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His entire demeanor shifts. His soft hands grip me harder as he walks through the dark forest into the abyss, and finally, it clicks…She wasn’t an ex-girlfriend or even a lover. She was closer to him than that. Dread fills my stomach as I stare up at him again, his dark face shifting in the light, and it clicks why he’s so familiar.

Their eyes are identical.

Chapter 13

Captivity

Iwake up to the clanging of pots and pans and the pleasant scent of fresh baking that makes my tummy grumble because I haven’t eaten a proper meal in days. A different aroma lingers in the air, soft and earthy. I have no clue how long I’ve been out this time. My sleep was dreamless, which is welcomed in my otherwise sullied mind.

The room is dark, except for a small window that welcomes a stream of sunlight and birds chirping, which signals morning. I follow the light to get a sense of my surroundings. I vaguely recall the events from the previous night. At least I think it was the previous night, when my fever hit, and the Archer carried me back to wherever we are now.

He took me home.

I don’t move…My body is still sore and weak, but my mind is clear. And whatever bed I’m lying in is luxurious compared to the bunker. I run my hands down my body and lift the blanket. I’m wearing a tiny tank top and sweats that aren’t mine. He must have changed me while I was sleeping and had clothes that fit me?

I settle back under the covers. The soft blanket is warm and comforting. After a few minutes of banging and clanking, the door opens, and Archer walks in. The sunlight casts a long shadow into the room, and dust swirls around me.

He sits on the side of my bed, placing a plate of fresh bread on the small table. He looks relaxed with his messy dark hair, dressed in gray sweats and a tight black shirt. He has remnants of flour on his shirt from baking, which I should not find so endearing. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the light, and he takes my breath away.

He is so damn sexy, but he keeps his scarred face away from me. In this light, the scars seem…muted. I can almost imagine he doesn’t have them at all.

His mouth curves to a smile like he knows the effect he has on me. “Morning, wildling. Are you hungry?”

My stomach grumbles in response. I curl my lip slightly and keep my eyes on the food, my mouth salivating. I can’t give in to him. Actively avoiding food to take the reins on this situation. He chuckles, lifting the bread to my lips, which makes my mouth water. “Of course you are. Here, baby. You need to eat.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to respond. He will get nothing more out of me.

Our eyes meet as I finally get a look at his face in the light. Memorizing all his expressions for when I will need to eventually remember.

My heart sinks when I confirm my earlier suspicion. He’s not much older than me. Sans the scars, he looks normal. But he isn’t normal. This version of him isn’t real—it’s what he wants me to see.

I blink a few times as I try to control what’s happening to my vision. He arches his brow, the edges of his lips twisting to a small smile as he watches me watching him. His face seems to morph in the light. He turns his head, and I get a glimpse of his long scar as it slices right up the back of his ear. A place only his mask can truly cover.

“You need to let me go, asshole.”

He leans forward and grabs my lips. The cute boy act is gone, and he switches, almost instantaneously, into the monster he is. “Open your filthy mouth, Layla.”

My gaze is fixed on him as I tighten my jaw. I smirk, recalling the realization I had last night about who he is.

He runs his fingers over my lips. “What’s so fucking amusing?”

I lift my legs up, curling around his torso. “You don’t want me to die, do you?”

A shadow passes over his eyes, which blossoms with desire at my teasing. “What makes you say that?” he asks.

I bite my lip and gaze downward. “You’ve been dreaming of killing me this entire time and can’t do it. Something is stopping you. You also don’t like it when I’m in pain. You’re nurturing by nature, which is the exact opposite of the killer persona you like to put on.”

He runs his hand over his mouth as he takes in my assessment of him. “What did I say to you last night about trying to figure me out?”

I blink at him, my mind clear, not broken. In fact, figuring him out is piecing my fractured sanity back together, not shattering it further. “I’m not supposed to be here, am I? Taking me was never part of your plan. You could have killed me so many times and haven’t yet.” I let the blanket hang off me, the tight tank top I’m now wearing pushing up each breast. “But I’m not dead, am I?”

He can’t hide the desire in his eyes. Though something more swirls inside them, vexation and rage deep within. I take a deep breath, my chest rising as I piece together the various sides of him, I’ve observed since meeting him. How the marred side of his face doesn’t match the soft side of the other.

He runs his thumb over my lips. “Alright, baby. Let’s have a little conversation about what’s happening here. These little games might get you by in your real life, but not here. This is my world, Layla. My reality. I make the rules here.”

I lie back, lifting my knees to create a barrier between us. “I’m not playing games with you; I just want to go home.”

“See…that’s a problem for me. Now that I have you, why the fuck would I ever let you go?”