Chapter Seven
Claudia
Just before my tongue laps up the personality-disorienting tablets, a long growl rumbles through the cabin. Dexter is awake, and his hand is creeping toward the stitches in his back. Although his low growl makes my heart flutter, it also kickstarts my legs.
“Uh. Uh!” I grunt, warning him to stay away.
My tablets skid across the ground with a clatter when I sprint across the dark space. My steps are so fast, I reach Dexter in two heart-thrashing seconds. I swat his hands three times before he grips my wrists in a painful hold. He tosses me over his body, his lack of effort making it seem as if I am weightless.
I hit the wall opposite the bed with a thud before landing on the smelly mattress face first. I want to say that is the end of the horror. Unfortunately, it isn’t. Dexter is on my back two seconds later, his blood-scented breaths quivering against my neck. The raging beat of my heart drops several inches lower, aligning it with a stiff region of Dexter’s body digging into my backside.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” he hisses, his snarl brimming with violence.
My excitement shifts to fear. I try to grunt. I try to move. I don’t do either of those things. His body pinning mine to the mattress is too heavy. I can barely breathe, let alone respond.
The fear depriving my lungs of oxygen diminishes when Dexter murmurs, “Claudia?”
He burrows his nose into my hair before inhaling an enormous whiff. I shouldn’t like that he can identify me by my scent, but I do.
“Claudia.” This grumble is a confirmation, not a question.
When he rolls off me, my nostrils flare. I pretend I’m refilling my lungs with air. In reality, I’m trying to calm the heat roaring through my body. The snarky voices inside my head were right. Together, Dexter and I have enough heat to keep half the continent comfortable this winter—blankets unnecessary.
After his eyes float around the cabin, Dexter returns them to me. “You found it.”
Warmth spreads from my toes to my scalp. I love the praise in his tone, but I wish it was missing the slur he delivered it with. He has the same garbled voice my daddy used in the minutes leading to him crashing onto the floorboards of our living room. I didn’t think it was possible to get drunk from pouring whiskey on open wounds. Now. . . I’m not so sure.
Dexter’s teeth grit when he twists his torso to face me. Although I can see a torrent of pain in his eyes, his face remains deadpan. “We’ll rest here for a few hours before moving on to the next stage.”
I smile, pleased he is including me in his plans. The way he sent me into the forest hours ago had me worried I was going it alone. I was truly terrified. I’ve been seeking freedom for years, but every step I took toward the exit door of Meadow Fields was extremely frightening. Just the idea of conquering this giant, scary world alone daunts the living shit out of me. I don’t know what state we’re in, much less which direction I need to travel to find Nick.
My eyes snap to Dexter when he gripes, “It’s fucking freezing. Did you put the fire on?”
When his eyes shift to the side, I follow the direction of his gaze. There is an open fireplace on the back wall. The ash in the bottom shows it has been used recently, but it isn’t disbursing any heat. With the only light from the occasional flash of lightning, I could use poor visibility as an excuse for my ignorance, but then how would I explain Dexter’s perfectly crafted stitches?
After a quick swallow, I return my eyes to Dexter. He growls when I shake my head, but the faint tug of his lips gives away his true response. He thinks I’m funny. I don’t know why. Nothing happening is humorous.
“There is wood outside. It’s under a tarp.” When he attempts to stand, a painful groan emits from his lips. “Argh! What the fuck?”
He bends awkwardly in his quest to identify the source of his pain. With no way of showing him his wound without breaking his neck, I gesture for him to sit before scampering to the door he was heading for.
“Bring in enough to get us through the night.” The roughness of his voice prickles my skin with excitement.
My body shakes more with every step I take. It isn’t from fear; it is from losing the heat of Dexter’s gaze as he gawks at my drenched body.Is that why he smiled? Is he laughing at me?
No one has ever seen me this disheveled. I learned vanity from my mother: nice clothes, pretty hair, and just a touch of makeup so I don’t look like a whore. That’s the motto I practice daily.
Right now, I’m a mess. My hair hangs in tangled chaos halfway down my back. The torrential rain washed away my makeup, and my clothes are stuck to my body so profoundly, I might as well not be wearing any.
I stop, frozen for a beat. That’s the second time tonight the voices in my head were right.They said I was practically naked, so why not use my body heat to warm Dexter?
Pretending it’s perfectly sane to talk about myself in third person, I return to my mission of gathering firewood.
I find the pile of wood Dexter mentioned approximately three minutes later. The tarp that used to cover the wood pile no longer exists.
“Goddamn it!” Dexter roars when I enter the cabin with two chunks of drenched wood in my hands. He is sitting up, but the dangerous slump of his shoulders reveals he’s feeling the pain he refuses to acknowledge. “They won’t light without a gallon of gasoline.”
With a shrug of agreement, I dump the wood into the fireplace before cleaning the gunk off my hands with my dress. It won’t help anyone now, but if I keep the wood out of the rain for a few hours, we can use it later.
