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Too small to fit an adult. It looks custom-made for…
“That’s for a child.” I shiver at the thought of anyone growing up here, especially a man like him. “Was it yours?”
“Yes.”
He stands so close I have to look up, up, way the fuck up to see his face.
I’ve never appreciated my short height, but I especially don’t like it now that I’m dwarfed by his broad chest, not even tall enough for my head to reach his shoulders, but small enough that he would have to contort his torso to fuck me.
Our bodies aren’t made to fit together. They don’t align as lovers would. Given the disgust marring his features as he glowers down at me, he considers my stature repulsive. I find comfort in that. His interest in me is the last thing I want.
“Were you born here?” I don’t move as he crouches once again.
“Not exactly. Hold this.” He yanks up the hem of my hoodie.
“What does that mean?” I clench the material beneath my sports bra and try to measure my breaths. “Either you were, or you weren’t.”
“I was born in Fairbanks. But Hoss is all I know.”
I turn that over as he buckles the leather straps around my waist and thigh. His fingers move with confidence, sliding between my legs to connect the straps. He knows his way around leather just as surely as he knows the dips and curves of a woman’s body.
Maybe it’s an act. Or assurance in his power over my smaller size. But there’s no hesitancy. None of the inexperience that Wolf oozes around me.
A question lodges in my throat. I look away, mustering the courage to voice it. “Are you a virgin like Wolfson?”
He cinches the final strap with a vicious yank, secures the buckle, and strides toward the door, not answering.
“Why did your mother stab you?” I jog after him.
“Not my mother.”
My steps falter. “But Wolf said—”
“His mother.”
“You have different mothers.” My mind stumbles over that as I chase him through the arctic entryway. “All three of you?”
They don’t look alike. Blue eyes, brown eyes, heterochromatic eyes. Wolf and Kodiak have black hair, but Wolf’s skin tone is pasty white compared to Kodiak. Leonid’s complexion falls somewhere between them, and his hair is lighter, closer to Denver’s.
Do they have any shared hereditary traits? Same noses? Dimples? Freckles? Curls? Hairline shape? Body type?
Maybe? I haven’t been brave enough to study them up close.
“If you don’t want trouble, keep to the south slope.” He opens the exterior door and points left. “Away from the river.”
“Where’s your mother?”
He glares at me.
I glare back. “It’s a simple question.”
Clenching his jaw, he strides outside and scans the perimeter.
My breath hits the cold air in white puffs as I race past his lazy gait and round on him. “How old were you when Wolf’s mother stabbed you?”
Every muscle in his body goes rigid. “I was fifteen when she sank her knife into my stomach, and you know what? I still think about her hot, sucking cunt. Every. Single. Night.”
The depravity in his eyes shocks my heart, slamming it against my ribs.
He shoves his face in mine, lips spread, all fangs and no smile. “Run, Frankie.”
Good idea. His eerily still posture, ferocious expression, everything about him vibrates with hunger, like a crouched lion preparing to pounce on a kill.
Then his gaze shifts over my shoulder, locking on something behind me. His chin rises.
Did he just nod?
I spin, following his line of sight, and see nothing. Just hills and buildings and no one.
“What are you—?” I pivot back.
He’s already bounding the stairs to the cabin, his back stiff as he vanishes inside.
I peer behind me again, searching for whatever drew his attention. Was it Denver? Or one of the others? Is someone watching from the shadows?
Will I be followed during my run? Wolf and Kodiak may be faster with their longer legs, but do they have the stamina to hang with me for ten or more miles?
After a few leg stretches, I jog in place, warming up and testing the gun’s weight. It’s awkward and bulky but doesn’t impede my movements.
I take off, running south. Slowly. The terrain is a nightmare of ruts, sharp descents, and low-growing shrubs. One misplaced step and I’ll break a damn ankle. Not to mention, my ribs aren’t fully healed. As my breaths shorten, everything tightens, stitching pain through my chest.
The sheer absence of trails continues on and on with too many natural rhythm breakers to negotiate. But I’m not out here for speed. After three weeks in bed, I need to regain my endurance, and the additional stabilization required through each cautious step will strengthen my lower body.
I also need space to think, and that’s one thing this land offers. Vast, never-ending, quiet space.
Constant backward glances confirm nothing follows me, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m not alone. Probably just my mind playing tricks on me as I cycle through everything I learned over the past two days.
