5. - – Christian
CHAPTER FIVE
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CHRISTIAN
I found the tracks just after dawn. I crouch beside the impressions; the soft ground has preserved every detail like a plaster mold.
They are recent, hours old at most, and two vehicles.
Someone has been out here looking. They kept their distance, stayed back far enough that the tree cover would've swallowed the sound of the engine entirely from the lake house.
That isn't accidental; that's someone with training.
Whether they are looking for Amelia or for me, I can't say, but it doesn't matter. Either way, it's a problem.
By the time I make it back to the lake house, she is sitting on the porch steps with one of Elena's old books. The sight stops me in my tracks.
Her bare feet are tucked beneath her on the lowest step. Dark hair falls loosely over one shoulder. She looks peaceful.
For a moment, I forget why I'd gone out there. I forget the tracks, the danger. I forget about all of it, except her.
Which is exactly why I need to keep my distance and maintain the boundaries I've already let slip too far.
Attachments get people killed. I learned that lesson in a desert halfway around the world, written in blood and burned into my memory.
But apparently, this woman makes me stupid enough to forget it.
She looks up when she hears me approaching and smiles when she sees me.
"We need to talk."
The smile disappears from her face, immediately replaced by fear. The change makes me want to kill someone. I explain about the tracks, and the panic sets in just as I expected.
"I have to leave." The words come out of her mouth like a reflex.
She wasn't weighing her options or making a calculated decision.
She'd already absorbed all the responsibility for my safety, folded it into herself like it was simply hers to carry, without a single moment of consideration for her own safety.
That's what years of mental and physical abuse do to a person.
It doesn't just break them, it rewires them to believe they are the problem, until the habit of making themselves smaller feels indistinguishable from choice.
"No."
Amelia freezes, but so do I because there it is again. The possessive need to keep her here with me. It sounds too much like ownership and control.
"If Preston's men find you alone out there, you'll either be dead or wishing you were because death will be easier than what he'll do to you when he gets his hands on you again."
Amelia looks away because she knows I am right.
"I don't want you to get hurt because of me."
The statement punches me directly in the chest because she means it. After everything she has been through, she is more worried about me than herself.
"That's not your choice." The words slip out before I can soften them, and I immediately regret saying them. Not because it wasn't true. Because it sounded wrong. Like I am making choices for her, becoming exactly what she ran away from.
I take a breath and force myself to take a step back and remember she isn't mine to protect if she doesn't want protection.
"If you really want to leave, I'll help you." The words are hard to say because I don't want her to go. "But I think it's a mistake that will most likely cost you your life."
Amelia looks at me, confused. Hell, I can't blame her. I don't understand myself anymore either. Two weeks ago, my life had boundaries; I was isolated from everyone. Until Amelia Whitmore came crashing into it, bleeding and terrified.
Now I'm checking on her when she sleeps, staying awake just in case she has a nightmare. The situation is ridiculous. But mostly, it's becoming dangerous. I'm just as bad for her as Preston was. Every day she stays, the harder it becomes for me to let her go.
Finally, she nods, "Okay. I'll stay."
I bury my relief before she can see it. Years of training still counted for something.
I look toward the woods and the growing threat beyond the tree line. Toward the war that is inevitably coming our way.
"Have you ever shot a gun before?"