Hunter’s response is immediate, his voice low and fierce. “If he is, he won’t find you. I promise.” His gaze flicks to mine. “And so help me I’ll kill him if he tries to take you from me.”
The certainty in his words is a lifeline, and I cling to it. “Why are you doing this?” I ask suddenly, the question slipping out before I can stop it. “Why risk everything for me?”
Hunter stops abruptly, turning to face me. His eyes, even in the darkness, burn with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “Because you don’t deserve to be there,” he says simply, his voice low and guttural. “And because I can’t stand the thought of leaving you with him.”
The raw honesty in his voice stirs something deep inside me—a longing I’ve buried for too long. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Hunter takes my hand, his grip strong and sure. “Come on,” he urges. “We need to keep moving.”
As we continue through the dense forest, my fear starts to shift into something else. The physical closeness, the adrenaline, and Hunter’s unwavering presence create a strange, heady mix of vulnerability and exhilaration. Every brush of his arm against mine, every whispered instruction, only heightens the tension between us.
Finally, we reach a small clearing with a pond lit by silver moonlight, and Hunter slows to a stop.
“We can rest here for a moment,” he says, his breathing steady despite the grueling pace.
I collapse onto a fallen log, my legs trembling from both exhaustion and the flood of emotions coursing through me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Hunter crouches in front of me, his gaze searching mine. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says gruffly. “We’re not safe until we’re miles away from that cabin.”
His words are blunt, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. I want to trust him, want to believe that there’s safety in his arms. “Why do you care so much?” I ask, my voice small but insistent. “You don’t even know me.”
Hunter’s gaze hardens, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I don’t know you,” he admits. “But I know what it’s like to be trapped. And I know I can’t leave you behind.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and electric. For the first time in months, I feel a flicker of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this world than fear and survival.
Before I can respond, Hunter reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek. The gesture is tender, yet it sends a bolt of heat straight through me. “We have to keep going,” he says, his voice low and filled with an urgency that’s both practical and deeply personal. “I won’t let him take you back.”
I nod, unable to find the words to express what I’m feeling. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead. “Okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
And as we stand together in the darkness, with nothing but the stars above and the wilderness around us, I feel the first stirrings of something I’ve never known: a chance at freedom, a chance at life—and maybe, just maybe, a chance at love.
Chapter Three
Hunter
The fire snaps, its glow casting shadows over the clearing. It’s damn cold out here, and I watch Lark from the corner of my eye as she hugs herself tighter, trying to ward off the chill. She’s wrapped up in my oversized jacket, but it’s clear she’s not built for this kind of cold. The flickering light makes her look small, almost fragile like a newborn bird—something she’d probably hate if she knew I thought that. But hell, there’s no denying it. She’s shivering like a leaf.
“Come closer to the fire,” I say, my voice a low rumble that feels loud in the quiet of the night. “You’re gonna freeze over there.”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking toward me with that wary look she’s been wearing since we set up camp. I try to keep my expression relaxed, easy. I know she’s not used to trusting people, especially men who drag her through the wilderness. But she finally scoots a little closer, her body stiff, like she’s ready to bolt.
“Better?” I ask, softening my voice just a bit. I don’t want to scare her off.
She nods slowly. “Yeah… thanks.”
The silence that settles between us is heavy, thick with all the words we’re not saying. I sit on my bedroll, pretending to adjust my gear, but my eyes keep drifting back to her. The firelight catches the curve of her cheekbone, and the stubborn set of her jaw only makes her more interesting. There’s a fire in her eyes too, one that’s got nothing to do with the flames. I can’t help but admire it.
“Why did you really help me?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s a hardness there, like she’s daring me to lie.
I pause, the question hitting deeper than I’d like. “I told you,” I say slowly. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped.”
She studies me, her gaze sharp. “I could be lying to you. Could be leading you into a trap.”
My lips twitch into a faint smile. “You think you’re dangerous, huh?”
Her eyes narrow. “Maybe.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, my voice dropping. “I think I can handle you, Lark.”
