LOGINJason's POVI watched her eyes, and her small hesitation told me everything I needed to know. Franklin didn’t lie, and he didn't exaggerate. If he said they were close, they were close."Is there something you want to tell me, Samantha?" I asked again. My voice was steady, but inside, the familiar possessive, jealous itch was starting to burn.She didn't answer right away. She looked down at the keyboard of her laptop, her fingers resting lightly on the home row. Then, she did something I didn’t expect. She let out a soft sigh and leaned away from the headboard, lifting her head off my shoulder. She turned toward me, her face softening in a way that usually made my chest tighten."I think I’d rather talk about your day instead," she said. Her voice was gentle and sweet. "You look like you’ve been through a war with those documents. What’s been keeping you up besides waiting for me?""Don't change the subject, Sam," I said, though the edge in my voice had softened slightly. "I’m asking
She sat there for a long moment to think about her life, staring at the dead computer screen and the empty, echoing silence of the lab. Her cheek still burned where Claire had slapped her, and her scalp still ached from where fingers had torn at her hair, and somewhere deep in her chest, humiliation ate her the hell up. But beneath all of that, beneath the fear, beneath the shame, beneath the sick, tight ache of failure, something older stirred. Samantha Torres had survived far worse people than some secretary. She'd survived poverty, stalkers, and a gang of kidnappers. She'd survived Michaela's antics and embarrassment, having the entire country, even the Mayor, turn on her and make her a public laughingstock online. She even had to handle Tiffany Langley and her accusations. She'd been to prison for fucks sake! Sure, Claire was nasty and vicious, but Claire was not anything new to Samantha, and when it came down to it, she was definitely not unbeatable. Her parents
She sat there for a long moment to think about her life, staring at the dead computer screen and the empty, echoing silence of the lab. Her cheek still burned where Claire had slapped her, and her scalp still ached from where fingers had torn at her hair, and somewhere deep in her chest, humiliation ate her the hell up. But beneath all of that, beneath the fear, beneath the shame, beneath the sick, tight ache of failure, something older stirred. Samantha Torres had survived far worse people than some secretary. She'd survived poverty, stalkers, and a gang of kidnappers. She'd survived Michaela's antics and embarrassment, having the entire country, even the Mayor, turn on her and make her a public laughingstock online. She even had to handle Tiffany Langley and her accusations. She'd been to prison for fucks sake! Sure, Claire was nasty and vicious, but Claire was not anything new to Samantha, and when it came down to it, she was definitely not unbeatable. Her parents
“Run?” I repeated, because my brain was still buffering. “Run where?!” Neither Kieran nor Rowan answered. Kieran grabbed my wrist, Rowan grabbed my other arm, and suddenly I was being yanked between two of them and we were sprinting like track stars on steroids. “Wait! What the hell is happening?!” I half-screamed, half-wheezed, my bare feet slapping against damp earth as I tried desperately to keep up with them. “Wait, what was that howl? Who the hell was that? Oh my God, what's happening?" I had died, died by the hands of a Dorito chip of all things, and woken up in this medieval nightmare hellscape, and now now I was being chased down to my death by a bloodthirsty God knows what. “Quiet,” Kieran snapped without looking back. “Quiet?!” I tripped over a root, barely caught myself. “You can’t just drop me into the middle of Twilight but with rabies and tell me to be quiet!” Rowan shot Kieran a glare over my head. “You’re scaring her.” “She should be scared, fear will keep her m
Samantha's legs were still unsteady, and her pulse was all over the place as she tried to gather the scraps of her dignity so she could speak like a normal human being again. She had every intention of getting up, marching back to her room, and proving she wasn’t some delicate thing that needed to be leashed to his bedside. But Jason stood in front of her, his hair a little messy from the time they'd just spent together, eyes fixed on her face like he was watching every bit of discomfort she showed. He hadn’t moved an inch since he’d dragged her here and set her down. And she could tell, even without him saying anything, that he wasn’t done with her at all. She cleared her throat, pushing herself up straighter. “Jason, listen. I know you think this is a good idea, moving me in here, but it’s not. It’s… impractical. And weird. And a little controlling.” He didn’t reply, didn’t even blink. “So,” she continued, pacing in front of him, “I have most of my things in my room. My tele
Mattias waved him off with a sharp flick of his hand. "It's just wolves regrouping. They always circle before they strike, nothing new." His eyes slid to me, lingering for a second too long, before snapping back to his men. "Keep the camp quiet, no firelight, spread the signal if they get closer." The scout hesitated, glancing between us. "But sir, if they get past the outer perimeter..." "Then we'll handle it the same way we always do." Mattias's voice dropped low. "Or do you need me to hold your hand through basic defensive strategy?" The scout's jaw tightened. "No, sir." "Good. Now get out. And tell Gregor to stop spreading panic through the camp. Last thing we need is our own people turning on each other before the wolves even get here." "I'm injured too, but you don't hear me crying about it, do you?" Mattias snapped, and though his shirt was still damp with blood, his voice carried enough force that the man clamped his mouth shut and left. Mattias stood, testing his side







