Chapter 3

Everlee

Ifollow behind Wild Man, but I keep my distance. It's better to not be close if he makes any sudden movements toward me. I rest my hand on the butt of my gun holstered to my hip.

I watch my surroundings as we trek through the forest, memorizing landmarks so I won't be lost when I leave. Having been forced to live half of my life outdoors with my dad and brothers has its perks. They taught me all about nature. How to navigate it. How to recognize certain things. How to track through it. How to identify poisonous plants and critters.

While I'm aware of what's going on around me, my eyes keep straying ahead. Wild Man is about twenty feet in front of me, still wearing his birthday suit. With each step he takes, the muscles in his ass and legs flex, and I can't help but watch. That butt looks good enough to bite, or maybe sink my nails into. What can I say, I've always been a butt gal.

He suddenly stops and turns his head, his eyes meeting mine. My cheeks grow hot at being caught looking at his backside. His blank expression doesn't change. He just turns back around and keeps walking.

His feet are bare, and I wonder how in the hell he's able to walk on such rough terrain and not hurt himself. Living in the wild has toughened up his feet, I'm sure, but there are things that would scratch and cut through the toughest skin.

His steps are light. So quiet that if I didn't see him, I wouldn't even know he was in front of me. No wonder he was able to sneak up on me unawares. My father and brothers are masters at being outdoorsmen, but they have nothing on Wild Man.

After about twenty minutes, we come up to a thick brush of green bushes. Wild Man doesn't hesitate as he walks through the mass of green and goes out of view.

I do hesitate. I have no clue what's beyond that wall of vegetation. I don't know what's going to happen on the other side. Or what I'll find. It's a worrisome notion, and I recognize I'd be stupid to chance it. But dammit, I've waited years for this opportunity.

My head jerks to the side when a branch snaps. It sounds like it's a good distance away, but there's no telling what or how close it is. It didn't sound small though. A noise comes from the bushes in front of me, and my head swivels in that direction. I look up at the sky, or what I can see of it through the trees, and notice how far down the sun has gone. It's on its descent into the west. Which means I only have a couple hours of daylight left.

I estimate I have about an hour of steady walking before I make it back to my campsite, so I have a little time to spare. Why not use that hour to try and learn more about Wild Man. To see where he lives. Or attempt to get him to speak with me.

Can he even speak? I mean, I'm sure he can make noises, but does he remember how to form words? According to rumor, he was five years old when he was left alone in the wild. From the little research I've been able to find on him, the talk is that he's never left. He raised himself in this forest. Other than the two people who claimed to have glimpsed a man in the forest, there are no accounts of anyone approaching him. There's been no one for him to talk to, so maybe he's forgotten how.

That thought pulls on my heartstrings. I can't imagine growing up utterly alone, especially at such a young age. I was two when Mom died, but I had Dad and my brothers, and later in life, my friends. I don't remember Mom, but my family wasn't the type to shy away from talking about her. I know her through pictures, their memories, and the many stories they've shared about her.

Wild Man had no one. He lost his parents so young and had no one to take care of him, comfort him, shield him from danger. How in the hell did he survive out here on his own? How did he manage to find food? How did he escape the many deadly creatures that roam the area? How did he survive the harsh weather elements?

I'm determined to get the answers to my questions. And to do that, I need to grow a pair of steel balls and move forward.

So that's what I do.

My first step is hesitant, but the ones that follow are stronger and more steadfast. I step up to the thick overgrowth of brush and reach out. When I push it aside and walk through the small opening, I stop just on the other side.

My mouth drops open in awe at what I find.

It's like a mini-oasis. The focal point of the hidden spot is a big white oak tree with thick branches that hang surprisingly low. Surrounding the tree are make-shift walls made out of tree branches and foliage. There's a big open space where one can walk inside the structure. Between the large tree above and the branches and foliage, the area is protected from the rain. More walls are along the outside of the living space, giving a sense of privacy. The ground has a thick layer of old leaves and underbrush, which I'm sure makes the ground softer to walk on. Along one wall is a pile of random stuff that looks like it's been there for years. I wonder how and when he started collecting it. Up against another wall, there are several long sticks with pointy ends. Weapons? Hunting tools?

From where I'm standing, I can't get a good look inside the covered portion, but it fills me with curiosity. Is that where he sleeps?

The smell of burning wood has my gaze jerking around, looking for the source. To my left, Wild Man is squatting in front of a small fire. Before I can stop them, my eyes drop to the thick appendage hanging between his legs. It damn near brushes the ground. Does he always go around naked? Does he not own any clothes? It's a silly question, since this forest is his home. He would have no way of getting clothes.

I move my gaze before he catches me staring at his junk and take a tentative step forward. His long hair falls forward, some draping over his wide shoulders while the rest falls down his back. One of his big tanned hands rests on his knee, while the other arm is stretched out. He's holding a long stick with what looks like a piece of meat stuck on the end. I don't even want to think about what animal it is.

He doesn't look at me or acknowledge my presence as I slowly move closer.

"Hello." I keep my voice low and even. "My name is Everlee. Or you can call me Ever."

Nothing. He just flips the meat on the stick to the other side.

I stop on the opposite side of the fire from him, keeping the flames between us. "Do you have a name?"

Again, he doesn't say anything. He ignores me and keeps his black gaze on the meat.

Spotting a log a few feet away, I roll it toward the fire and take a seat. I set my backpack beside me. I'm quiet for a few minutes, just watching the silent man in front of me, giving him time to get used to my presence. Every minute or so, he flips the meat over.

"The people in town call you Wild Man," I say casually. "So I'll just keep calling you that until you feel comfortable telling me your name. Is that okay?"

I'm not surprised when he doesn't respond. It's a good thing I have plenty of patience and a ton of tenacity. I knew this endeavor wouldn't be easy. It would be shocking if Wild Man took to me immediately and told me his life's story from the get go. Having not been around people for so long, I knew he would be wary and probably wouldn't know how to socialize. I have to build his trust and show him I mean him no harm.

When I told Dillon I wanted to write an article about Wild Man, one of the stipulations I made with him and Linzi was that the location of Wild Man would stay out of the magazine. He's lived in this forest peacefully for more than twenty years, and I didn't want that to change for him. I didn't want people to swarm the area on a hunt to locate the man who raised himself in the wilderness since he was a child. He has the right to continue living in peace, and I won't be responsible for disrupting that. I merely want to observe him and document his journey, if he allows it.

"I work for a magazine," I say conversationally. "I heard about you years ago and have been fascinated by what happened." I internally cringe at how the words come out. It makes me sound like I get enjoyment from his suffering. "What I mean is, I'm interested to learn your story. How you came to live in the wild. How you survived. And if you're okay with it, I'd like to document it."

Not a peep or twitch.

I sigh. Rome wasn't built in a day. Thankfully, I'm a freelance writer, so I can spend as much time as needed to get the information I want.

I watch Wild Man as he watches the meat he's cooking. The light beneath the canopy of trees is growing dimmer by the minute, which means I need to leave soon. I'd rather not be traipsing through the forest at night. I have a cabin I go to every couple of days to shower and charge my sat phone, but mostly I stay in my tent. It's weird camping on my own, but it's also peaceful, relaxing.

I'm just getting ready to stand and inform him that I'm leaving and to ask if he minds if I return tomorrow, but he gets to his feet first, startling me. I tense, unsure what he's about to do.

What he does do is more than unexpected. As he rounds the fire to my side, he yanks the piece of meat from the stick and tears off a portion of it. It has to be hot, but he shows no sign of it burning his hand.

I hold still, preparing to pull the gun from my hip should I need it. He stops a foot away from me and holds out the small piece of meat. My gaze switches from the meat in his hand to his face and back again several times before I realize what he's doing.

He… wants me to eat.

This wild and untamed man is trying to feed me.

I look back at the meat, inspecting it with a critical eye. There's no telling what animal it is. There are a number of creatures known to inhabit this part of the forest. Bears, coyotes, bobcats, wolves, and foxes are just a few of the deadlier kind. None of them sound appealing to eat. But it would be rude and offensive to refuse his offering.

I reach out and take the piece of meat from him, ignoring the way my stomach flips on its side at not knowing exactly what I'll be putting in my mouth. Surprisingly, it looks good and the smell isn't bad either.

Wild Man waits a moment before he turns and goes back to his side of the fire. He resumes his squatted position, but he doesn't eat. His dark, brooding eyes stay latched onto me, as if he's waiting on something.

Here goes nothing, Ever.

I bring the meat to my lips and take a small bite. Wild Man watches me, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a hint of expectancy in his blank expression. The look makes me think he's waiting for my reaction to the food, and maybe even hopes I like it.

It doesn't taste bad. It actually reminds me of one of the grilled steaks Dad is known for during cookouts. It's charred perfectly, is tender, and has just the right amount of juices.

"This is good." I don't even know if he can understand me, but I still feel the need to voice my praise. "What animal is it?"

No response.

I take another bite, this time bigger. Wild Man seems satisfied with my reaction and starts eating his own piece. Unlike me, he tears into it with zero amount of grace. He just digs his teeth into it and yanks a piece off. He finishes before me, despite his piece being twice as big as mine. The simple meal settles in my stomach, leaving me satisfied.

He stands again, and I watch as he walks inside the covered area and comes back out a moment later. He carries a small plastic jug. Stopping beside me in the same spot as before, he holds the jug out. I slowly take it from him. It looks filthy on the outside, but when I look inside the little opening, the clear liquid looks fresh and clean.

I don't know why I feel compelled to eat this man's food and drink his water—assuming it is water. It wouldn't be a stretch for him to poison me somehow. After all, I'm a complete stranger that wandered into his camp. He has every reason to get rid of me.

Even so, I lift the jug to my mouth and take a small sip. The water is cool and refreshing against my parched tongue. I swallow two more mouthfuls before I hand it back to Wild Man with a smile. He looks down at the jug, flips it around, and drinks from the exact spot that I drank from. For some reason, that move heats my cheeks and makes my stomach swirl.

Droplets of water cling to his lips and beard when he pulls the jug away. Lifting his arm, he uses the back of his hand to smear away the lingering moisture. Unconsciously, and of their own accord, my eyes fall back down. Right to his groin, which is only a couple of feet in front of me, right at eye level.

This whole time, I've done an excellent job at avoiding it, no matter how often my eyes want to stray. It's just so damn big, it's hard to miss. It's like a huge fucking log, swaying in the wind each time he moves.

When I realize I've been staring at it for too long, and I've even gone so far as to lick my lips, I jerk my eyes back up to where they should be. This view isn't much better. The man is a work of God-like art. I'm pretty sure the man upstairs spent way too much time perfecting the body in front of me.

His eyes, which are as black as obsidian, are focused on me. Something lurks behind the darkness, barely noticeable, and the look sends a ripple down my spine. Not the pleasant kind of ripple, but the kind someone gets when they instinctively know something bad is about to happen. The kind that kicks in right before the fight or flight response activates.

And that's my cue to leave.

That's when I make my first mistake.

My attention is on my backpack as I get up from the log. "Thank you for the food," I say, grabbing the pack with the intention of throwing it over my shoulder. "I'm going to lea?—"

My words fall short when I look up. Wild Man has moved closer. So close that he's in my personal bubble, and I can see a few faint freckles dotting his forehead and feel the heat coming off his naked body. He looms over me, his expression an unreadable mask. I'm forced to tilt my head way back to keep him in view.

When I try to take a step away, he darts his hand out, wrapping his long fingers around my much smaller bicep. His grip isn't tight enough to bruise, but it's also unyielding.

"Let go," I demand in a no-nonsense tone.

That's where I make my second mistake. Thinking I can force him to release me.

In response, Wild Man tightens his grip. Fear shoots through me at the defiant look that darkens his already unfathomable eyes. Just that look alone tells me he has no intentions of following my order.

I drop my pack and reach for my gun. My fingertips barely graze the butt of it when my hand is snatched away. Before I have a chance to reach for my taser, my arms are pulled behind me and my wrists are captured into one of his big hands. He yanks me forward and my breasts are smashed against his firm chest. I can feel the thick length of his cock trapped between our bodies. This close, I can smell him. The scent of primal male radiates off him; a slight musk, pine, and a hint of earth.

I tip my head back, the fear from before growing tenfold.

His face is only inches away from mine. The warmth of his steady breath fans across my cheeks, heating them further. The long strands of his ebony hair surround us as he glares down at me.

He drops his face closer and bares his teeth, growling out a single word.

"Mine."