33. Holy. Fucking. Shit. #2
I feel another padlock click open under my fingers.
There's something else I want to tell her.
Something massive, heavy, definitive, pressing against my chest and burning my lungs.
I can't find the right words to express it, or rather...
I could find them, I know them perfectly well, but I am fucking terrified to say them out loud and see her reaction. I'm afraid she'll pull away.
Words that echo on the tip of my tongue as we open the last padlocks in the dark.
The air in the crate is still heavy, but my lungs have stopped burning.
The blind panic that was devouring me just a few minutes ago has retreated, tamed by Selene's solid, warm, real presence. I feel her steady breath against my chest, the scent of her skin filling this cramped space, and I realize that, for the first time, my lifeline isn't myself. It's her.
"Are you doing better?" she whispers in the dark. Her voice is heavy with sincere, almost rough concern, her fingers brushing my sweaty jawline to check on me.
"Yeah," I answer, and it is the absolute truth. I hold her a little tighter, closing my eyes. "I'm okay. Thanks to you."
I slide my fingers over the last block of cold metal holding us prisoner. Before opening it, though, I lean down until I brush her hair.
"By the way..." I murmur, my tone suddenly hardening, stripped of all sweetness. "I want to make you a promise, Selly. If I ever, in my entire life, cross paths with this Jim... I swear to God I will smash his face in with my bare hands. And I am not joking."
I feel her breath hitch for a fraction of a second. Then, a soft, almost relieved sigh escapes her lips. She doesn't scold me. She doesn't tell me to stop acting like a caveman. She simply gives a weak nod against my chest.
I pop the last padlock open. Clack.
I push the heavy wooden door of the crate open. The hinges groan, and the cold, damp, musty air of the cellar hits us full force, bringing with it the dim glow of the red emergency lights installed by production.
We stumble out. The contrast between total darkness and the dim light makes me blink, but my first instinct isn't to step away or enjoy the newly found space.
It's to look for her hand.
I reach out, and my fingers find hers. I lace them together without hesitation, palm against palm, anchoring her to me. Selene doesn't pull away. On the contrary, she squeezes my hand as if she was about to look for mine, too.
We stop in the middle of the underground stone corridor, ignoring the muffled sounds of the other couples struggling in their crates.
I turn to face her. Her raven hair is messy, her wide dark eyes scanning my face with silent devotion, just to make sure my panic attack is truly over.
I look at her over my shoulder, and I feel the ground drop out from under my boots.
"Favorite chocolate?" I ask, just like that, out of the blue.
Selene's eyes go wide for a second, caught off guard by my sudden return to normalcy, then a shadow of amusement softens her features.
"Dark," she decrees, without hesitating. She squeezes my hand as we walk toward the stairs. "You?"
"White with raspberries."
She stops mid-stride, pulling me back slightly. She looks at me like I just confessed to a crime.
"Seriously, new-cowboy?" she asks, wrinkling her nose in a deliciously displeased expression. "You are truly weird."
I laugh. A real laugh that clears my lungs of the last trace of claustrophobia.
I turn my body to face her completely. I don't let go of her hand. I lower my face toward hers, losing myself in the brown depths of her eyes.
"But do you like me at least a little?" I hazard, my tone low.
I hold my breath, expecting the inevitable. I expect her to roll her eyes, cross her arms, and hit me with her classic, icy: In your dreams, Willers.
Selene stares at me. Her gaze slides from my mouth up to my eyes. I watch her fighting a war with herself. I see the wall tremble, crack, and, finally, cave in.
Her lips part just a fraction.
And, in a whisper so faint I have to strain to hear it, she murmurs: "Despite myself."
The entire world stops spinning.
Despite myself.
A crazy, irrepressible smile takes over my face, and I know with absolute, terrifying certainty that I am a completely, hopelessly fucked man. And I couldn't be happier about it.
Haunted Spurs: Highlights of the Last Few Weeks
ELM HOLLOW GAZETTE
Local News, Mild Scandals, and Absolutely Essential Truths
by Francis Grande
(Reporter, winner of the latest Haunted Spurs betting pool, and official number one fan)
?? FRONT PAGE: STRAWBERRY-FLAVOURED LUbrICANT, BURNING GLANCES, AND DANGEROUS STEPbrOTHERS
Dear readers, we asked the producers of Haunted Spurs for a some paranormal thrills, but the only thing catching fire around here is our flat screens!
If you thought the "Mystery Cowboy" plot twist was just the elimination of poor Emerson, you were dead wrong. The masked man is Lucien, and the girl he literally branded as his property is... his sister!
Yeah, yeah, I know (clutch your pearls, puritans)!
Our very own Susan turned out to be the fierce cowgirl Melusine.
But the real scoop aired this morning in the kitchen.
Melusine spiked Lucien's pancakes with...
strawberry-flavored personal lubricant. And his reaction?
He forced her to eat it right off his finger in a scene so thick with sexual tension that everyone in Elm Hollow needed a cold shower.
Gazette Verdict: We have no idea what the family dynamics are like at their house, but we can assure you that Thanksgiving dinner must be a decidedly... tense affair.
?? ROYAL SCANDAL: THE PRINCESS GOES BACK FOR SECONDS
Hold your horses, because we have a new national sport in Elm Hollow: our ex-Princess Carolina is leaving a trail of broken hearts (and ripped denim).
We all saw her shooting not-so-subtle looks at the rodeo brothers, Cade and Cole. But if you thought she was going to limit herself to just choosing one... well, you don't know Carolina.
Viewership has spiked by 200%... if this isn't a dream cast, I don't know what is.
Gazette Verdict: Carolina, you are the heroine we needed.
????♂? MYSTERY OF THE WEEK: RON WILLERS IS UP TO SOMETHING
Hold everything. Let's focus on our favorite "new-cowboy," Ron Willers. Ever since he rolled into town, he's branded himself as the classic sunny good guy—the one who plays with his dog and cracks jokes with everyone.
But our cameras are capturing a completely different story when it comes to his partner, the famous dark romance author Selene Dusk.
Have you noticed how he transforms when she's around? His eyes darken. He physically shields her from other men's stares. And he demanded a brand-new branding iron from production. Said branding iron was never returned.
He smiles too much, she huffs too much. Something is definitely up.
Gazette Verdict: Selene writes smut about dark dominants, but we strongly suspect that her real-life dominant wears a plaid shirt and sports an illegal dimple.
?? ELM HOLLOW SOCIAL FEED