Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Three

My legs pump as I weave through the dense woodland, the sting of branches slicing at my cheeks barely registering. Every shallow breath claws its way out of my lungs, my head pounding in rhythm with my thundering heart. Along with the rashness of my decision, the forest seems to have come to life and is actively conspiring against me. Roots jut up like traps; shadows play tricks with my eyes. I push through, my only focus being on getting far away. On my only shot at taking back some control.

The forest floor crunches beneath my sneakers, every sound amplified in the silence. I try to lighten my steps, but being stealthy is impossible. Panic claws its way through my straining limbs, unknown traumas from the crash deciding to now present themselves. I become vaguely aware of an insistent tug in my ribs, pain blossoming across my hip on the same side. The side I fell on when the car overturned. It doesn’t matter right now. All I can think is, I can’t let Wyatt stop me from saving my twin.

Veering right, I sense the road is close. The tree line chasing me comes to a sudden halt up ahead, the stark emptiness beyond that of a manmade design. I don’t want to breach it yet, revealing myself to anyone who might come looking, so I just keep moving. Keep running, using the cover of the forest as my camouflage. I can’t hear anything beyond the chaotic symphony of my own body. Gasping breaths, racing pulse, blood roaring in my ears. Then, the stillness shatters.

“Avery!” Wyatt’s commanding voice echoes through the trees. The sound sends a spike of adrenaline through me. I don’t look back. My body screams for rest, every muscle burning, but I force it to keep going, driven by sheer will. Becoming careless, I skid over loose rocks, my footing faltering for a moment before I caught myself. Behind me, the sound of his footsteps grows louder, steadier, and unrelenting.

“You can’t outrun me!” Wyatt’s voice pierces the air again, closer this time. I duck behind a massive oak, pausing for a split second to press myself against its rough bark. My chest heaves as I try to silence my breathing, to listen past the pounding of my heart. The trees around me hum with an unnatural stillness. Then, just as I think he’s lost my trail, I hear the crunch of leaves. Deliberate, careful footsteps, moving closer.

Panic flares white-hot in my chest. In less than a minute, he’ll be passing by, seeing me scared and shivering. Wyatt is right; I can’t outrun him, but my body doesn’t get the memo. I break cover, darting toward a patch of denser trees ahead, the promise of thicker shadows urging me forward. But the open stretch is a trap, every step too exposed. I risk a glance over my shoulder and regret it instantly.

He’s right there.

A flash of broad shoulders and clenched fists. Bathed in moonlight, his focus centered on me. A figure cutting through the trees with terrifying ease. His zip hoodie hangs open, flapping like dark wings as he steadily closes the gap. Wyatt is fast, his strides calculated, and his focus unshakable.

Desperation claws at me. I push harder, faster, the undergrowth tearing at my legs. The road ahead looms closer, the thinning trees a cruel betrayal. The choice is to stay in the woods with Wyatt hunting me down or running out into the road and hoping a car isn’t going too fast to stop. My lungs burn, my vision blurs, but I won’t allow myself to stop. I won’t let him win easily.

Behind me, Wyatt has broken into a run. His footsteps thunder, each one louder than the last.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Avery,” his voice carries, sharp and cutting. I stumble, my foot catching on a twisted root. Pain explodes in my ankle, sharp and unforgiving. A cry rips from my throat as I go down, hitting the dirt hard. For a moment, the world tilts, and I feel the cold bite of hopelessness.

Wyatt’s arms wrap around me like steel bands, wrenching me upright. I scream, thrashing wildly, my nails clawing at his arms, but his grip is immovable. He spins me to face him, his eyes blazing like twin emerald fires.

“Enough,” he growls, his voice low but carrying the weight of finality. “I’m not your enemy here.”

“Yes, you are!” I fight harder, twisting and kicking, but it’s like trying to break free of a storm. His hands shift, gripping my wrists and pinning them between us. The first touch of wetness seeps into my cheek. I twist my head aside, desperately trying to free my hands for another reason now. I won’t let Wyatt see me cry. Yet he’s unmovable, slowly leaning over me. His breath brushes against my ear as he whispers, softer now.

“I’m not letting go.” Something in his tone cuts through me, a raw edge that drains the last of my strength. My knees buckle, and he catches me, his hands steadying me as I sag against him, trembling.

“Please,” I rasp the plea, my voice shaking as much as my body. “I have to get to Meg. I have to save her.” Wyatt sighs, his grip loosening just enough to let me breathe but not escape.

“You know I can’t let you do that.” His words hang between us, heavy and suffocating. For a long moment, neither of us moves. His forehead rests against mine, the heat of his presence overwhelming. My breath hitches as I realize there’s no escape. Not from him, not from whatever this damaged and unnurtured thing is between us.

I almost concede. Until Meg’s face flashes before my eyes in the dark. Has he got to her yet? Is she terrified and alone? My jaw aches with the desire to scream until my lungs burn, but I manage to hold it in. Just. Wyatt’s hands have loosened on my wrists, the weight of his forehead on me lulling me back to the present. I inhale, count to three, and bring my knee up between his legs. I might not be able to outrun him, but I can hurt him.

Except Wyatt wasn’t as unaware as I’d hoped. He jerks back just in time, his hands clenched around my wrists painfully. Those eyes blaze now, furious and somewhat disappointed.

“Fuck you, Wyatt!” I scream into the night, twisting with renewed vigor. I don’t stop this time, I give him everything I’ve got. “You can’t keep me prisoner forever.”

“I don’t need to,” he grinds out, his voice winded by my elbow meeting his sternum. “Only until you’re safe from harm.” On a quick spin, he wrenches my arms behind my back and starts to drag me in the direction of the tent. My feet dig for purchase in the earth, to no avail. My struggles are to my own detriment, wearing me out quickly. I’m doing half the work for him, subduing myself until I’m panting thick clouds of air before my face.

“Why do you choose now to have a moral compass?” I whimper, not receiving an answer. My thrashing isn’t as vigorous now, the cold seeping into my bones. Adrenaline subsides, causing my body to be racked by more shivers. The bump on my head refuses to be ignored now, and it begins to throb insistently. I don’t want to lean into Wyatt’s warmth to feel the heated breath fanning my ear, but I find myself doing it anyway. He’s a poison, and I’m addicted.

The silence stretches a thick, oppressive weight between us. Wyatt's grip is firm but no longer bruising. My sneakers skid against the leaves, but the more compliant I become, the more gentle Wyatt is. He turns me to face forward, his hold more like a hug from behind. Each stride of his legs guides mine forward like some kind of dance. As if I’m not relenting to his decisions.

Baxter is pacing around outside the tent, howling and uneasy from the commotion. Wyatt releases one of the arms banded around me to stroke Baxter’s head, reassuring him. I’m in half a mind to use the distraction to my advantage, but what’s the use? I’ll just be dragged back by my hair next time.

Breaching the tent, I expect Wyatt to shove me inside. Instead, his hands grab the hem of the hoodie, and he drags it over my head.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I gasp, slapping his hands away when he reaches for my T-shirt.

“You slipped in a mud patch,” he grunts. I blink rapidly, only now noticing the smeared mud over his front. As if nothing happened outside beyond a moonlight stroll for lovers, the corner of his mouth hikes upwards into a smirk. “Plus, I’m going to need your body heat if we’re going to make it through the night.”

Then he whips my T-shirt up and over my head, quickly shoving down my sweatpants. Luckily, he doesn’t seem bothered about removing my underwear because my puckered nipples have everything to do with the cold and nothing to do with him. Baxter tilts his head and whines as if he can detect the lie on me. Dammit.

Leaving me to attend to my sneakers and the rest of the sweatpants now pooled at my calves, Wyatt undresses, tossing our soaked clothes aside. He layers the sleeping bags on top of one another to soften the hard ground and unzips the top one, gesturing for me to get inside.

“Good thinking of Hux to get two-man sleeping bags.” He’s still smirking, and I feel my nostrils flare. I don’t know who I despise more. Morally grey Wyatt or smug bastard Wyatt. A beat of stubbornness passes, my arms crossed over my front. With the fall of night, a blistering cold has settled, rooting itself into my very being. Huffing in defeat, I slip into the quilted sack.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I narrow my eyes before rolling onto my side. I listen to the double-zipping of the entrance, the rustling of Wyatt settling Baxter into a sleeping bag of his own, and the shuffle of him scooting in behind me. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his solid arms around me and dragging us together, skin to skin, my back to his front. His crotch is nestled against my ass, a little jolt coming from his cock. “What did I just-”

“Relax, I’m only human. I’ve had more visceral reactions to spooning Axel.”

Like a slice of tension through the air, we both suddenly tense. My eyes sting with unshed tears, the effort to be strong all of a sudden was too taxing for my body. Is Axel having a nightmare right now? Fearing where I am or what’s happening? Are the others crowding around to comfort him, or are they arguing over who should have been there, who should have stopped this? It’s the not knowing that hurts the most.

Before long, rain patters steadily on the tent’s roof, masking some of the noise from the forest. I can still hear the occasional crack of a branch or rustle of leaves carried on a light wind. It seems like the world is at war with itself, while my mind does the same. Every second that passes, I feel like I shouldn’t be here. I should be out there doing something productive. But the thought of moving again so soon causes my limbs to weigh heavier into the makeshift mattress Wyatt has made for us.

“I left a note,” Wyatt murmurs quietly, like a confession meant only for the rain to hear. His voice disarms me for a moment. “I told them it’s best this way. That I’d look after you until it’s safe to return.”

The weight of the blanket suddenly feels like it’s made of lead. His chest rises and falls in a controlled rhythm that contrasts sharply with my own erratic breathing. His calmness infuriates me, despite the way I try to mimic it. To channel it. Swallowing against my head, Wyatt chooses his words carefully.

“And I’d really like to keep that promise, if you wouldn’t mind pressing pause on running away or trying to get us killed.” Oh yes, his words were delivered so gently, yet they’ve sparked something sharp in me. I glare at the tent’s rippling wall.

“Why should I make any of this easy on you?” I huff a bitter laugh, caught up on his audacity. He’s making out this is all my fault, my choice. As if I wasn’t blindsided, drugged, stuffed into the SUV against my will, and catapulted into who-knows-where.

Wyatt leans back slightly, his hands braced on my hips. I ignore how warm they feel and the large span of his palms that I’ve craved to pass over my body for a long time. Longer than I care to admit.

“That’s fair,” he says at last, devoid of his usual edge. Silence falls over us once more, the rain filling the void like a metronome to our shared tension. After a while, I convince myself he’s fallen asleep. His heart beats against my back. His limbs are perfectly curled into mine, lending as much warmth as he is taking. A small yawn tugs at my mouth, and I allow my eyelids to droop at last.

“Would it help if I told you I tried to offer myself to Fredrick first?”

The whisper jolts my eyes back open. Nothing in Wyatt’s position has changed, not even a twitch of his fingers. His breathing is level, and his heart rate has the same annoying steadiness. I must have dreamt it. A trick of my mind, constantly trying to redeem Wyatt. The biggest form of self-sabotage I’ve ever experienced, I think to myself as I let the draw of sleep pull me back under again. As if Wyatt would take Meg’s place. As if he would sacrifice himself for me.