Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“What if he hears?” I whisper back, my voice barely audible.
The man’s jaw tightens, and his eyes burn with a fierce determination. “He won’t if you move now. I won’t leave without you.” His hand reaches through the gap in the door, his fingers warm and firm as they close around my arm. “Trust me.”
The warmth of his touch sends a rush of conflicting emotions through me—terror, hope, and something dangerously close to desire. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, and nod. “O–okay.”
His grip tightens for a split second, a silent reassurance, before he releases me. “Stay low, stay close,” he instructs, his voice a low growl. “And keep quiet.”
I step out into the darkness, the air crisp and biting against my skin. My feet are bare, and each step makes a soft crunch against the fallen leaves, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is the solid presence of his broad shoulders in front of me, moving with a silent but lethal grace.
The dense woods close in around us, the branches overhead forming a tangled canopy that blocks out the moonlight. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves makes my heart leap into my throat. My breathing is labored, not just from the effort but from the sheer terror of being caught.
“Are we far enough yet?” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
He slows down just enough to glance back at me, his eyes glinting in the darkness. “Not yet. We need more distance. But you’re doing good, sweetheart. Real good.”
The unexpected praise sends a small thrill through me, a warmth I can’t quite explain. I stumble over a root, but Hunter’s hand shoots out, catching me before I can fall. “Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “I’ve got you.” His eyes hang with mine, warmth filling my cold veins. “Name’s Hunter Warner.”
His hand lingers on my waist longer than necessary, and I feel a spark of something I shouldn’t—something hot and raw that has nothing to do with fear.
“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling both grateful and strangely exposed under his intense gaze.
“Keep moving,” he urges, his voice softer this time. “We’re almost out of the worst of it.”
We press on, the forest growing denser, the darkness deeper. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched, and it sends shivers down my spine.
“Do you think he’s looking for me?” I ask, my voice tinged with anxiety.
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.