Page 34 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

I pluck a berry and pop it in my mouth. The tart sweetness explodes on my tongue, and I moan in bliss.

Lexie and Quinn eye each other.

“What? I’m not letting you two have all the fun.”

Lexie takes off, but Quinn leans over to whisper in my ear, “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do to stop us?”

The question catches me by surprise, but as I fall in behind him, the tight leash around my emotions strains. Quinn’s not serious, is he? He wouldn’t move on Lexie—not after their pact? Plus he wouldn’t do that to me. That would be torture.

At a narrow waterfall at the outlet of the lake, Lexie squats down to where tiny ferns grow from the cracks, and tiny, polka-dotted wildflowers sprout in clusters.

“These are lady slippers,” Lexie says.

Quinn snaps a photo. “They look like an orchid.”

My mind is churning with Quinn’s dare. Leaning closer to the flower, I stroke the plump bowl at the base. The petals are no bigger than my pinky finger. Delicate, yet somehow strong enough to survive in this harsh place.

Lexie cups her hands beneath the waterfall, then splashes it on her face. I’m mesmerized by the way her eyes scrunch shut and the beads of water cling to her skin.

She blinks away the water, and our eyes lock.

Yesterday, when I cornered her, the way her body reacted brought on all kinds of dirty fantasies. Kissing her senseless while Quinn undresses her, touching her until she begged for mercy—the kind we’re so good at delivering.

It’s a good thing she left, because in that moment, my jacked-up brain wasn’t capable of logic.

“Guys,” Quinn says, panicked. “We’ve got company.”

Lexie turns away.

A giant bear and two cubs are walking along the other side of the lake, their thick, chocolate brown fur rippling in the hazy sunlight.

My spine chills.

“Get in the willows,” Lexie whispers, and leads us off trail. She slides the can of bear mace from her hip belt.

The idea that a squirt of cayenne pepper in this massive animal’s face is going to stop her from tearing us to bits seems laughable right now.

The wind is blowing down the lake, but will that keep the bears from sensing us?

The three of us tuck into a grove of dense willows and crouch low, all eyes on the bears.

“What do we do?” Quinn whispers.

Mama bear is ambling along, unconcerned, her giant paws flicking out with each step. Her cubs stop to play, rolling in the sand as they wrestle. Their soft snarls carry across the water. The mother pauses, looking bored.

But if she smells us, that will change.

“We’ll wait for her to leave,” Lexie whispers back, the bear mace tight in her fist.

The mama bear rises on her hind legs, her nose pointed into the air, sniffing.

Icy needles prick down my spine. She’s easily eight feet tall. She sways from side to side, nose tipped to the air.

My breaths are fast and hollow. Are we about to be eaten?

The bear drops to all fours again, facing us, but she’s not moving any closer. For several long, terrifying seconds, I huddle next to Lexie, saying my prayers.

The cubs scamper past the mama. She chuffs a low bark, then turns and follows her babies up the side of the valley.

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