Elsbeth
Stone pavers cut away to cold, packed earth only a few feet from the back door. I could turn around and end this before they catch me. But the frenzy of butterflies in my stomach pushes me forward. This is it. I could kill two birds with one stone.
My calves burn. The cold night air slices down my throat and stabs into my lungs. Stones and twigs bite into the balls of my feet, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
Thorne has never outpaced me at the gym, but he’s not the one gaining.
Somehow, I can feel Maddox all around me.
He’s under my bare soles as they hit the freshly cleared ground.
In the wind hitting my face as I weave through the trees, trying as hard as I can to not just put distance but obstacles between me and the men getting closer.
Even the wilted leaves clinging to my legs as I run father into the orchard feel like an extension of hands on my skin.
The spindly fingers of the trees snag at my shirt as I pass. Twigs snap under my heels but I hardly feel them. I’m numbed by rage and adrenaline. I can guess that my blood pumping this fast is the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the elements waring against me.
As I round another clump of trees, I see an old wood structure at the end of the path.
The last bit of sunlight is sinking behind it to paint the tattered exterior with orange and red.
I run toward it as fast as my legs will take me.
I could hide, rest, and take off again, as long as they don’t catch me first.
My heart pounds to the beat of my feet hitting the earth beneath me, but the barn gets bigger and bigger as I get closer. A lightening in my chest adds to the burn in my lungs because I am so close. That is, until I stupidly look behind me.
Maddox is not only following me, but he’s barely jogging. The biggest smirk plays on his lips as he looks to his left, where Thorne is trailing behind both of us. I should have known this was going to be too easy for him when he left his shoes in the kitchen.
I refocus. The barn door is only a few yards away and there doesn’t seem to be a lock on it. I stretch out my arms and use my palms to cushion myself before plowing into it. The old, weathered wood is heavy, but I yank open the door then close it behind me.
It’s so dark inside, but I can make out large farm equipment. Some of it looks like it’s as old as the orchard itself. The tools on the wall are all worn and rusted, but the newer robotic fruit harvester looks to be battered from years and years of work.
I don’t bother trying to catch my breath.
I need to find something to block the door.
They’re going to break through it, but it’ll slow them down long enough for me to hide and get ready to run again.
We all know they’re going to drag me back to that fucking house, but I’m going to make them work for it.
Pulling on the edge of a large barrel, I tilt it to the rim and roll it in front of the door.
Something sloshes inside, and I have to hold on tight to keep it upright and not let it fall on my toes.
Then two more. They won’t stop the door from opening outward, but they’ll have to open it wider than I did to get inside.
Maybe they’ll leave it open to give me a quicker getaway.
There’s a loud singular slam on the door.
Then one more. A warning that I take. I slink off to the ladder that leads up to the hay loft.
The straw littering the wood floor feels warm and painful on my feet, but at least I know I haven’t developed frostbite yet.
I lower myself to my belly and inch between two large rolls of straw and nestle into it.
It’s cold at first but soon absorbs my body heat.
My extremities start to tingle back to life with hundreds of tiny daggers of punishment.
I’m going to need a very hot bath and cup of tea after this.
Maybe I’ll even let Fox feed me like he’s been so desperate to do.
A third pounding on the door reaches me and finally Thorne enters.
He’s alone.
Where is Maddox?
Did they split up to look for me?
Thorne pulls the door closed behind him and steps around my failed blockade.
He’s breathing heavily but he hasn’t broken a sweat yet.
I watch him stride deeper into the barn.
My biggest advantage is extinguished when a large, beautiful flame gathers at his fingertips.
He holds it above his head like a torch as he pans around him.
“Come on out, Elsbeth,” he says far too easily. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”
He must think I’m an idiot. As if I’d give away my position that easily.
“I’ll even give this back.” He holds up my locket. The gold chain dangles from his middle finger, and the fire in his other hand makes the delicate rings gleam. “I’ve missed seeing it on that pretty neck of yours.”
I might strangle him with it if he keeps baiting me.
But despite the urge in my gut to hurl myself out of my straw blanket and rip him apart, I stay put.
My hands dig deeper into the compacted hay.
The layers smell a bit like mold the more I push aside, but I find what I’m hoping for.
I pull up the small stone that’s likely been slumbering here for decades and toss it across the barn into the corner, near a wood and iron graveyard.
Thorne’s head whips around at the ting of stone on metal, but then he focuses back up at the loft. A grin slowly spreads over his lips and my stomach drops.
Fuck.
He can’t see me yet, but I’ve given away my vantage point.
The cocky bastard tucks my locket back into his pocket, strides over to the ladder, and starts to ascend agonizingly slowly, one rung at a time.
My breath quickens with every bit of distance he claims between us.
I peek over the side of the loft at the long way down and weigh whether breaking my leg would be worth the jump. It wouldn’t.
Thorne is getting closer, and unless I think of something quick, he’ll find me any moment.
I pan around the exposed layer of hay. There is a pitchfork sticking up out of a stack in the far corner, but I would have to fully expose myself to get to it and he would surely catch me before I got even halfway.
He takes another few tentative steps closer. Is he worried he’s going to fall through?
I take one last look around us and finally find what I need.
About three feet from the edge of the loft is a hook holding a bucket on a pulley.
The rope is taut so it has to be attached to something down below.
But will it be heavy enough to slow my fall?
Or will it leave me stranded midair like an apple just out of reach for him to pick?
Only one way to find out.
“Was any of it real?” he asks, breaking the silence and causing me to pause. “Or was it all a lie to put me under your spell?”
I can hear the sincerity in his tone. It’s not playful or angry but not pathetic either. Did he hear Maddox’s accusations in the kitchen? Is that why he came to find us?
Ignoring him, my muscles drawing tight, I prepare to launch myself across the open space and hope that I’ve calculated the distance right. Thorne’s next footstep is too close, and just as I push my body over the edge, I feel his fingertips brush over my back.
Time slows as my arms reach for the lifeline.
The force of gravity and physics shoots me toward my target, but something else ripples through the air and guides my fingers onto the rim of the bucket.
I lock onto it just as my body starts to fall.
My legs instinctually kick out and I sway back and forth, gently spinning until I can see Thorne’s bewildered face.
“Hold on,” he calls, holding his hands out as if he’s trying to calm the air around us. “I’ll get you—”
My stomach drops as the rope above my head unravels.
The force of gravity on my lungs steals my air before I can scream.
Reality slows as my body and brain strain to grasp what’s happening, but my muscles brace for an impact that doesn’t come.
Thorne reaches his arm out and a torrent of heat rushes toward me and slows my rapid decent to a gentle glide.
The dirt floor seems to rise to meet me before the cold earth stings my toes, shins, then knees before Thorne’s warmth abandons me. Powdery dirt coats my fingers as I catch myself from falling on my face.
“That was insane. You could have broken your neck,” Thorne scolds as he hops down the ladder, crossing the barn floor toward me.
“Wouldn’t want to take that honor from you,” I retort, getting to my feet on shaky legs.
His fingers wrap around my biceps, steadying me then bringing me in close. I’m caught. But I haven’t lost our game. His eyes light with thick contrast as they rove over my face, chest, and torso as he speaks. “The only reason either of us is standing here is because the other has allowed it.”
My flesh burns under his. Not searing. But a gradual warmth that bites into the layers of my skin and spreads over my nerves.
Memories of some professor in the political science department’s words about frogs and boiling water emerge from my memory.
This is my pot, and I wonder to what degree his marks will be when he’s finished making his point.
“Your view of a fair fight is questionable,” I quip, raising my chin a bit more and hardening my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.
“By whose rules? You spent weeks pretending to get to know me. Digging yourself a place in my heart. Toying with my emotions. All for what?”
“Just to see devastation on that pretty face of yours,” I admit. Not a lie this time. But the moment I’ve been waiting for hasn’t come yet. And it may never if he doesn’t loosen his grip before he turns me into a piece of kindling.
“A sick joke.” He leans in, and it’s like sitting too close to a bonfire. Every part of him is one degree away from bursting into flame.