Page 26 of Golden Burn

I shake my head. “It’s not. It’s someone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I answer, my cheeks turning rosy from the heat of the room and my heightened adrenaline.

Odin doesn’t question me any further, but his lower jaw tenses. “Go to your room. I’ll come and get you once it’s safe.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He practically chuckles. “Have you somehow learnt how to defend yourself properly in the last several hours since we’ve seen each other?”

The bloody thing in my chest thumps as if I was the one on the treadmill. “Well, no. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats. “Here,” he stalks over to where a pile of clothes lay and a silver watch. He retrieves something from one of his pockets and brings it over to me. It’s a phone. A cheap burner phone with keys instead of a touch screen. “It’s to speak to Dom, Ford, and me only.”

“Thanks,” I grumble. I take the phone and place it in one of my outer pockets.

“Now, go back to your room.”

My jaw hinges with the intention of arguing, but I decide against it at the last second. Spinning on my heel, I hightail it back down the hallway, determined to follow Odin regardless of his warning. Back in my room, Juniper gives me a puzzled look as I hastily throw on something moreappropriate for traipsing through the Scottish countryside in ankle deep snow. “Yeah. I know. I’m being ridiculous.”

Why do I find it so weird to know Odin works out like a normal—albeit godlike—human? Is it because it makes him seem less scary or more so? The fact that he’s as fit as Usain Bolt should terrify me more.

But there’s something else that strikes me. Usually, gyms are equipped with mirrors. Men love to look at themselves when they’re flexing, right? But in Odin’s gym. There was nothing. Nothing but blank walls and static silence.

Odin turns off all the lights in the house before he leaves.

I spy him through a crack in my door. He enters the living area dressed head to toe in black ski gear, puts on a pair of leather gloves, a beanie and shoves a gun into his belt.

The last item makes me queasy, but I have made up my mind. I will not be some damsel he locks in rooms while the ‘men’ conduct business. I will be a part of the action whether they like it or not. My life is virtually over as I know it. I have nothing left to lose.

Juniper, however, is staying put.

When I’m positive Odin has left, I scurry down the hallway and into the kitchen, pour a bowl full of kibble for Juniper and top up her water. I take both back to my room and lock her inside lest she decide she too would like to join in on the fun.

I grab my own pair of gray leather gloves, slip them on and then search for a beanie. The only one I have is pink. It’s too bright. I’ll definitely make myself a target. I’ll have to go without.

Scurrying into the kitchen, I decide if I’m going to be insane by putting myself in danger, I might as well grab something to defend myself. My fingers trail over the butcher’s knife I stole last night, the memory of Odin’s warm fingers wrapped around my wrist flitters across my mind’s eye. I shake it off and grab one of the smaller steak knives. It’s a bit bigger than a scalpel, but it feels right in my grip.

Nerves propel me toward the front door in the hopes I’ll be able to see the pathway Odin left with the imprint of his boots in the snow.

The door opens without a sound, the intensity of the temperature outside whipping me in the face. I check both sides of the front entrance. Seems clear. No sign of Odin. Not even footprints in the snow for me to track.

Shit. Did he fucking fly away?

My foot inches out, shoes crunching on ice. Keeping slow and quiet is a necessity for my survival, but the tension is bubbling over inside of me. Turning, I shut the door with a soft snick. There’s a tree in the distance that’s thick enough to hide my frame, so I slither over to it, footsteps building speed as I hop through the snow, my heart frantically beating. My hands land on the wet bark, the stability of it a comforting source.

I’m so buzzed that I’m puffing despite the short distance. A small smile spreads across my face, imagining how pissed Odin is going to be.

An owl hoots in the distance, a branch snaps under someone’s weight. My giddiness turns to worry. Staying in one spot will most likely get me killed, but running on the spot to keep warm is idiotic. I spend a few seconds mapping a route in my head, trying to deduce the way in which Odin walked.

I don’t get the chance.

A rough hand slams against my mouth, trapping my squawk of alarm. A hard body cocoons me from behind.

The culprit brings his cheek to my ear and whispers, “You are crazier than I ever could have predicted.”

My insides relax—just barely—when the owner of the voice registers.

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