Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Owen
The fire’s low, just red coals and pulsing heat. My god, I know the feeling.
Emma’s asleep on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, lashes fluttering with dreams I can’t see. I want to wake her, just to hear her say my name again. But I won’t, not yet.
Because something is clawing up my throat, heavy and sharp—something I haven’t let myself feel in years: fear. Not for me, but for her.
Two men. Two fucking men, in this cabin with her. If I’d been just a minute later—
I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.
She screamed for me. God, Emma screamed my name.
It did something to me. Ripped something open and rearranged it, like the storm outside wasn’t the only thing howling.
I press a kiss to her hair. She stirs, but doesn’t wake.
She still trusts me. After all this. After the years and the distance and the things I’ve done to keep her here.
She chose me tonight. But for how long?
Because those men weren’t the worst thing out there. Not even close. I know what’s out there—the predators in pressed suits and shiny shoes. The ones who don’t need axes. The ones who smile while they ruin you.
Fucking husbands who use you and convince you you’re worthless, only to fuck around behind your back.
I’m the one who brought her here. Who’s kept her, lied to her, and held her while she cried, telling myself it was love and not possession.
But it is. It is possession.
Because I want to take that manuscript she’s writing and lock it away somewhere no one can ever find it. Not because it isn’t brilliant, but because it’ll pull her back into a world that will eat her alive.
And I want her here. Safe.
She shifts again, murmuring something.
I tuck the blanket higher on her shoulders. My voice is gravel when I speak. "Emma. Wake up."
She blinks at me, barely awake. Her hair is tangled, eyes soft. "Hmm? What’s wrong?"
"We need to talk."
She sits up slowly, pulling the blanket with her and wrapping it around her chest, looking both vulnerable and strong.
I trace a finger down her arm and feel the goose bumps rise. “What happened tonight—"
"You saved me."
I shake my head. "No. I was almost too late. And next time, it won’t be two drunk hunters."
Her breath catches. "Next time?"
I shake my head. No, no, I don’t want to talk about next time. I want to talk about us.
“What happens when you leave?”
She looks away, not meeting my eyes. “Been wondering the same thing,” she whispers. “What if I want to stay?”
My heart stumbles in my chest. It’s the exact fucking thing I was hoping for and the worst possible outcome. I shake my head.
“You can’t—”
But her face falls, and I feel like the world’s biggest douchebag ever.
“Listen, it isn’t you, it’s just that… the work I do would put you in danger.”
“How?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand, Owen.”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair.
"If your book gets out there, if you go back to that life… people are going to find you. People who don’t want you to be happy. Who don’t care if you’re safe. And instead of protecting you like I did tonight… I won’t be able to. And it will be my fault for leading you there.”
She swallows. "You mean Jake."
"I mean all of them." I take a deep breath. "I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get you out of that world. To bring you here. To keep you here. And now that I have you… I’m scared about what could happen.”
I sigh hard. I don’t find it easy to admit this.
She looks at me. No fear. No confusion. Just that soft, steady knowing in her eyes that always cuts me in two.
“I want to stay with you, Owen. No matter what.”
My throat tightens. "You don’t have to choose," I say, even though I want her to. Even though I want her to burn every bridge back to that world and stay here with me—innocent, brilliant, and mine.
"Don’t I?" Her voice is barely audible. "Because if I go out there, I know what I’ll find. The same cold hands and smiling knives. And if I stay…"
"You’ll have me."
Me, and every one of my goddamn enemies.