3. Evie
When I woke up this morning, I did not think I’d end the day being carried through the forest by a Tarzan lookalike. If I had suspected the way things would go, I might have braided my hair and slicked on some lip gloss, because the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge?
He’s kinda hot.
Oh, not at first glance, obviously. Not unless you like ‘em brawny and dirty and mean, which… that’s fair. Game of Thrones did a number on all of us.
But it’s only now, cradled against his strong chest and hearing his clipped answers to my questions, that I’m starting to wish I didn’t smell so funky from the hike.
“Do you live up here alone?”
“Yes.”
“In a cabin?”
There’s a long pause before he grunts, “Cave.”
“And do you hunt for your food?”
A terse nod.
“But you’re wearing jeans,” I point out, adjusting my grip on his strong shoulders and trying to ignore the heated bare skin beneath my palms. So distracting. “So you must indulge in a few creature comforts, right? You’re not, like, full caveman.”
The wild man sighs, carrying me between towering pines. There’s no sign of his arms tiring, despite my warnings back by the slope.
The light is fading now, shadows stretching across the forest floor, and it occurs to me way too late that a strange, possibly unhinged man is carrying me off to his cave. Should I be worried? Should I try to get away?
“Rowan,” the man mutters, stepping over a gnarled tree root. “My name is Rowan.”
Oh my god! “Evie,” I say quickly, beaming up at him. He volunteered that information without me wheedling it out of him for twenty minutes! This is progress.
“I know. Heard you earlier.”
I gasp in faux-shock. “So you were following me.”
“You also yelled it through the forest.”
I press my lips together, fighting a happy laugh. And I know it’s nuts, know I’m probably a prime candidate to wind up in a dumpster on one of those true crime shows, but I’m really not scared to be alone with this man. Not even up here on the mountain, stranded in wilderness.
The wild man—Rowan—is steadying. Grounded.
And I’d be one hundred percent screwed without him right now.
“I owe you big time for this,” I say as we move through the trees, my boots kicking gently. My right ankle throbs a little, but it’s not too bad. “And I’m pretty sure I could walk if we go slowly. You don’t have to carry me the whole way.”
Rowan’s arms tighten around me, clasping me to his chest. “It’s fine.”
“But—”
“I said it’s fine.”
The breeze changes direction, blowing his matted hair against my knuckles, and I fight the urge to wind a dirty lock of his hair around my finger. Despite the fine layer of dust and dirt on his skin, Rowan smells… good. Like sweat and moss and tree bark.
What makes a man want to live alone in a mountain cave? What makes him go barefoot and bare chested, refusing to interact with society? What happened to Rowan to make him like this? The endless questions clang around my brain, and I desperately want to know.
Not just for the article. For me.
I’m fascinated by this man.
Rowan carries me for around forty minutes through the darkening forest. It’s hard to judge exact timings, especially when I’m distracted by his shoulders and my phone is in my bag and I have zero experience of reading the natural light. Back home in the city, it’s never dark, not really. There are always streetlights, car lights, blinking neon shop signs… the whole city has a bright haze around it that covers up the stars.
Up here on this mountain, it’s getting dark. I shiver, clinging to Rowan’s neck.
“Nearly there,” he mutters, weaving around a patch of inky shadow. A ditch, maybe. The trees here are spaced far enough apart to let starlight filter through the branches, and Rowan’s navigating by the silvery sheen. “Then we’ll get you warm.”
I’m cold?
Oh, yeah. At some point I must have started shivering, because my teeth are chattering like crazy and my skin is goose-pimpled under my clothes. Could be the shock, too, I suppose.
It’s been a very weird day so far.
* * *
Rowan’s cave is hidden behind a waterfall, Batman style. He juggles me against his chest so that he’s holding my whole body with one arm, then uses a long stick to part the water above us and make a temporary door.
We’re still speckled with icy cold water droplets, and the mist from the waterfall frizzes my hair. As Rowan carries me into the cave, his footsteps are muffled on the stone floor, and I lick my lips and taste salt from the day’s sweat.
Maybe getting dunked in that waterfall wouldn’t be the worst thing, even if I am shivering. My clothes are stiff and stinky, and my hair is tangled from the wind.
“Here.” Rowan dumps me unceremoniously on what feels like a pile of blankets. It’s hard to tell in this pitch black cave, where it’s so dark I can’t see my hand when I wave in front of my own face. “Wait there. I’ll light the candles.”
Soft footsteps pad nearby. Can Rowan see somehow? Is his cave vision that good, heightened by life in the mountains? Or is he navigating the space by memory?
One by one, thick candles glow to life around the walls of the cave, each set in a rocky shelf. Rowan walks between them with a box of matches as the cave gets incrementally brighter.
“Oh, busted!” I point and laugh like a madwoman, kicking my boots when Rowan glances over with a raised eyebrow. “The Wild Man of Starlight Ridge uses matches to light his fires.”
Rowan scoffs and shakes his head, turning back to his task. “Obviously. I have a flint too, but it takes forever. I figure you want light more than the authentic caveman experience.”
He’s right—but that doesn’t stop me from plucking at the blankets on this cot, tutting loudly. “A bed too.” Of sorts. “Some wild man you are.”
Rowan lights the final candle and shakes his match out. “Don’t tell the other cryptids.”
With candles glowing from the cave walls, it’s not exactly bright in here, but there’s enough of a glow to see. Beside the narrow cot with its blankets—no pillow—there’s a small wooden stool that serves as a nightstand. Over by the cave entrance, where the waterfall drums steadily and mists the air, a large wooden table is spread with hunting knives and other tools.
A fire pit is ringed with stones and has a metal frame propped above it, with a hook for a cooking pot. Chopped wood is piled against one wall, and there are shelves stacked with basic food stores and other supplies. Some kind of brown pelt is spread on the cave floor.
And… that’s it.
No books. No games. No company.
Just Rowan, here in this half-empty cave, left alone with whatever tortured thoughts drove him up the mountain in the first place. An extra-large shiver wracks my body.
“Give me your foot.” If my host has noticed the change in my mood, he doesn’t mention it; instead he strides across the cave and kneels by the cot. “The swelling doesn’t look too bad.” Rowan unlaces my right boot and pulls my foot free, turning it gently this way and that, nodding to himself. “Just a mild sprain. If you rest it well enough tonight, you should be okay to walk down to town in the morning.”
The morning.
Can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about the future or the past, not while I’m tucked away in this secret cave with the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge.
As long as I’m here, as long as we’re together, there’s only room for the present moment in my brain.
“Keep it elevated.” Rowan taps my kneecap, and I swing my leg obediently onto the cot. Pale gray eyes flick to mine, then away. “Good.”
His jeans rustle as he stands. Where are his other clothes? Does he have any? How is he not freezing without a shirt? So many questions, though it’s admittedly hard to focus on them when Rowan’s waistband is at my eye level. This close, I can make out the shadow-cut muscles of his hips.
I swallow, my mouth dry.
“Evie,” Rowan says, and it’s definitely not the first time he’s said my name. I jolt, cheeks flaming as I look up at my rescuer. “Do you want to bathe? I can heat some water to warm you up.”
A bath. Oh my god, a bath. I would do terrible, terrible things for a hot bath right now, but I fight to keep my voice even. Be cool, you weirdo.
“Yes, please.”
“It’ll take a while. Eat that apple in your bag while you wait. And wrap up in those blankets.”
I give a wobbly salute. “Aye, cap’n.”
One bruised apple and the promise of hot water, and I’m more blissed out than I’ve ever been. Maybe cave life isn’t so bad after all. Maybe the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge is on to something out here.