Page 199 of The Professor's Wife

The Volkswagen camper sat just ahead in a small clearing, its rims catching bits of moonlight. A few CDs lay scattered on the dashboard, where we’d left them before we’d gone out. I had listened to “Nights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues to death this morning before we’d headed off.

Without a word, I put the song on again on low volume while Tristan took me on the bed. That song whispered in my ear while he grunted his pleasure, his movements unrushed but desperate all the same. I unravelled, exploding with feeling and ecstasy as he held me tightly. Joined together, coated in his release, I never wanted to let him go.

I felt like crying, but I laughed silently instead as the euphoria worked its way through me. I was finding myself again. I could feel it. Hope sprouted within me from a seed planted by the man who was wrapped around me, kissing me, whispering how much he loved me. I had spent so long believing love was supposed to hurt that I still did not know what to call this. Whatever it was, I wanted more of it.

I woke to a loud, sharp bang. Too close. My heart lurched as Tristan sat up beside me, already alert and scanning the windows. The camper was cloaked in silence again.

“Probably another animal again,” he murmured, tiredly. “I might have left some food out.”

“Let them have it, Tristan.”

“Our gear’s out there, too. Was too tired when we got back to pack it away. My fault.”

I couldn’t settle as he rummaged around. He didn’t bother throwing a shirt on as he made his way across the camper. I cracked my eyes open again. My pulse throbbed in my ears, every shadow outside seemed alive. Tristan reached for the knife he kept by the steering wheel. “I’ll check the perimeter and see if they made off with anything,” he said, and before I could protest, he slipped out into the night.

Minutes stretched, and I slowly relaxed into bed, closing my eyes. Half of me was still alert, waiting for sounds of his return. Every creak of the camper magnified. I let out a yawn and buried myself deeper under the covers. Warmth returned—

The crack of a gunshot split the air, seizing me in place.

Close.

Very close.

My eyes whipped open. My breath caught, and Tristan’s name tore silently from my lips. I bolted out of bed, tripping over my feet as I made it to the door and hovered there, torn between terror and the need to run to him. My throat itched to scream for him, but I bottled it in, my instincts telling me to be quiet.

My hand shook as I gripped the handle. I knew it wasn’t safe, but the waiting was worse. Finally, I pushed the door open quietly, grabbed the flashlight on the passenger seat, and stepped into the night air.

I didn’t turn the light on straightaway. I stood in the stillness of the night, peering around, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

“Tristan?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Maybe there were hunters.

Maybe Tristan was just scaring away whatever animal we heard.

But I didn’t believe any of that. The gunshot was close enough to hurt my ears, and he’d been out here. My heart squeezed painfully as I helplessly stood there, peering around me for signs of him.

Then I heard it.

A faint groan.

Heart jumping, I didn’t think. I turned the flashlight on, and aimed the beam of light at the sound, my legs weak beneath me, until the light fell on him.

Tristan lay still on the ground but breathing, his skin pale in the glow.

“Tristan,” I whimpered.

I rushed forward, but before I could reach him, arms seized me from behind. I was thrown down hard; pain shot down my body as the breath was knocked from me. The flashlight flew from my grip, landing nearby. Dizzy, I shook my head to clear it as footsteps crunched, drawing closer to me.

When I looked up, a large figure loomed over me.

My eyes widened.

Oliver.

His face was twisted, unrecognizable: wild eyes, bearded cheeks, hair matted, his body hunched as if he carried both rage and pain. He stared at me with a hatred so raw it froze me in place. This wasn’t the Oliver I knew. Something happened to him while I was gone. I couldn’t have been entirely at fault for his rabid state. Whatever transpired left him a hollow shell. Nothing but the sinister man stared back at me, no longer hiding behind layers of charisma and refinement.

Something else caught my attention just then.