Chapter 2

Chapter Two

L ark

The chill of the night air bites into my skin, seeping through the thin fabric of my dress as I stare out the dirty window. Shadows twist and shift outside, making the darkness feel alive, like a predator waiting to pounce. Cyrus's snores echo through the cabin, low and guttural, breaking the stillness in harsh bursts. For the first time today, I have a moment of calm—but my nerves are still frayed, my mind racing with fear. Bruises decorate my skin, a reminder of the pain this man inflicts on me on the daily. I think back to the day he picked me up on the side of the road, just me and a duffel as I hitchhiked out of town to escape a family that only took from me. Cyrus' smile was kind, understanding, something like empathy warming his eyes as he listened to my sad story. But the further we drove out of town, the harder his gaze became. I blink away the pain of my first few nights in Cyrus' cabin, shackled to his bed in an effort to break my will and make sure I didn't leave while he passed out on the couch after chugging whiskey all night.

A soft, rhythmic tapping against the windowpane suddenly breaks the silence and jolts me from my memories. My heart lurches, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I turn slowly, every muscle taut with dread, and peer through the glass. There's a figure outside, obscured by shadows. My pulse spikes, panic rising fast and sharp, until I recognize the dark, piercing eyes looking back at me.

The man from the woods. The man that made me hope for just a moment that I might have a chance of a life off of this mountain, until the realization dawned that Cyrus would find me if I left. He would always find me. And besides, where would I go? I have no home to return to, no one missing me or thinking about me. I've been left to survive on my own and surviving doesn't look the same from everyone.

Relief floods through me at the thought that the mountain man from earlier came back for me, followed quickly by a new surge of fear. My gaze darts to Cyrus, still sprawled on the couch, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand. He's oblivious, but that could change in an instant.

I move slowly to the front door, my movements silent and cautious. My hands tremble as I reach for the lock, the click unnaturally loud in the oppressive stillness. I crack the door open just enough to see his rugged face, his eyes blazing with urgency.

"Let's go," he whispers, his voice rough but steady. "Now."

My pulse thunders in my ears as I hesitate, torn between the overwhelming desire for freedom and the paralyzing fear that Cyrus will wake.

"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.

Before I can respond, Hunter reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek. The gesture is tender, yet it sends a bolt of heat straight through me. "We have to keep going," he says, his voice low and filled with an urgency that's both practical and deeply personal. "I won't let him take you back."

I nod, unable to find the words to express what I'm feeling. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead. "Okay," I whisper. "I trust you."

And as we stand together in the darkness, with nothing but the stars above and the wilderness around us, I feel the first stirrings of something I've never known: a chance at freedom, a chance at life—and maybe, just maybe, a chance at love.