I brought the mug up to my lips, grimacing with each bitter, icy sip. Ugh. Maybe I should just throw the whole thing at him. That would be satisfying. I didn’t hear him until he was right behind me—like a goddamn shadow or one of those smug cats that knows it owns the place. Before I could react, two strong arms wrapped around me from behind, warm and firm and way too comfortable. He pulled me back gently into his chest, and I felt him chuckle low against my back. “Let me go,” I grumbled, trying to sound serious but probably coming off like a flustered mess. “I was just teasing,” he said, voice stupidly soft. Then I felt his breath at my neck, the press of his nose as he buried his face there. I froze. Then he inhaled. Deeply. Like he was trying to memorize the scent of my skin. A satisfied groan slipped from his throat, one that vibrated against my spine, and I swear my soul just about left my body. “Ethan,” I whispered, not trusting myself to say anything else.
I woke up with a groan, my throat dry and my body stiff. My back ached, my legs were half-asleep, and something soft and warm was under my cheek. Wait. The soft thing… moved. My eyes snapped open and I instantly squinted against the sunlight flooding in through the wide cabin windows. Warm morning light painted the wooden walls in golden hues, and the scent of pine mixed with something else… something familiar. Musk. Skin. Him. Oh, god. My head was resting on Ethan’s lap. I blinked hard, my mouth suddenly dry for an entirely different reason. I could feel the fabric of his sweatpants against my cheek. His body heat was strong, and his scent was almost overwhelming. And then I realized something even more disturbing. He was staring down at me. Just… watching me sleep. I tilted my head slowly, my face burning as I met his gaze. His eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, but his mouth was curled in this small, lazy smile like I’d just made his entire week. “
The silence in this place was… deafening. I could hear everything. Every creak in the wood. Every groan of the old cabin settling. Every branch tapping against the windows like a bony finger wanting in. Even the damn wind sounded like it was whispering secrets just out of reach. My nerves were so tightly wound I swear I could hear my own heartbeat thumping behind my ears. A distant animal cry echoed from somewhere outside, and I flinched like it had stabbed me. Ethan chuckled. I turned my head and shot him the nastiest glare I could muster, which probably wasn’t that nasty since I was also on the verge of crawling into his lap like a damn baby bunny looking for warmth. "You don't have to be scared, Camila. You're safe." His voice was low, lazy even, and his eyes were still closed like he was meditating or half-asleep. "I'm not scared," I grumbled. "Sure," he muttered back, that fucking smug tone lacing his words like he already knew I was full of shit. And I was. K
The drive felt like forever. I didn’t even realize when I’d fallen back asleep—maybe it was the last remnants of whatever he’d slipped in that damn mug—but by the time I cracked my eyes open again, the car was rolling to a stop. The soft crunch of gravel under the tires brought me out of the haze. I sat up slowly, my head still feeling foggy and a little too light. I blinked at the window, confused. Trees. Trees everywhere. Where the hell were we? “Where are we?” I croaked, my voice sounding like it’d been dragged through a blender. Ethan turned the engine off and looked over at me, that too-gentle smile on his face again—the kind that would’ve seemed sweet if I didn’t know better. “Safe,” he said simply. “At least for now.” I stared at him, then at the house—or maybe I should say cabin—sitting just ahead of us. It was tucked into a bunch of tall trees like some kind of nature getaway you’d see in a travel blog. A little too peaceful-looking. Small wooden porch, light st
CAMILA ~ I woke up to the soft rumble of an engine under me. At first, my brain didn’t even register it. I just kinda blinked up at the dark fabric of the car ceiling, feeling the vibration through my whole body, and thinking... what the actual fuck...? The realization hit like a punch to the gut. I jerked upright, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it actually hurt. “What the fuck—?!” The world outside the window was moving. Fast. Trees blurring past, streetlights blinking by in slow, steady pulses. I was in a goddamn moving car. Panic clawed at my throat, and for a second I was convinced I was dreaming. That I must’ve fallen into one of those weird fever dreams where nothing made sense and you woke up sweating buckets. But no. The seatbelt was digging into my shoulder too tightly for it to be a dream. My mouth tasted dry and weird, too. Real. How the fuck did I get in a moving car? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to piece shit together. Think, Camila,
The drive back felt longer somehow, the bag sitting heavy on the seat next to me, a silent reminder of how close we were cutting this. Every turn of the tires felt like a clock ticking down in my head. Gotta move fast. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the sky was beginning to lighten at the edges, a dirty shade of blue smudging out the black. I killed the engine and stepped out, boots crunching over the gravel. I kept the duffel slung over one shoulder, my other hand resting at my side. Please still be asleep, Camila. I slid the key into the lock and twisted it slowly, easing the door open with barely a creak. I locked the door behind me and moved fast, my boots whisper-quiet on the floorboards. First stop: my room. I dropped the duffel onto the bed and zipped it open with fast, practiced fingers. Inside, nestled among black foam padding, were three small glass vials, each filled with a swirling, smoky liquid the color of storm clouds. The guy had delivered