Page 1 of Awakening the Wild
Chapter 1
Tonya
I tipped back my head and let out a primal scream. It felt kind of good, so I did it again. This time I hurt my throat.
Steam poured from under the hood of my Mercedes. I glared at the engine. What was I even looking at? Did I run out of oil? Were my spark plugs not sparking or plugging? Would I even know what to do if I figured out what was wrong?
No.
My shoes were slowly sinking into Vermont mud. Maybe if I was lucky, it would suck me down like quicksand. Rain pelted my blazer while I stood on what could charitably be called a road—if roads were supposed to be rutted dirt tracks that disappeared into wilderness.
Sugar Maple Ridge Road, the GPS had announced cheerfully before losing signal entirely. More likeSugar Maple Ridge Path to Nowhere.
"Stupid piece of European garbage," I muttered, slamming the hood back down. Pain shot through my hand. I had broken two nails doing that. Figures.
Michael's voice echoed in my head:You'll never survive without me, Tonya. You can't even change a tire.
He was right. I couldn't change a tire. I couldn't jumpstart a car, couldn't read a map, couldn't do anything useful. Twenty-six years old and completely helpless—just the way he'd trained me to be.
But I'd rather die on this mountain than go back to Manhattan. Rather freeze to death than let him control me for one more second.
The inheritance letter crinkled in my jacket pocket—along with the notice about outstanding property taxes and estate debts that would need to be resolved. I'd only discovered the letter three days ago, hidden in a stack of mail Michael had been 'handling' for me. Grandmother's cottage was going to be my salvation, my chance to prove I could survive without Michael's suffocating protection. Instead, I was stranded in the middle of nowhere with a dead car and the survival skills of a houseplant.
I should call for help. Except my phone had zero bars, and the nearest civilization was probably fifty miles away.
The rain intensified, turning from steady drizzle to torrential downpour. My hair hung in wet rats' tails around my face. Mascara streaked down my cheeks so I looked like a demented raccoon. My white silk blouse was now transparent and clinging to my bra. I felt like a drowned rat.
Panic clawed at my throat. This was how people died, stranded and stupid, too proud to turn back. Michael would read about it in the papers:City Girl Found Dead in Vermont Woods. "She Never Could Take Care of Herself," Ex-Fiancé Says.
Maybe I could push the car.
Right. Push a two-ton luxury sedan uphill in heels and a pencil skirt.
I got back into the car, dripping wet and just sat there shivering. I supposed I could just stay here and hope that someone would come rescue me. No. That was the damsel in distress that Michael wanted me to be. I was going to be Wonder Woman, Xena Warrior Princess, and ... another tough bitch who knew how to kick ass and take names. The least I could do was get the car off the road so if someone did come this way, they wouldn’t hit my car and get into an accident.
I put the car in neutral and sighed. I wish it wasn’t raining. Then again, I was soaked to the skin anyway. Getting out, I braced my hands against the trunk, and shoved.
Nothing.
I tried again, digging into the mud for leverage. The car rocked slightly, then settled back into place like it was mocking me.
"Come on!" I screamed at the Mercedes, shoving with everything I had. "Move, you overpriced piece of—"
The sound of leaves crunching and branches snapping behind me whirl in fright. It was probably a bear or a moose or a serial killer. Or worse—Michael's private security team, come to drag me back to my perfectly controlled cage.
Instead, I saw a man.
The biggest, most intimidating man I'd ever seen in my life.
KEVIN
What the hell was a city princess doing on my mountain?
I'd heard the screaming from a quarter mile away through the storm—high-pitched fury that had every animal in the forest running for cover. Now I could see why. Some tiny woman in designer clothes was trying to push a Mercedes uphill by herself.
Stubborn little thing.
She couldn't be more than five-foot-six, but she had the attitude of someone twice her size. Her rich brown hair was plastered to her skull. Her deep, brown eyes blazed with frustration. She had curves that even soaked business clothes couldn't hide. She was soft everywhere I was hard, delicate where I was brutal, civilized where I was rough.
