Prologue

PROLOGUE

Lila

EIGHT YEARS OLD

Why couldn't I be taller?

Letting out a frustrated cry, I grip the tree branch tighter as I stretch my arm upwards. Just a few more inches, I'll have the specific pinecone I want. Dirt cakes my knees from scouring the forest floor, and my hands are sticky with tree sap, but I don't care. All that matters is getting this perfect-sized, stubby cone. Though, I need to hurry. It's getting late, and being stuck in the woods after dark is scary.

I push on my tiptoes. So close that my fingers brush the bottom of the prize, the branch wobbling beneath. Almost there.

"Whatcha doin'?" His voice slices through the quiet like the crack of a bat against a ball, startling me.

The limb beneath me snaps and falls to the ground, bringing me along. Oomph . I land right on my butt. To be fair, the fall wasn't far—only a foot from the ground—but it stung all the same. I turn to glare at the rude intruder, fully prepared to chew him out. But my breath hitches at the sight of Drake Gunner leaning against a tree with his arms folded and that ever-present scowl etched onto his face.

Speaking of being just out of reach.

Even at eight years old, he's got this intensity about him. All dark and brooding, with a sense of raw, untamed power. He's like a wild animal honing its focus on its prey.

"None of your business," I say, pushing to my feet. It takes everything in me to ignore rubbing my bottom.

"It's best to stick to thicker branches to climb trees." His nonchalant voice angers me even more.

"I wasn't climbing the tree." I angrily brush off the pine needles from my sleeve and pick up the bag of pinecones I've amassed.

"Then what were you doing?"

I huff out a frustrated breath. "If you must know. I was reaching for a pinecone."

His gaze drops to the bag in my hand, nose scrunching. "What's wrong with those?"

"Nothing. But I wanted that one." I point to the dangling pinecone, tilting my head to the side and admiring it. I can picture its placement on the wreath I wanted to make for Daddy. A wistful sigh escapes. "It's the perfect size."

"The perfect size for what?"

The questioning tone snaps my attention back to Drake. He sure is curious for someone known as a wild child. "For making my wreath. You know, like the one in art class."

He rolls his eyes. "That ugly thing?"

My mouth drops open. "Daddy's right about you."

"About me? What did he say?"

"That I should stay away from you."

"Yeah?" He pushes off the tree, and those long legs chew the distance between us. My breath stills as he towers above me. We're the same age, but he stands more than a foot taller. "Why would he say that?"

"I don't know. He said you're a ‘Wild Child.' Nothing but trouble."

Drake flashes me those pearly whites. "You afraid of the big bad wolf, little cub?"

I scoff at the nickname. "I'm not scared of you."

My chin tilts forward, a hint of defiance in my voice. Drake doesn't frighten me. Quite the opposite, if this strange sense of safety enveloping me is anything to go by. I find him interesting, even though he's always getting in trouble with the teachers. But being scared? No, he doesn't frighten me.

He shifts to where his body practically engulfs mine. With a tilt of his head, he studies me. "You should be."

His breath grazes my skin, sending my heartbeat racing, but I'm still not scared. I don't know what I feel, but it's not fear. It's something thrilling, something that makes a warm shiver spread down my spine. It's the same nervous excitement I feel right before the starting whistle of a soccer game.

"I'm not scared," I repeat, trying to sound braver than I feel.

Drake chuckles lightly, his eyes twinkling with the slightest hint of amusement. "You really are a tiger cub, aren't ya?"

"You don't know anything about me," I retort, but there's no venom in my voice. In fact, it comes out softer than I intended.

He reaches up, grabs the dangling pinecone, and hands it to me. "No, but I'd like to."

That throws me off. No one's ever spoken to me like that before. The surprise must've shown on my face because Drake laughs, a low, rumbling sound that seems to echo around us.

I open my mouth to speak when a low growl rumbles through the air, more felt than heard. Chills skate across my skin as I scan the woods for the source.

"What was that?" I ask, all bravery relinquished.

Drake twists his head toward the sound, his chocolate brown eyes narrow and intense. He's eerily still, like a predator listening, calculating.

"Behind me!" Drake shouts, suddenly all action, shoving me so hard I stumble backward as a wild dog bursts from the underbrush, teeth bared and eyes wild.

"Run, Lila!" he yells, but my legs refuse to obey. How can I leave when he's standing there, fierce and defiant, protecting me?

The dog lunges and latches onto Drake's arm. I shudder as his piercing scream slices through the forest. Panic surges within me. It takes a moment for me to notice Drake trying to reach for something—his knife—but it slips from his belt and clangs to the ground.

"Drake!" My voice is a mix of terror and determination as I dive for the knife.

"No, Lila. Get out of here." Drake's desperate plea echoes through the woods as he falls to the ground with the wild dog latched onto his arm.

I scream in horror as they wrestle. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, urging me to flee. And yet, my feet remain rooted to the ground. Drake's eyes meet mine for a split second before pain and fury consume them. He lets out another blood-curdling scream, which jolts me into action.

Without thinking, I grip the knife tightly and lunge forward, driving the blade into the rabid dog, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

It yelps and lets go, giving Drake enough time to snatch the knife from me and strike back. He wounds the beast enough for it to whimper and retreat.

"Come on!" Drake grabs my hand, and we run as if the hounds of hell are snapping at our heels. We don't stop until we collapse in a heap, gasping for breath, far away from the danger.

"Are you okay?" I ask between panting breaths, my eyes wide as I take in the sight of his torn sleeve and the blood that seeps through.

He gives me a weak grin, those soulful eyes meeting mine. "I told you to run."

But I didn't, couldn't—I stared at him. This boy, who everyone said was trouble, and all I see is the bravest person I know. My chest tightened, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe, not from running but from something else—something like awe.

"I couldn't leave you."

Something flickers in those dark eyes, but Drake's face contorts in pain before I can decipher it. He reaches for his blood-soaked arm and winces. "I'm trying to be brave, but this hurts."

"We need to get you help." I survey our surroundings. The edge of the forest is far behind us. In front of us lies a vast open field with a small farm in the distance.

He groans. "It's just a scratch."

"That won't stop bleeding. You need stitches and rabies shots."

"Shots?" Drake scrunches up his face, a playful glint in his eyes despite the pain. "That sounds worse than the bite."

I manage a weak laugh, my hand still trembling as I dab his forearm. The sight of blood has always made me queasy, but I can't let him see that. Not now. "Stop being dramatic. You'll be fine."

He grins at me, a lopsided smirk that makes the situation less terrifying. And for a moment, as I look into those warm brown eyes flecked with gold, everything else fades away—the wild dog, the panic, the fear—all replaced with an indescribable sense of peace.

"Come on," I say gently, standing up and offering him my hand. When he takes it, my heart flutters in my chest. It's a strange sensation, new and unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

"Lila?" Drake stops walking and turns to face me, his expression serious. "Please don't go into the woods without protection again."

"Okay, I promise," I whisper, my voice trembling. We head out, and as the adrenaline fades, I'm left with an undeniable truth: Drake Gunner is no trouble at all—he's my hero.