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But apparently, it’s been festering inside me.
Because now I’m mad. Steaming, in fact.
I dig my fingernails into my palm as bitter words bite at my tongue. I want to throw something at him. Scream. Hurt him like he’s hurting me just by being here.
When I think I can’t go a second longer, he glances up, locking eyes with me.
Immediately, his gaze softens, and he steps forward as if in a trance, mumbling my name and reaching out for me.
No.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I back away slowly before turning on my heels and running into the forest. My feet pound the dirt and pine needles as the tears I’d successfully held back escape, thin branches slapping my face and arms.
I just need to get to Rill and Elizabeth’s house a few dozen yards away, I think frantically, and then I’ll be safe. I can close the door and block him out a while longer.
I won’t have to see him. Or talk to him. He can go back to being a distant memory. Someone I used to know.
It’s not until I reach the house that I realize he followed me—I look over my shoulder to see him effortlessly jogging, weaving calmly through the trees.
I scramble up the rickety porch and watch as he comes to an easy stop a few feet away from me.
It’s completely dark now, but the candles from the house shed enough light on him that I can see how wild he looks, sweaty and flushed in his torn, bloody clothes.
“Hetty,” he grunts, reaching for me with a surprising amount of calm authority.
There’s a salty, earthy scent around him that sets my blood aflame. I back toward the door, my body hunched over on itself like I’m a wounded animal.
“What do you want, Noah?” I choke out.
“We need to talk,” he states, his voice smooth and unbothered.
I immediately feel myself softening at the sound of his voice, so I harden my heart. It suddenly feels essential that I push him away right now. If I don’t, something will happen. Something colossal and irrevocable.
“No.” I hold my ground, shaking my head fervently. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I came all this way,” he retorts with dark calm.
“I don’t care,” I sputter. “Go back to Goldenrod.”
Ignoring the dismissal, he tilts his head, considering me. “You look different. Your hair…”
I gulp as his eyes dance over my hair, face, and body before landing on my eyes, searing me. My heart skips a beat, my anger fading. Without thinking, I start drifting toward him.
He looks so raw and wounded, but he’s holding himself so calmly and completely in control. The disparity sparks something in me. I can’t help but feel drawn to him.
It’s maddening. I don’t want to be drawn to him—I want to hurt him. I want him to go away.
“You look different, too.” I try to narrow my eyes but fail. “But not in a good way.”
It’s a lie—he looks amazing. Virile, large, and foreboding. And he smells wonderful—like pine needles and smoke.
I swallow a lump in my throat as I’m encompassed in an unwilling heat. I want to press my body against his. The space between my legs throbs at the thought, moisture coating my legs. I whimper and bite my lip as I step back.
He eyes me, his nostrils flaring. He can smell it, I realize. He knows exactly what I’m thinking and how my body is reacting to him.
The knowledge seems to give him an extra dose of confidence, and he walks up the steps until he’s standing a foot away from me. He doesn’t touch me, but my legs wobble, and my fingers quiver with the urge to touch him.
“Why are you here?” I whisper weakly.
