Chapter 32
Ford
I knew it was awful given everything around us was going to shit, but I was pretty fucking happy.
Hard not to be, when I’d woken up this morning with Esme curled next to me, breathing steadily.
I laid there, not daring to move a muscle, feeling nothing short of total awe.
That we were still alive. That we were fortunate enough to find a pocket of peace when everything else was burning down. That Esme loved me.
I was smart enough not to know that I needed to stay worthy of her love. By the time she started to stir out of sleep, I’d found a deep, endless well of resolve to make sure I protected us.
Part of that protection was making sure that we didn’t blow up our chance at peace—a chance for me and Esme to live a normal goddamn life together at some point—because Elijah was a maniacal asshole.
The news of his little attempt on our lives still wasn’t widely known and would stay that way. We’d caused a scene, too focused on getting Esme back to care about keeping the situation at bay. At least that was what Soren told me.
I still didn’t remember what happened, having blacked out about halfway through the ride. I was sure Peter would spin an artfully crafted half-truth about what happened.
Maybe something to do with the black market, someone getting a little trigger happy over goods.
Whatever it was, I didn’t really care. As long as the story ended with Esme fucking alive, I was fine with it.
I was admittedly a little nervous about her scar, having suffered the same fate five years ago. People couldn’t help but look at you with pity, and I was already clenching up at the idea of people doing that to do her.
Enough so that Esme’s hand swept down my chest in a light stroke. “Ford, honey.” It was only then that I realized my grip on her hip had tightened, holding her flush to my side. Maybe even on top of me.
“Yes?” I asked distantly, mind still hazy with thoughts of people staring at her like she was going to break.
“Is everything okay?” Esme asked, briefly interrupted by a small giggle as I pulled her entirely on top of me.
When I turned my face into her neck, dropping a kiss right on the edge of her scar, she seemed to understand my meaning. “People might be concerned. It’s my first major injury.”
I felt a shiver run through her body when I kissed her again—my mouth had never really left her skin in the first place, just an increase of pressure—and it made me feel like the Emperor himself.
Esme must have been deep in thought, because a second later, she said, “They did the same thing with you.” Another pause, then, “Actually, you’re right. Not a big fan.”
I laughed against the side of her throat, earning another shiver.
Esme was on her back and I was halfway inside her when the knocking started.
“How does this keep happening?” I groaned against her mouth, my arms starting to shake with restraint.
“Ignore it,” Esme said, slapping her hands over my lower back and ass, trying to get me to move.
I would never deny her anything.
My brain went blissfully quiet, that low buzz I’d learned to expect from the Bond when you indulged in each other.
I was glad for it. I didn’t think I wanted its commentary as I hitched Esme’s leg higher up my hip to better the angle. I was the only one who was allowed to hear her answering gasp, caught high in the back of her throat.
The knocking, unfortunately, only got louder.
This time, I was the one to tell Esme to ignore it, finding no reason to stop kissing the curve between her neck and shoulder.
“Ford, I’m going to knock down this fucking door!” Oh, well that was Soren’s serious yell.
“One second!” I called back, before dropping my head back down to Esme’s shoulder with a groan.
Her laugh only made matters worse, then doubled down when her fingernails raked over my scalp.
“FORD!”
“Coming!” Good God, that motherfucker was needy.
“I wish we were,” Esme grumbled, making me laugh so hard I almost fell out of the bed. My chest felt too small for my heart.
It took a good amount of rearranging to make myself presentable. Esme was lounging on the bed, the sheets draping loosely over her body, which certainly didn’t help matters.
By the time I made it to the door, Soren seemed moments away from breaking it down.
“What do you—what happened?” His face was so devoid of color, it was nearly the same shade as his hair.
“Have you seen Freya?” Soren asked very, very carefully.
“What?” Esme asked desperately, suddenly appearing at my side in my sweatshirt and sweatpants.
Soren swallowed, wincing so forcefully you’d think he was trying to choke down glass. “No one can find her.”
“She’s probably on a ride,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
Just then, in an almost comical twist of fate, I saw a flash of white dart behind Soren, followed by a whine loud enough to shake the leaves out of trees.
We all watched as Starlight reared back on her hind legs, scaring the wits out of the group of people surrounding her, then took off into the tree line.
We were all running then, straight towards Peter’s office.
When we arrived, he was already staring at a tablet with wild eyes. “She kept her tracker on,” he said, almost hopefully.
Esme looked to me, her eyes welling with tears. I’d never seen her look so hopeless.
“Where was her last stagnant location?” I asked Peter. He rattled off coordinates with a hollow voice.
Shadow was already waiting for me outside, antsy in her own right. She knew something was wrong.
It took only a handful of minutes to get to the right spot, a little patch of meadow right outside of camp. It was a small oasis, soft land filled with wildflowers and shaded by towering trees. Right next to a bend in the creek that bubbled softly, a change from its normally crashing current.
I could see why Freya liked it. It probably felt like her own little world.
That it was, when we saw the bag hanging from a low branch. It was filled with enough books to make the wood bend and a few other things—a pair of sunglasses, a pencil, a nutrient bar.
A blanket was still laying out on the grass, a book open and face down. It was almost taunting, reminding us that Freya had been in the middle of something.
That she left before she could clean up after herself.
Left, as if she had a choice. She hadn’t, I realized, crouching down to pick up a small dart out of the grass.
The smell of poison was sharp, burning my nose.
When I lifted it up, Esme’s scream rent the forest in two, sending birds scattering away in fear.