Page 15 of Forest Reed
“Damn right.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, humming with everything we’d been pushing back. Shestretched, shirt sliding up just enough to make my brain forget every plan I’d ever had. My control was already thin.
“You should sleep,” I said, voice rougher than I intended.
She smirked, setting the mug down slow. “I don’t feel tired.”
I crossed the room before I decided not to. She met me halfway, fingers in my shirt, mouth on mine. The kiss wasn’t wildfire this time—it was slower, deeper, like we’d both decided to stop pretending and justtake.
I lifted her, carried her to the bedroom, and laid her down like she was both fragile and indestructible. Her laugh was low and breathless when she pulled me with her. “Mountain Man,” she whispered, “if you think you’re in control here…”
I kissed the rest of that sentence away.
The night stretched, heat and skin and breathless laughter between gasps. She teased me about the way I growled when she tugged my hair. I threatened to put her in the net just to prove a point. She dared me. I didn’t.
By the time we collapsed tangled in sheets again, the clock on the nightstand said 4:30 and my heart hadn’t slowed since the ravine. She traced a finger down my chest, half-asleep, and murmured, “You’re trouble.”
“Always,” I said, kissing her hair.
The sun was barely upwhen my phone buzzed against the nightstand. Not the burner. Mine.
I answered low, not waking her. “Reed.”
Static, then a voice I didn’t know: “If you want to keep her breathing, meet us at Mirror Lake tonight. Come alone.”
The line clicked dead.
My gut went cold. Zoe shifted beside me, arm draped over my chest, trusting me with sleep she rarely gave anyone.
I stared at the ceiling and felt the mountain shift under our feet.
Because “Mr. North” wasn’t bluffing anymore.
And there was no way in hell I was walking into that without Zoe—whether she liked it or not.
11
Zoe
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight.
Not crushing, not uncomfortable—just heavy in the best way. A big, solid arm locked across my waist, like Forest Reed had decided I was classified as “mine” in the middle of the night and refused to renegotiate.
The second thing I noticed was how damnquietthe mountain was at dawn. No sirens, no honking, no drunk guy yelling at pigeons. Just wind in the pines and a jay cussing at us from somewhere outside.
I tried to shift, but Forest just tightened his hold, half-asleep, mumbling something about “five more minutes.”
“Mountain Man,” I whispered into his shoulder, “I’ve got a whole list of things to do today, and ‘become a human weighted blanket’ isn’t on it.”
One dark eye cracked open. “Then make a new list.”
It was ridiculously unfair that he could look that good rumpled. Stubble, messy hair, voice rough like gravel—and me, still sporting eyeliner smeared enough to qualify as war paint.
“You snore, by the way,” I said, propping myself up on an elbow.
“Lie.”
“Not a lie. Like… a chainsaw serenade.”
