Chapter 12
The ache in my neck, back, and shoulders finally forces me to rise from my seat in the library. Muscles groan and joints pop as I stretch my arms high above me, twist side to side, and bend over to touch my toes to release all the tension.
Rising again, I rub my eyes, noticing how the brightness of the library has dimmed considerably since the last time I took a break.
“Shit, what time is it?” I glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the valley, where fading, orangey light streams through and onto the worn floors. “Crap…”
That doesn’t look like afternoon sun, which means I’ve been so engrossed in reading the diaries, journals, and ledgers that I completely missed lunch.
Weston won’t be happy about that…
Regardless of his self-imposed solitude the past two days, the man hasn’t stopped ensuring I have expansive meals—even if he won’t join me for them.
It’s insanely frustrating and endearing at the same time.
I move over to the massive glass panes and stare out at the setting sun that still sends tendrils of light across the mountain peaks and illuminates the tops of the trees spread across the Barker property.
Breathtakingly beautiful…if you ignore what else is out there. Yet somehow, despite the secrets buried here—physical and the ones Weston keeps locked inside him—looking out at it, surrounded by this room, Barker Mountain still feels almost like home at times like this.
Or maybe it’s that Stockholm syndrome creeping up again.
It’s a very real possibility I’ve considered over the last few days—that my attraction to Weston and ability to look past what he’s done and the threat he still poses to Dad are all tied to something fucked-up in my head that is causing me to seek affection from my captor.
But I’ve dismissed it each time the thought crosses my mind, unwilling to accept that my feelings can be so easily manipulated.
Just thinking it now is enough to give me the urge to go out and get some fresh air. Walking around would further work the muscles I’ve ignored all day, and that is what finally turns me away from the view and back to the open diary on the desk.
The third I’ve read today alone.
Not to mention the other half-dozen I’ve binged in the two days since I set out on my mission. But I’m nowhere near finished with this volume, nor do I think my eyes or body will tolerate coming back tonight for any more reading.
I could leave it out for tomorrow.
But Weston would know you’re reading them if he came in.
Something tickles at the back of my mind, telling me not to let him know. Warning me to let him believe I’m merely examining the books that need restoration and care and doing what’s required to maintain them. Not getting lost in the stories of the Barker family that are finally starting to give me hints at some answers he’s striven so hard to keep from me.
Hours and hours spent buried in these books might pay off, but not if Weston discovers what I’m doing and bans me from the library. Thus far, he seems to be sticking to his promised return to avoidance, which makes my task far easier. But he comes every night after I leave, and I don’t need him flipping out on me when I’m not technically doing anything I shouldn’t be.
Better to be safe than face backlash from The Beast.
I tuck a scrap of paper between the pages and slip the diary back into the cabinet, closing the glass in front so he hopefully won’t even notice I’ve been in there, just as I have the past two evenings before I left the library.
This place has become the source of so many mixed emotions.
Burning desire every time my eyes drift to his worktable or the shelves he fucked me against.
Gratitude when my gaze bounces over the countless volumes of classics and impossible-to-find treasures.
Hatred each moment I remember why I’m scouring these journals so thoroughly in the first place.
Some time away and out in the fresh air will do me good, might help me sort through the jumble in my head.
I switch off the lamp and make my way down the steps all the way to the first floor, pausing at the bottom to listen for any sounds that Weston might be in the house preparing dinner already.
Only silence greets me, just as it has the last few nights when I left the library and hoped he’d be waiting at the table for me or sitting in front of the fireplace with a glass of bourbon.
My stomach drops a little, the disappointment so twisted when I’m so confused about how to actually feel about the man.
I slip out the front door and onto the porch, where I first met The Beast. Less than three weeks ago, I was so terrified of him that I ran barefoot into the damn woods, completely confident he meant to slice me up alive with the axe in his hand. But the man I thought he was isn’t the one who touched me the other night, who gave me the best sex of my life while assuring I came multiple times before he took his own pleasure.
That man cares, whether he wants to admit it or not.
The cooling early evening air washes over me as I pull the door closed, and I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly.
My car sits in front of the house unmoved, an ominous reminder of how and why I arrived. I skirt around it and head toward the path through the woods I took to the lake the other day.
I should have enough time to make it down to the water and back before it gets dark.
Just a little walk to awaken my body after sitting for so long—and to contemplate the things I’ve found in the journals and what they might mean.
The eerie stillness of the forest around me sends a shiver down my spine more than the cool air does, and I keep scanning the growing darkness, alert for anything amiss.
Weston’s warning rings in my mind.
There are things more dangerous than me out there.
He was just trying to scare me, keep me confined inside the house so I wouldn’t go exploring and stumble upon something I shouldn’t or bother him while he’s doing…whatever it is he does while he’s out here. The man spends all day and some nights in the woods, and he’s just fine.
So, I have nothing to worry about except the conflated stories Weston put in my head—and the potential that I might trip on one of these fallen branches or stumble on the uneven ground.
But now that my foot has healed, it feels good to be out walking again, and the trees open up in front of me, the fading light glistening on the still surface of the water.
Crisp mountain air fills my lungs, and I release it slowly, closing my eyes and letting myself imagine I was here under different circumstances.
It would actually be romantic.
I laugh at how absurd that thought is, knowing what this mountain is for the Barkers, and the sound carries out over the water.
As if The Beast would be romantic, anyway.
But images of all the meals he’s made me, of all the gifts he’s brought, of his calloused hands and rough beard abrading my skin in the most magnificent way flash through my head.
Maybe he can be.
Maybe he has been this whole time and I just never saw it for what it was.
Maybe he didn’t even know he was doing it.
That thought twists a knife in my gut, and I slowly lower myself down to sit on the pebble beach and stare out at the lake, now turning almost a burnt orange in the last vestiges of daylight.
Who is he really?
Because he sure as hell isn’t the man everyone’s warned me about.
A chilly breeze kicks up, and I shiver again, goosebumps breaking out over my arms. The hair on the back of my neck rises, but not because of the cool wind.
That feeling of being watched settles over me.
I turn my head to look back at the trees I just came through and catch a flash of silver. “Weston?”
The trees seem to swallow my call out to him, and no response comes.
Unease coils around the base of my spine, and I climb to my feet, brushing off my ass and hands while I keep an eye out for any further movement.
All is still.
Almost too still.
The normal sounds of birds and small animals moving around have ceased.
Gulping, I take a step back toward the path. “Weston, are you out here?”
No reply again.
I should get back to the house.
Maybe that’s where he was headed, and he can’t hear me.
At least, that’s what I try to convince myself happened as I start back on the path, the thick forest around me immediately engulfing me and swallowing any remaining tendrils of daylight.
It isn’t pitch-black the way it was the night I arrived, but it’s getting darker by the minute. I can barely see the path in front of me anymore, yet I move as quickly as I can, stumbling over a branch in a way that makes my foot ache again.
“Shit.”
I grab a tree trunk to keep from falling over as I make my way closer to the house.
It can’t be far now.
Only a few hundred yards.
A couple of football fields, at most.
Easy. Just keep walking.
Leaves rustle to my right, and I freeze.
Another flash of silver darts in my peripheral vision.
What the hell is going on?
“Weston?”
Bile climbs my throat as I await a response that I know won’t come. I swallow it back as I narrow my eyes on the spot where I saw movement.
Another set of eyes stares back.
And they sure as hell don’t belong to The Beast.
I swipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and finish securing the woodshed for the night after loading in more pieces of the tree I felled the other day.
The sun finally dips behind the trees on the horizon, darkness quickly enveloping the clearing and further chilling the air that already holds hints of the coming fall.
A long, hot shower sounds incredible right now to soothe my aching muscles after days and days of breaking down the massive tree, but I know that isn’t where I will head first…
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Callista, worrying about her incessantly, every waking moment, and unable to sleep when I try. Even though it was my idea—my promise and rule—that she stay away from me, it’s proving harder to live with than I thought it would be.
Knowing it’s best for her and that I was the one who demanded it doesn’t ease the sense of loss I feel each day I don’t see her.
I start to make my way back to the house but only make it halfway across the open expanse toward the path when a preternatural stillness settles over the woods.
Birds stop chirping.
All movement stops.
I freeze and turn to scan the trees.
A chill rolls over me, followed quickly by a feeling I can’t quite put my finger on, but I don’t see anything unusual. Still, my hand tightens around my axe as I keep moving toward the house, where my first stop will be the library to check on Callista before I shower and cook her dinner.
Maybe tonight, I’ll even sit with her while she eats to further torture myself by watching the fork disappear into her mouth when that’s where I’ve been fantasizing about having my cock since our night together.
It stirs against my jeans at the mere thought.
Dinner is a bad idea.
As it stands, I’ll have to end up stroking myself in the shower again to try to relieve some of the tension.
“Weston?”
My name slowly drifting through on the breeze freezes me in place, and I spin toward the sound.
What the hell?
It comes again.
“Weston?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. Have dreamed about it during the few fitful minutes I’ve managed over the past few nights alone in the library.
Panic seizes my chest.
What the hell is she doing out here?
I scan the trees, trying to determine which direction it came from, but out here, sound travels oddly, bouncing off trunks, tumbling through the gorge, echoing across the lake, making it almost impossible to determine which direction it’s coming from.
“Callista?”
My voice booms through the darkening night, and I wait for her reply. But it never comes.
Shit.
“Callista!”
Why the fuck is she out here? Where the fuck would she even go?
What would she—
It comes to me suddenly, and I turn back toward the path that leads from the house to the lake.
She loved it there.
Seemed to enjoy dipping herself in the cool water.
Maybe she went and got lost on her way back. Or maybe—
No.
I shake my head, unwilling to let myself consider the other possibility—that one of those things I repeatedly warned her about finally managed to corner her out here alone and unprepared to defend herself.
A blood-chilling scream tears through the night, and I run.
My boots pound on the uneven ground, smashing twigs and leaves underfoot as I race along the path. “Callista?”
Something moves up ahead in the darkness, and I skid to a stop, trying to determine what it is.
Silver flashes against the black backdrop of thick foliage.
Oh, God.
I’ve dreaded this moment for weeks, tried to prevent it from happening. Did what I could in offering warning after warning to stay away from her, but Callista put herself squarely in the path of perhaps the second-most dangerous beast on this mountain next to me.
“Callista…” Holding up a hand, I lock eyes with her where she stands several yards down the trail, blocked from advancing toward me or the protection of the house by the massive silver-gray wolf in front of her. “Don’t move. Do not run.”
He releases a low snarl, staring at her with his fangs exposed and dripping, ready to pounce and capture the prey he’s been stalking since the moment she arrived on this property and invaded his territory.
I move forward, inching toward him with my palm out. “You are not going to hurt her.”
Callista’s eyes widen. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t reason with a goddamn wolf.”
The panic in her voice slices at my heart, making that unfamiliar feeling rise in my own as I try to reassure her of something I’m not one hundred percent confident of myself. “I can with this one…”
Her brow furrows, but her eyes dart back to the threat. “What?”
I move closer to him with cautious steps, ensuring he can see I’m coming and isn’t spooked. He watches me out of the corner of his eye, his main focus still on his intended target.
The stranger.
The intruder.
The one who shouldn’t be here.
“Gray, stop!”
Her eyes dart to me for a second. “That thing has a name?”
I fight the desire to laugh at her incredulous tone because there’s absolutely nothing funny about the situation. Gray poses a tremendous risk to her—possessive and territorial, he will attack anything that oversteps. And it appears he believes Callista has.
“He does.”
Retreating a step, despite my order to her not to move, Callista watches him follow her in a slow advance. “Why?”
“Because I’ve raised him since he was a pup.”
Her mouth falls open. “You what?”
There would be a better time to have this conversation, but as long as I keep talking and retain the same tone in my voice, it seems Gray is choosing not to act. I’m buying time the only way I know how.
“He was abandoned. I found him near the lake in an empty den. The mother never returned. He would’ve died if I hadn’t taken him in. Now stop moving, Beauty.”
That seems like so long ago, looking at him now. How much he’s grown. Gone is the sweet, nippy, playful pup, replaced by a growling, sinister killer capable of ripping both of us apart if he wanted to.
Callista stills her retreat, glaring at me. “Well, I’m about to die if you don’t do something.”
She’s right, of course.
Gray is fixated on her. Even my relationship with him might not be enough to break him from it. But I won’t let her know that. I can’t let my fear permeate my voice. “He’s protective of me. That’s all.”
His lips pull back farther, and he releases a snarl in her direction.
She recoils, tears now shimmering in her eyes as her body trembles hard enough for me to see it across the distance separating us. “That’s all?”
“Trust me, Callista.”
I never thought I’d say those words to anyone, let alone a woman who I actually wanted to do it. She has every reason not to at this point, as I’ve failed time and again to tell her what she needed to know and vacillated constantly between hot and cold with her.
But I need her to stay calm and do it now.
I’m only a few centimeters away from my fingertips brushing his silvery fur when he stiffens and snaps back at me, his base instincts overtaking the years of work I’ve done with him to make him tame enough to be near without him tearing me apart.
I don’t react to his aggression turned toward me. If I feel even a second of weakness, he’ll smell it on me.
“Gray, back away.”
The truly wild animal eyes me and snarls again, and I move closer to the wolf, who is as much at home on Barker Mountain as I am.
He’ll protect his land. Defend what’s his, including anything he might perceive as a threat to me, which apparently Callista very much is at the moment.
My hand shaking, I settle it into his fur, rubbing his neck and down his back in what, under normal circumstances, would be his favorite petting motion.
“Calm, relax, boy.”
He starts to snarl again, but I grab his scruff and jerk on it the way a mother would to an aggressive, overly playful puppy. Gray yelps slightly and backs a step away from her, his canines disappearing back into his mouth as his lips drop over them and he dips his head toward the ground.
Good.
He knows he’s done something he shouldn’t. The reproach was enough to break him from his focus on Callista, but it doesn’t mean she’s completely safe from him yet.
Tears stream down her face, and I lower my head to his and murmur into his ear. “Leave her alone and go. Go home…”
To his den deeper in the woods.
He glances at me as if he’s assessing his options for a moment before he finally pulls out of my hold and slinks away into the trees, disappearing into the darkness.
“Oh, my God…” Callista collapses onto the beaten path, her hands covering her face as she sobs. “What the fuck, Weston? That thing almost killed me.”
I rush over to her and pull her from the dirt, tugging her into my arms. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“Bullshit! That was a wild animal. He-he—”
She struggles to form words, the hysteria making her breath come in short, hard pants that don’t seem to really be bringing any oxygen into her lungs. Tremors rock her so hard that she can barely stay on her feet despite my arms holding her steady.
Shit…
I scoop her up before she fully melts down out here, and she buries her face against my neck, sobbing as I take us back toward the house. The feel of her in my arms again, her weight pressed to me, has been all I’ve thought about since our illicit night together.
But I never wanted it like this.
Not with her terrified.
I may not be the source this time, as I was that first night I held her like this, but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty over her anguish.
Once again, I haven’t protected Callista, and now, she’s paying the price for my failure.