Chapter 8 #3
The door is hanging on one hinge, barely attached.
I push it open as quietly as I can.
Inside is one room, maybe twelve by twelve feet.
Fireplace with a weak fire burning—she must have found old matches somewhere, must have scavenged half-rotted wood from the forest floor.
A broken chair in pieces near the fire.
A rotting table collapsed in one corner.
And Eden.
Huddled in the corner farthest from the door.
Arms wrapped around herself, knees pulled to her chest, shivering violently.
Her face is pale, almost gray.
Lips tinged blue.
Eyes huge and dark and absolutely terrified when she sees me standing in the doorway.
"No," she whispers.
Just that. One word.
No.
Like she can refuse me.
Like she has any power here.
Like she has any choice at all now.
I step inside and close the door behind me as much as I can with the broken hinge.
"Did you really think you could run from me?" My voice is calm. Cold. Controlled despite the rage and fear and relief all warring inside my chest.
She presses harder against the wall like she's trying to disappear into it. "Stay away from me."
"Eden." I take another step forward. She flinches. "You've been gone for hours. It's thirty-four degrees and dropping. You're hypothermic. You're in danger. This ends now."
"I won't go back."
"Yes, you will."
"You can't make me."
I almost laugh. The sound that comes out is harsh, bitter. "Can't I?"
I cross the small space in three strides and reach for her.
She scrambles away. Or tries to.
But she's weak from the cold.
I catch her easily, pull her against my chest even as she struggles.
She fights.
Actually fights me.
She hits my chest with fists that have no strength behind them.
Pushes against me with arms that can barely lift.
"Let me go!"
"Never."
"I won't—I won't go back—I won't be your trained pet for that showcase—I won't—"
So she did read the invitation.
Understood exactly what I've been preparing her for.
"We'll discuss that later," I say, wrapping my arms around her more firmly. "Right now, you're freezing to death and I'm not letting that happen."
I pull the thermal blanket from my pack with one hand while keeping her contained with the other.
Wrap it around her shoulders even as she attempts to shrug it off.
"I hate you," she says through chattering teeth.
"I know."
"I'd rather die than go back to you."
The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I don't let her see that.
"Too bad," I say. "You don't get that choice. You gave up your choice when you ran."
I pull her tighter against me.
Feel how cold she is through her clothes, through her skin.
How badly she's shivering.
She could have died out here.
Could have frozen during the night.
Could have gotten hurt and been unable to call for help.
Could have—
The rage and fear and relief all crash together in my chest.
"You could have died," I say, and my voice isn't cold anymore. It's raw. Angry. Shaking with emotions I can't control. "You could have fucking died, Eden. For what? To prove a point? To show me you'd rather freeze than submit?"
"To be free," she whispers.
The word hangs between us.
Free.
Like that's something she could ever be.
Like I would ever let her be.
"There's no freedom for you," I say quietly. "Not from me. Not anymore. The sooner you accept that, the better this will be for both of us."
"Then kill me." Her voice breaks. "Because I'll keep running. I'll run every chance I get. I'll never stop trying to escape you."
"Yes, you will."
I pull out the satellite phone and call Callum.
He answers immediately. "Sir?"
"I have her," I say. "Four point two miles northwest. Old hunting cottage at coordinates—" I read them off my GPS. "Send the extraction team. And tell them to bring medical supplies. She's hypothermic."
"On our way, sir. ETA twenty-two minutes."
I hang up.
Eden has stopped fighting.
Just shivering in my arms now, the fight draining out of her along with her body heat and her hope.
"Why?" she asks quietly, her voice so small I almost don't hear it. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I didn't lie."
"You said—you said it was about my choice. My pleasure. My healing. But it was always about that showcase, wasn't it? About training me to perform like a good little acquisition."
I could lie now.
Could tell her she's wrong, that she misunderstood, that the invitation doesn't mean what she thinks it means.
But what's the point?
She knows the truth now.
"Both things can be true," I say instead.
"No, they can't."
"They can. And they are. Everything I showed you—that was real, Eden. Your pleasure was real. Your choice was real. The fact that it also serves my purposes doesn't make those things less real."
"That's twisted."
"Maybe. But it's true."
She laughs. It's a broken, horrible sound. "I almost believed you. Almost thought you were different. Almost thought you actually cared about me instead of just seeing me as property to train."
"I do care about you."
"No, you don't. You're just like Elder Jacob. Just like my father. Just like every man who's ever tried to own me. You're just better at pretending. Better at making the cage feel like freedom."
The words hit harder than her fists did.
Harder than anything she could have said.
Because maybe she's right.
Maybe I am just like them.
Maybe the patience and the careful manipulation and the illusion of choice don't make me better than Elder Jacob or her father.
Just more effective at breaking her.
"The difference," I say quietly, pulling her closer, "is that I won't break you. Won't hurt you the way they would have. Won't force you into anything you don't ultimately want."
"You're forcing me back right now."
"To save your life. That's different."
"Is it?"
I don't answer.
Can't answer.
Because I don't know anymore.
Don't know where the line is between saving her and owning her.
Don't know if there even is a line.
Don't know if I care.
We sit in silence after that.
The fire is crackling weakly.
Her shivering gradually slows as the thermal blanket and my body heat work to bring her core temperature back up.
I hold her. Just hold her.
Feel her breathing. Feel her alive and safe and mine despite everything.
After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty-five minutes, I hear voices outside. Vehicles.
The extraction team.
Callum appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with professional assessment.
Me holding Eden. Her wrapped in the thermal blanket. The dying fire.
"Sir. Medical team is ready."
"Good. Get the vehicle as close as you can. She needs immediate attention."
"Already positioned, sir. Thirty meters out—that's as close as we could get with the terrain."
I stand, lifting Eden even with her complaints.
She's so light.
"I can walk," she says.
Her voice has no strength behind it.
"No," I say. "You can't."
I carry her outside to the waiting SUV where two medics have set up a mobile treatment station.
They work efficiently.
Check her temperature—ninety-four point three degrees, mild hypothermia but not critical.
Check for frostbite—her fingers and toes are dangerously cold but not yet damaged.
Give her warm fluids and wrap her in heated blankets.
She'll be fine.
Physically, at least.
Emotionally? Psychologically?
That's a different question.
The drive back to the estate is silent.
Eden stares out the window, wrapped in heated blankets, refusing to look at me.
She looks defeated.
Broken in a way she wasn't before.
And I did that.
I broke something in her by letting her find that invitation.
By showing her what I'm really preparing her for.
By proving that she was right not to trust me.
When we pull up to the estate, the full weight of what happens next settles over both of us.
She finally speaks. "What now?"
"Now we go inside."
"And then?"
I look at her. Really look at her. At the fear and defiance warring in those hazel eyes.
"Then you learn what happens when you run from me."
Her breath catches. "Vaughn—"
"You ran, Eden. Risked your life. Scared me half to death. Proved that you don't understand yet what it means to be mine. So now you're going to learn."
"Please—"
"No." I get out of the vehicle. Come around to her side. Open the door. "No more running. No more defiance. Tonight, everything changes."
I offer my hand.
She stares at it like it's a snake.
Then, with shaking hands, she takes it.
Lets me help her out.
Mrs. Silva is waiting inside, her face lined with concern and relief.
"Thank God you found her," she says. "I'll prepare a hot bath and some food and—"
"No," I interrupt. "She's coming with me."
Eden's eyes widen. "Where?"
"My room."
"No. Please. I want to go to my room. I need to sleep and—"
"You wanted to know what I'm capable of?" I step closer. Lower my voice so only she can hear. "You wanted to see the real Vaughn Sutherland instead of the patient man I've been showing you? Tonight, you'll find out."
Terror flashes across her face.
Raw, genuine terror.
Good.
She should be afraid.
Should understand that running has consequences.
Should learn that I'm not the careful, controlled man I've been pretending to be.
I'm something much more dangerous than that, and she's about to discover exactly what that means.
I take her arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that she knows resistance is pointless, and lead her toward the stairs.
She could fight. Could scream. Could try to run again.
She doesn't.
Just follows me up the stairs, down the hallway, to the door of my bedroom.
A door she's never been through.
A threshold she's never crossed.
Until now.
I open it. Guide her inside with a hand on the small of her back.
Close the door behind us.
Lock it.
The sound of the lock clicking makes her flinch violently.
"Vaughn—"
"Strip."
"What?"
"You're soaking wet from crossing the creek. Freezing. You need dry clothes and warmth. So strip. Now. Unless you'd prefer I do it for you."
She stares at me.
Eyes huge.
Calculating whether I'm serious.
I am.
I've never been more serious about anything in my life.
Finally, with shaking hands, she reaches for the hem of her sweater.
This is it.
This is the moment where everything changes.
Where she learns.
Where she understands.
Where she discovers what happens when you run from me, and there's no going back from this.
For either of us.