chapter 4

Sable

I wake up slowly, as if my body and mind are resisting consciousness. My dreams were surprisingly calm and comforting, and my eyes don’t seem to want to open. I don’t want to leave this calm, peaceful space between sleep and waking.

And why would I? So much of my life has been pain and trauma that it’s only fair I linger in the good moments as long as I can.

I’m beneath soft, warm blankets in a quiet room, and for a moment, I think I’m back in my bed in Uncle Clint’s house. But then a comforting scent wafts over me. Not the usual smell of Tide and my lavender body lotion.

Something more masculine.

Woodsy and spicy.

Unfamiliar yet achingly intoxicating.

I nestle farther into the pillow, breathing the soothing scent in deeply. I slide beneath the covers, ignoring the pained protests of my body as I roll into the sheets and take another deep breath. I spread out on my belly, blankets covering me from head to toe, and smile as I’m completely surrounded by this woodsy smell. Even still, I want more of it.

I’m rubbing against the she

ets like a cat, like I can imprint myself with the smell, when the events of last night suddenly rush back into my memories with a vengeance.

My heart seizes in my chest as I freeze, my breath catching.

The hospital visit.

The drive home.

I… I ran.

I remember shoving open the truck door and racing off into the woods to the sound of Uncle Clint spitting mad and making chase. There was a deer leading me, and I was almost hit by a car. Were there… bear claw marks on trees? I fell down a ravine…

And then there was a wolf.

Everything after that is a dark, unformed blur. But what I do remember is enough to send panic spiking through my veins.

Shoving back the covers, I sit up in bed and glance frantically around the room. Four unfamiliar walls surround me, constructed of wooden logs like some kind of rustic cabin. There’s nothing in the room but a bed and a dresser, and two doors, both closed. A small window is set into an exterior wall, covered by gauzy white curtains that let in golden sunlight—afternoon sunlight, maybe.

Shit. How long was I asleep?

Then my gaze lands on a pile of dirty laundry resting in a basket in one corner. Men’s blue jeans, white t-shirts…

I slide from the bed, staring at the pile as I move across the room toward it.

Right on top of the laundry is a blue flannel shirt.

No.

I stumble backward, arms wheeling as I put too much weight on my sore ankle and lose my balance. My hip crash-lands on the bed, and the frame scrapes across the floor. I cringe at how loud the sound is, gripping the mattress in total silence as I brace myself for someone to come running.

Somewhere out in the house, a floorboard creaks, and my heart leaps into a gallop.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

My uncle must have found me before the wolf could eat me. And now Clint has dragged me to some cabin in the woods, somewhere nobody will hear me scream. He’s been waiting for me to wake up so he can punish me.

So he can teach me a lesson for trying to run away.

He’ll kill me this time. I just know it.

I leap to my feet and race toward the window, shoving aside the curtains. For a terrifying minute, I think the damn thing is nailed shut, until I realize there’s a safety catch on the rail that I have to unlatch in order to raise it. Footsteps are moving through the house beyond the closed door, coming closer. Uncle Clint isn’t hurried, obviously. He probably thinks I’m too injured to get away, especially after finding me at the bottom of a ravine.

Jesus, I’m lucky to be alive.

The fleeting thought flits through my mind a second before something falls to the floor in the other room with a jarring clang.

My luck is about to run out.

Every single thud of those unhurried steps makes my hands shake harder. It’s difficult enough trying to maneuver my fingers above the wrist brace with pain lancing up my arm, but the adrenaline pumping through me makes my hands shake so badly that it’s almost impossible. I finally manage to slide my thumb up with enough force to unlock the catch, then lean my shoulder in and jam the window open.

Cool mountain air gusts into the room, tickling my skin, and I take a deep breath of the familiar scent of distant snow and evergreens, hoping it will calm me.

It doesn’t fucking work, but it hardly matters. The footsteps outside the room are almost here, and I’m running on pure self-preservation instinct now, an almost animalistic drive to just fucking survive.

The window isn’t set high on the wall, thank God, so I don’t have to haul myself up to get through it. As soon as it’s open wide enough, I’ve got my torso out the window, sliding to freedom on my belly with all the elegance of a hippo on a dry water slide.

I land awkwardly on the ground outside, landing on my arms and shoulders. My legs flop out after me, the momentum sending me into a graceless barrel roll.

With a soft grunt, I come to rest on my side. The strange, oversized pajama pants I’m wearing have unfolded at the bottoms. They’re too long—a man’s pair of thin flannels that trail a foot past my feet. I consider rolling them back up and hoping they’ll stay in place, but the reality is, they’re loose and thin and I’m out of time. So I shove the damn things down my legs and kick them off.

My body protests as I use the thick logs on the outside of the cabin to pull myself to my feet. I can put weight on my twisted ankle, thankfully, but it hurts like hell. I know my race through the woods last night didn’t help the situation, but it’s not like I had a choice then, any more than I have a choice now.

I have to get the hell out of here.

Fight, Sable. Run. Stay alive.

I shove away from the cabin, taking a few tentative steps to make sure my legs aren’t going to collapse beneath me. Then I break into a run, trying not to think about the fact that my ass is on display for God and everyone to see. At least the large t-shirt hangs down low enough to cover most of it.

There are other cabins nearby, but I don’t dare knock on any of their doors begging for help. Clint’s good at making friends, and I can’t count on any strangers taking my side over his.

The tree line of a thick forest is only a hundred yards away to my left, and I run in that direction, hoping to get lost in the trees like I did last night. The memory of my dark flight to freedom sends a surge of anger and frustration through me that I channel into my legs.

I can’t believe Clint found me. I must’ve run miles into deep wilderness, through woods and up into the foothills. He never allowed me to have a cell phone; hell, I couldn’t even wear a watch under his rules.

So did he have some kind of tracker implanted in me like a psychopath?

Sadly, I wouldn’t put something like that past him. I wouldn’t put anything past him, and I’m reminded starkly of how foolish my unplanned flight was.

I didn’t think through any of this. I just ran.

And now I have no choice but to keep running.

There’s a rough dirt road beneath my bare feet—dry, dusty ground that hasn’t seen a good rainfall in a few days. I know that probably means I’m leaving a billowing trail of dust in my wake, but either side of the road is lined by small, rustic houses, so there’s no other route I can take.

My arms and legs pump harder as I go for a bit more speed.

I don’t recognize this place. It’s not Big Creek, the town where I lived with Uncle Clint—at least, I don’t think it is. I wasn’t exactly allowed out of the house to get to know the area, but we drove through it every time we made the trip to the hospital or the few other errands he took me on. I don’t recall a distinct lack of power lines, and we definitely drove on asphalt roads, not dirt and gravel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a few people. But I don’t let myself look for more than a second, keeping my head down and praying none of them sound the alarm.

If Uncle Clint brought me to this place, it means he has friends here. Friends who don’t care what he gets up to in his own home, or how he abuses his niece. I can’t trust any of these people to help me. I couldn’t before, and I definitely can’t now that I’ve run away.

The full force of his anger is about to come down on me like a hammer falling, unless I can get away a second time.

The dirt road ends abruptly at thick grass, and I cross the line with a surge of relief. I’m almost there. Grass is springier than the packed dirt road, and I use it to my advantage, running faster, my breaths coming quicker.

Dear God, please just let me get away. Please give me a chance to live a better life.

The trees, and what little protection they might offer, are only a few feet away.

But before I can reach them, two arms wrap tightly around my waist, hauling me off the ground and pinning me against a solid chest.