27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cally

Last night I told him we’d argue about untying him in the morning, but when I got up to pee in the middle of the night, I quietly removed his bonds. It pisses me off just thinking about all the shit they dumped in his head.

Evidently, the evil scientists didn’t think it was enough to create him and keep him crammed in a tiny cage. They convinced him he was some kind of monster. Fuckers! Hopefully, at some point in the future, he’ll believe he’s the great person I know him to be. He deserves to love himself and be happy.

I have no idea what time it is, but I’d bet it’s at least mid-morning. At some point a few hours ago, Sylas was curled around me, his front to my back, his heavy arm slung over my waist. He must have turned onto his other side.

I wiggle backward, seeking his shaggy warmth, but when my ass hits the edge of the bed, I roll over with a start.

“Sylas?” It’s a one-room hut, other than the bathroom. Not an easy place to hide. “Sylas!” I sit up and hurry out of bed, scrambling to find him. “Tater?”

The bathroom is empty and both my guys are gone.

Last night was bliss. When we’re together, it’s easy to forget that I’m an intruder here, that we could both get into big trouble if the military finds out about us. I’ll be punished for simply being on this secret base, and he’ll catch hell for hiding my existence.

“Shit.” As I jam my legs into my jean shorts, I notice the bed looks like a crime scene, with the ropes still attached to the bedframe and the fitted sheet shredded in passion.

After hurrying to the kitchen, I say, “You dork!” to the empty room when I see his message.

Neither of us brought a writing utensil with us, and the Army, although it provided two kinds of vinegar, didn’t think to equip us with a pen. Sylas is great at improvising, though, because he grabbed a bag of lentils out of the cupboard and spelled, mushrm huntng w Tot on the counter.

I slam my palm against my chest like an old woman faking a heart attack as I order my heart to slow down.

“What did you think happened?” I scold myself. “That your new boyfriend ran off with another woman after the best sex of your life?”

That wasn’t an exaggeration. It was definitely the best sex of my life. And I would bet money that was the best sex of his—at least I hope it was better than palming himself alone in his barracks.

Then it hits me. Did I just call him my boyfriend? Is that what he is?

I laugh out loud when I recall a saying one of my guy friends used to have in high school. “Boy? Did you call me boy? A foot of dick and a bucket of balls, you can’t call me boy.”

Crass as that was, I’d say after getting up close and personal with Sylas’s equipment, that statement was a pretty accurate description. And yeah. I can’t hide my possessive smile when I decide Sylas is definitely my boyfriend—if he’s okay with that.

The insects create 24/7 background music out here in the woods. It’s so ever-present, it quickly faded out of my awareness. But my body freezes when I realize all those crickets and buzzing bugs are suddenly silent.

If the lack of noise was caused by Sylas and Tater returning from their mushroom hunt, the two of them would be crashing through the brush and the elk-man would be talking up a storm to his canine friend.

Someone’s out there, and it isn’t my two guys.

My heart has ratcheted up again, fast enough to call the paramedics—if I had a phone. My mouth is suddenly dry, and oddly enough, I’m not as worried about myself as I am for Sylas.

I grab the biggest knife out of the drawer and ease into the corner as I ask myself what, exactly, I can do if someone bursts through the front door.