Page 5

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her ear, tightening my grip as she struggles. “You’ll understand soon. I promise.”

Her movements become weaker, less coordinated, yet her nails dig into my arms, leaving me with goosebumps all over. Her body goes slack against mine, her weight shifting. For one terrifying second, I think I’ve used too much chloroform, but then her breaths are shallow against my hand. Just unconscious, then. Thank fuck.

I look around frantically, but the street remains deserted. Shifting my grip, I position her against me so that, from a distance, it would look like a drunk woman being helped by her doting boyfriend. Her head lolls against my shoulder, her silky hair brushing my neck.

I can’t help myself—I inhale deeply, my nose pressing into her hair. While it fucking hurts to do that now, it is worth it. Her scent resembles something spicy and sweet and something uniquely her that I’ve tried to imagine a thousand times. The reality is better than any fantasy. My body responds instantly, shamefully, and I have to take a moment to collect myself.

Getting a boner from smelling her. What the hell am I? A creep?

“Just hold on,” I murmur, lifting her into my arms as I grab her small purse.

She’s taller than I remember—she’s probably 5”9’ now, not really shy of my 6”2’—all muscle and curves that make my mouth go dry. I carry her to my car, careful not to bang her head against the frame as I settle her into the passenger seat. Her head tips forward, and I gently push it back, arranging her so she looks comfortable.

From my back pocket, I pull out the pink rope—soft cotton that won’t chafe her skin, chosen carefully from the sex shop three towns over, where no one would recognize me. I had to explain to the very enthusiastic clerk that I know nothing about BDSM—even if I’m super curious about it—so I wanted something for newbies that wouldn’t hurt. I bind her wrists with a knot I learned from a YouTube tutorial, double-checking the tension. Not too tight, just secure enough.

My fingers linger on her skin longer than necessary, tracing the constellation of freckles on her forearms that I’ve glimpsed from the stage but have never been close enough to properly see. They’re even more beautiful up close, like stars scattered across her skin. Stars leading me to her.

“You’re going to hate me at first,” I whisper, brushing a curl from her face. “But I’ll make you understand. I’ve been waiting so long, Vivian.” My accent thickens with emotion, the words coming out rough and raw.

I secure her seatbelt, careful not to wake her, then hurry around to the driver’s side. As I start the engine, my hand hovers over the stereo. I press play, lower the volume, and the opening notes of Dark Distortion’s most romantic song—the one where I always watch for her in the crowd—fill the car. I check myself in the rearview mirror and wipe the trail of blood from my nose with the back of my hand.

That’ll have to do.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I set course for the winding roads that lead to Bannau Brycheiniog forest. It’s a one-hour drive without traffic. I hope the chloroform doesn’t wear off too fast. In my mind, I see us there in a cabin—her initial fear giving way to understanding, to desire. Just like in the books.

The city lights begin to fade behind us as I drive deeper into the Welsh countryside. Beside me, Vivian stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent in her chemical sleep. I reach over, my fingers just brushing her cheek.

“We’ll be home soon,” I promise, both to her and to myself. The darkness of the forest looms ahead, welcoming us into its embrace.

This will be a night to remember.

Chapter 3

Andrew

This is really happening

The forest swallows us whole as I drive deeper into its heart, deliberately ignoring the third “No Trespassing” tape that reflects under my headlights before my car rips through it. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out the soft rock music playing on the radio. Next to me, Vivian’s head lolls against the window, her hair falling across her face like a curtain. Gorgeous even while unconscious. I can’t help stealing glances at her as I navigate the narrow dirt road, pass by more tape, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

This is really happening.

She’s really here with me.

Finally.

I kill the headlights as the road narrows further, relying on moonlight filtering through the ancient oaks. Can’t risk drawing attention, even in this remote corner of the park. The locals call this part of the forest haunted—perfect for keeping nosy hikers away. My tires crunch over fallen branches as I slow to a stop in a small clearing.

“Almost there, fy unig gariad,” I whisper to Vivian, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from her face.

My fingertips linger on her cheek, warm against my cold skin. She doesn’t stir. The chloroform should keep her under for another ten minutes, maybe less. I need to move fast.

I cut the engine and step out into the crisp forest air. It’s probably ten degrees Celsius right now, and to our luck, it’s not raining tonight. Being from Cardiff, I’m used to the cold weather. And I run hot, so I barely notice the temperature shock from my car to this forest. Will I regret wearing a sleeveless shirt? Probably. Do I care about that now? Nah. I’m more worried about Vivian.

The silence is a dramatic contrast after the constant noise of the concert venue—just the whisper of wind through autumn leaves and the distant hooting of an owl. I take a deep breath, centering myself before opening the passenger door.

Vivian tumbles slightly toward me as I release her seatbelt, and I catch her with the most care in the world. The weight of her in my arms feels right, like she’s always belonged there, and I let out a whimper I didn’t even know I had in me. With care, I lift her from the seat, cradling her against my chest before shifting her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Sorry about this,” I murmur into the night air. “The romantic carry would’ve been more dignified, but we’ve got a bit of a hike.”