. I promise, please. Just… Let’s talk about this, okay? I’m sorry I went snooping. I’m sorry I… Just, Radisson—”

“Run.”

He says it softly, this one word that sends chills running down my spine. “Wh-what?”

His nostrils flare with a large breath and without looking away from me, he gives me a shove, letting me go. I stumble once again, and petrified, I look down and see my hands are all tied up now. The rope he’s used tonight is slightly lighter in color than the one he used the first time—yesterday morning, was it?—and feels different too. Coarser, rougher. Like if I struggle too much, it’ll leave a mark. Like the first rope he tied me with, the one made of hemp, was to simply bind me, while this one is meant for punishment. It’s meant to hurt.

I flinch when I hear a shrill whistle. It came from him, and I notice his eyes are pinned on the far horizon. Slowly, I follow his gaze and turn around. At first, I don’t see it. I see nothing but dark woods. Until there’s something shining through the darkness. I immediately know what it is or what they are: a pair of shining eyes. And it’s not just a pair; it’s more. They emerge like the stars through the dense darkness, these eyes, and my heart drops to the bottom of my stomach.

I feel his breath, thick and heavy, at my neck, my ears, just like back at the cabin. “I know runnin’ ain’t your strong suit, so I’ll hold them to give you a couple of minutes’ head start. But after that, even I can’t keep ’em back. Been too long since they had a good hunt, and you’re fresh meat.” Then, “Just know that they’re hunters, yeah? And they’re fast as fuck. The only thing’s faster than them is me. So for your sake, I hope you’re gonna put some heart into it and run like your life depends on it. Unlike back at the cabin. Because in two point five seconds, Princess, you’re gonna have to run for your life.”

The moment he says “life,” my stomach, along with my heart, lurches, and those glittering eyes take shape and become wolves. I don’t know how many there are; my brain is too dizzy to figure it out. My brain is too dizzy to even put things together for a second or two. What does he mean by “run”? Why are there wolves here? What is happening? How did I… I hear a distant snarl, completely and totally wild, as I watch them emerge fully from the woods and stand, baring their glaring white teeth.

At last, it all clicks. I’m going to die. I’m going to be eaten alive by these wolves. That’s why he brought me up here. He brought me up here to throw me to the wolves.

Another snarl and I move. I don’t even tell myself to do it. My legs make the decision on their own, along with my survival instinct, and I start running. My only thought is to get as far away as possible from these beasts, from the hunter who set them on me. I dash in the opposite direction, toward the thick woods on the other side of the clearing. Which is when I realize why he tied my hands in the first place. It’s much harder to run when your hands are bound. Much harder. It throws you off, slows you down. But I don’t have that luxury. As soon as I hit the closest line of trees, I hear an earsplitting howl, several of them, and then they’re moving too. My heart is jackhammering in my chest now. I can hear their paws pounding against the ground in an alarming cadence and my pumping legs are trying to match the rhythm.

But I need to be faster.

Faster, faster, faster than those beasts behind me. I need to outrun them. I need to run for my life, like he told me to. Somehow make it to safety. Where do I go, though? How far do I run? I don’t know. I don’t know. All I know is that I hear a snarl particularly close to me. So close that I can feel something soft, like fur, brush against the backs of my bare thighs and my nausea rears up again. I’m about to throw up. I’ll probably break something the way I’m jumping over fallen twigs and heaps of dead leaves on the ground. I’m about to crash into one of these trees and die on impact. Better than how I pictured dying, though. Somehow, I burst into another clearing, and for a second I think, I’m safe. Only to realize this isn’t just a clearing; it’s the edge.

The edge of the cliff, and there’s nowhere for me to go except to plunge to my death.

Panting and dizzy, I spin around and find the fucking animals I’ve been running from—all of them, I think—lined up in almost a semicircle by the tree line. I notice their bodies heaving as well. Their teeth are bared and their eyes are locked on me. Fear is a brick in my stomach. Fear is a choppy sea, sloshing against my insides. This is it, isn’t it? I’m going to die now. I either jump to my death on my own or be eaten alive by these beasts he set on me. And no, it’s not better than how I pictured meeting my death. Nothing is good or better about dying.

I take a step back, and I swear to God, I hear the rocks rolling off the edge, the ground opening up, the chilly breeze whooshing against my back. Suddenly, a whistle bursts through the air. The same one that brought the wolves forward in the first place, and I know this is really it. This is the moment. I’m not proud of it, but I cover my face with my bound hands. I can’t watch them come toward me. I can’t watch.

Everything happens at once then. My foot slips. A scream erupts from the center of my soul. I’m about to fall to my death when I feel a tug at the rope, sharp and commanding. My hands are yanked away from my face. As my eyes pop open, my vision is filled with him. I go crashing against his body and my bound hands automatically cling to his shirt.

With a pulsating jaw and glittering eyes, he growls, “You ever, fuckin’ ever, put yourself in danger like you did tonight, I’ll let ’em fuckin’ feed on you.”

My heart is beating, beating, fucking beating in my chest and there’s a rush in my ears. I can hardly hear him. I can hardly breathe. Instead, strange noises are coming out of my mouth, wheezing noises, and I grip his shirt tighter. “C-can’t… b-breathe. Can’t…”

His brows furrow and concern flashes through his features. Pure and undiluted. And in the next moment, I’m in his arms.

My bound hands are still clutching his shirt, but my feet aren’t on the ground anymore. He’s picked me up and put his arms around me, and somehow my thighs know what to do. They know to spread and boost up, going around his muscular waist. He flexes his arms, squeezing me to his body, and my ankles know how to cross and find a home at his back.

Once I’m secure against him, he starts walking. He also moves his arms to put one hand, splayed open, on my spine and the other on the back of my head. He gently but firmly pushes my face into the crook of his neck, and my nose nuzzles into his hot skin while he strokes my back. He lowers his face, his stubbled jaw rustling against my clammy cheek as he shushes me. As he whispers in my ear, “Shh, you’re okay now. You’re okay.”

I’m too frozen to realize what’s happening, but I still cling to him. I still burrow into his neck and squeeze my thighs around his striding body. He comes to a halt, but I’m still hiding my face away on the side of his neck and I don’t see where we are.

“I’ve got you, yeah?” he keeps whispering. “Just breathe.”

I shake my head, fisting his shirt. “I-I’m… I’m so—”

“Shh,” he goes, all gently, softly. “Breathe now, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

Maybe it’s that rough but also gentle whisper of his; maybe it’s the fact that he called me darlin’ in that drawling voice, the voice I’ve overheard gruff cowboys use with their women. Or it could be the way he’s still stroking my back, going up and down, warming me up, loosening my petrified limbs, while still cradling the back of my head. Whatever it is, I draw in my first full breath, relief bursting through my body.

I feel it bursting through his body, too, his chest moving with his own breath, and he rasps, “Good. Good, one more for me, okay?”

I do it. I breathe.

He praises me again, his hands still at work. “That’s my girl. One more now.”