Page 9

“Okay,” I whisper, resigning myself to following his instructions. My fingers are frozen, so he wraps his hands around them to keep them warm.

He looms over me, pressing himself against me as my gaze keeps darting toward the sunset and the forest beyond. “Focus on me, baby. Don’t worry about what’s out there. Turn off what’s going on in that little head of yours and do what I say,” he whispers, and I lean my head into his chest, exposing my neck to him.

He’s controlling, and I’m starting to like it. He enjoys telling me what to do, and I enjoy listening to him. The praise he gives me makes my heart swell, as it has from the beginning—even when I was in denial about it. And right now, that’s much easier for me because his happiness keeps me alive and losing myself in him is effortless. Just by existing, he makes me feel safe, so I’m willing to do anything for him. This island terrifies me now more than it ever has.

“Take this line; do it quick before the fish gets away,” he says as I pull my hands from his warmth and grab the line. He rests one hand on my hip and the other over my bandaged hand to make sure I don’t use it.

Not that I would, considering I can barely move it—it’s hideous, deformed, and bruised. The bones are cracked and in pieces beneath the skin, and the throbbing pain is relentless.

“Pull it up slowly.” His breath tickles the hairs on my neck as I yank the line up too quickly for his liking. “It takes finesse; don’t be such a brute,” he teases. I smile and let him pull on my hand, following his lead, moving slowly and keeping my focus steady, and enjoying this softer side of him.

My breath stalls as he presses himself against me in the way I love, making me feel small and insignificant beneath him as if he can protect me from this island by merely covering me. His lips tease my neck, giving me what my body has been craving from him all day.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers. I nearly crumble at those words as I twist to face him, pressing my lips to his before he can stop me.

I woke up crying today, as I have every morning since we arrived—the mornings are always the hardest for me. I was shaking from the cold that had seeped into my bones, as if my blood itself was freezing despite Micah making the lodge as comfortable as he could while preserving our limited fuel supply. He didn’t speak as he held me and let me grieve. He didn’t tell me it would be okay or kiss me like he usually does because he sensed I wasn’t crying over him.

The line pulls easily enough, and a small gray fish is tethered on the other end when I finally get it through the hole in the ice. He leans down and grabs the slimy, wiggly fish, severing its neck with his bone weapon and killing it. He then leans into the water and washes his hands.

With his attention entirely focused elsewhere, I place my hands on his back, turn him to face me, and bite my bottom lip. I might have been crying over Maison earlier, but Micah has all my attention now.

He holds my gaze for a moment, his eyes flashing, looking… haunted. The pain is so evident in them. He wants this. He wants to give in to me, but after our first night here—when he bruised me—he hasn’t touched me again. He keeps saying I’m too weak, too helpless, and that I need my strength back before we do anything again. So all that sucking for what? Giving me that dark bruise just to treat me like glass for three days.

He gives me a weak smile and merely shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not happening,” he says as he grabs the fish, rejecting me once again. Sometimes, I believe he’s punishing me for something.

I lock myself in place, refusing to move a single step as he calls over his shoulder, “Come on, London.”

I reach down and grab a handful of snow, much softer than the rock I once hurled at him. It forms in my fist, and I throw the ice at him, snickering when it explodes on his back.

He turns to face me and tilts his head. A silent, icy pause as he looks at my guilty hand, still dripping wet with ice crystals on it. He cocks a brow, and my heart jolts at the dark gaze he gives me, knowing I’m fucked.

He drops the fish into the snow. “Oh, you did not just do that.”

I drop to my knees, curling on the ground, giggling, as he closes the distance between us. Leaning down and cupping snow in his hands, he’s on me in a second, his face full of smiles.

“You think you’re so tough, sweetheart?” He reaches down and pulls me into his arms. I grab more snow and press it into his face, taking him by surprise.

“Yeah, you are tough, aren’t you?” He coughs and wipes the snow from his eyes, then tickles my sides as he grabs some snow and rubs it up my back before stuffing some into the waistband of my pants.

“Micah, stop.” I laugh as his fingers tease me relentlessly. I’m so ticklish that I’m quickly out of breath, but mainly, I’m happy I was able to get a rise out of him. I haven’t giggled like this since being on the island… or ever, really. It’s been a week of sitting in near silence, grieving—even if we’re not admitting that’s what we were doing. It’s nice to laugh, even for a moment.

And he smiled. I saw it. It’s something I so rarely get to see from him.

He gives me no choice now; he picks me up and carries me home. “Now we’re both frozen,” he mutters. His face is growing hard again, but I can tell by the way he’s carrying me that he’s loosened up a bit. The sticky snow is stuck to my clothes, wetness dripping down my skin. I’m so frozen that I have no sensation in my fingers. There is still a hint of a small smile on his lips as I wrap my hands around his neck to warm myself up and let him carry me, keeping a big smirk on my face.

“Yeah, keep laughing,” he teases, trudging through a thicker part of the snowbank, and I decide now is a good time to nibble on his earlobe as he tries to keep us balanced. I still marvel at how strong he is.

Once inside, we shake off the snow from our shoes and clothing, and Micah immediately plops me onto the bed, signaling for me to stay put. He then fires up the wood heater and gets to work, popping in and out of the cabin and tending to the fish. I shed my wet clothes, throw on one of his oversized T-shirts, and pull the wolf blanket over me to warm up. Lying curled up in my spot, I watch him as he heads outside to gut the fish.

I’m strictly forbidden from leaving the cabin without his permission… He’s made it perfectly clear I am not to cross that boundary under any circumstances.

I don’t dare disobey him…

He comes back in and cleans his hands, then works in the kitchen area in his sexy sweatpants, his arm muscles rippling even when he isn’t trying to flex. I admire the long, smooth lines of his body.

Tired, I rest my head, unravel the bandage on my hand, and try to wiggle my fingers. I wince at the burning sensation shooting up my wrist and into my arm.

Nigel really did a number on me. Micah promises he will get my hand back to normal, but I don’t see how that’s possible. The bones were shattered, and I will probably never have proper use of my hand again.