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Three

Summer

Inside the Lights, we bathe in the river.

I have never stood beneath a spray of water that isn’t pouring down from the sky. Not since I can remember, anyway.

I wasn’t born inside the Lights. But I was very young when they adopted me. Too young to have memories of a life Before. I only have glimpses of scenery, faces, from where I’m from in the Darkness. Maximillian and the Keepers say those are only imagined; dreams. But I don’t know. I prefer to believe some parts are real.

My parents.

My sister.

A dog we had, Scarlett.

A big house, red curtains in the second-floor window; my bedroom; my own room. It cast its crimson glow to the hallway and down the stairs.

A black and yellow jacket I hated.

The beach. It was always so cold.

The sounds of fighting.

Driving.

Tires squealing.

The kiss of metal.

I wince. I focus on the water sluicing over my skin. A shower; a warm shower. It is the most indulgent and healing experience of my entire life.

I knew from the moment I stepped into Boyd’s cabin, that I would never want to leave. He called it an off-grid, solar-powered refuge he designed and built over eight months using locally harvested cedar, pine, and spruce from a family-owned nearby mill, putting windows and skylights in every room.

I want to call it home.

Although, it is hard to believe the castle he calls a lodge and this beautiful, comfortable house are just…right here. So close to the Lights.

Are we close to the Lights? It’s hard to reconcile the distances I’ve traveled today. The Lights seemed like the end of the earth. The world is much wider and brighter than I had imagined only yesterday. Have I gotten far away enough to know I’m safe?

Will I ever be safe?

I wrap myself in a towel-cocoon and step into the hall where fifty pounds of silk-smooth, long white and chocolate-brown fur immediately come barreling toward me. Topher’s soft paws slide to a stop at my feet. “Allo, doggie.” I reach down to pat his head.

I know Boyd is close, right around the corner, moving around in that space he calls a living room. There are no sounds coming but I just know. I can feel his energy pulses. I smell his scent—it’s like the forest a long while after a fire. Smoky, but clean. Like almonds and rich loam.

Closing my eyes, I breathe him all the way down into my lungs.

When I open them he’s there, standing before me, and I’m struck again by the size of him. My heart wallops my chest as every nerve in my body ignites. A funny feeling swirls in my stomach at the presence of a man so…big. I have to stretch my chin back far to meet his incandescent stare, trained on me like a savage, hungry beast and I’m…a little fox. He’s horny or starving and I’m his next meal.

The mental image makes me shake.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Boyd burrs. That low rumble works through my ear canals and plunges all the way to my belly button, then a tiny bit lower, tingling, twisting and charging. My breath catches as I feel my loins stir, clenching out a blot of wetness that dribbles against my inner thigh.

I’ve heard of this feeling. This…desire. Sex. But the actual sensation, the movement of prickly warmth at the apex, is brand-new. It consumes my thoughts when he’s close. My hole becoming furiously empty, so deprived. So wet.

“I-I’m okay,” I mutter simply.

“Enjoy your shower, sweetheart?”

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