Page 36 of Ravens
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re not afraid of me?” He laughs. “That’s a mistake.”
“Is it?” I ask quietly.
“My little dove,” he murmurs and draws out a knife.
My eyes bulge as he flips his grip and drives the knife down. Leveraging his weight, I shift to the side and grab his wrist before punching him in the ribs and then bucking up, but I can’t throw him over. Still holding his wrist, I punch him in the cheek, but he smiles, and then he starts to overpower my grip.
I reach between us and grab his balls through his pants, squeezing. His hand opens immediately and the knife falls, but I don’t let him go. “You might be bigger than me, better at everything too, but don’t think I won’t castrate you the first chance I get if I stop thinking I’m safe with you.”
“You feel safe with me?” he asks breathlessly.
“Only because I’m a fucking idiot.” I let him go and shove him off, climbing to my feet.
Falling into a trap I saw coming is unfortunate. I didn’t think he’d take it that far, and that’s my mistake, because of course he would. Turning away, I kick my boots off and strip down to my panties, wading into the lake.
All he wants to do is prove whatever narrative or hypothesis he’s running with . . . and he might figure out that I’m not incapable, but he’ll never figure out my head—I hope. The Director, Russel, is the only one that knows. It’s not even in my personnel file.
But I shouldn’t underestimate him.
Ducking under the surface of the water, I ruffle my hair and come up to scrub myself as best I can with bare hands. He watches me from a boulder on the shore, fiddling with my shirt in his fingers and taking the occasional glance up and down the desolate shore.
The water is chilled though. It’s been a cold September, and it doesn’t feel like summer ever found this lake. I wade back onto the shore, my skin covered in goosebumps as he hands me my bra and helps me secure it across my back.
“You washed me off.”
“I sure did.” My wet arms struggle through the long sleeves of my shirt before I pull it over my head.
He pulls me in between his thighs. “I like the idea of being all over your skin.” He presses his nose into my cheek. “Left insideyou.” The stubble on his chin scrapes my face. “I’m going to have to make another mess to fix that.”
My eyes fixate on his mouth as he leans back.I really am a slut for him. It doesn’t seem to matter how rude or dirty the words are that come out of his mouth. Whether he’s calling me a slut or a liar as he pillages me, I think I like it . . . and he knows it.
I press my mouth to his. The thought that he might know me as well as he claims to worries me for a split second, but it fades when his tongue slips into my mouth.
Standing, he turns and lays me back on the smooth, rounded boulder, and I look down at him as he thrusts my shirt up, but he stops abruptly, and his eyes flit beyond me. I follow his gaze up and over my head, craning my neck around until I see the trees and the large brown bear hulking out of them.
Unable to take my eyes off the beast, I reach my hands out blindly. He grips them, and I scoot down the rock. We stay low as he snags my pants and passes them to me. It takes me a minute to get dressed on the ground, but at least I left everything close and not strewn all over.
Once my boots are laced back up, I peek over the boulder. The bear is sniffing about the rocks, not too much closer than it was before.
York covers me with his body and speaks softly into my ear. “That’s where we came out of the trees.” My eyes flick to the woods. “It could have our scent.”
A small sound escapes my lungs. Getting eaten alive is my number one worst-way-to-die scenario. There isn’t anywhere togo though. The bear is between us and the trees. The beach is wide open, save a few other boulders like this one.
The sound of York inhaling my skin makes me pause. “I swear you smell fucking incredible when you’re afraid.”
“Jesus Christ . . .”
“Shh.” He kisses behind my ear. “I bet he smells it too.”
“Stop it,” I breathe out as my skin prickles.
We wait about ten minutes for it to lazily move up the shore enough that we can risk dashing for the tree line. We move swiftly through the trees, probably not being as quiet as we should, but we make it back to camp in less than twenty minutes.
“Make sure you’re armed from now on,” York says calmly, stopping at the fire. “Bear.”
“Great,” William groans and gets up, disappearing into his tent and reappearing with his rifle.
