Chapter 2 #2
By the time we turn off the highway, the sun has barely started to crawl above the mountains.
The road narrows, turns to gravel, then dirt.
The further we drive, the more the world fades—no street signs, no tire tracks, no signs of life but frost-furred branches reaching over the windshield like claws.
We don’t speak for nearly an hour.
Then, just as we crest the final incline, I break the silence.
“I named the ridge myself,” I say, one hand loose on the wheel as the SUV climbs the final stretch of snow-packed road. “Didn’t come with anything but ghosts and overgrowth. Just a stretch of forgotten earth past the ranger stations. No maps. No trails. Just wilderness and silence.”
She shifts beside me, slower now. Heavier. Her eyelids are starting to droop, lashes blinking like she’s struggling to keep focus. The Gatorade’s kicked in—soft, subtle. Just enough to make her limbs feel too warm and her mind feel like it's floating through molasses.
She glances over, but it takes effort. Her head turns in a slow, clumsy arc. Her voice comes out soft, slurred at the edges. “You... named it?”
I nod, eyes still on the road as it levels out. “Wraithrock.”
There’s a pause. Her brow furrows like she’s trying to concentrate, but her mouth doesn’t quite keep up with her thoughts. “That... supposed to mean something?”
I let a grin pull at the corner of my mouth. “Because nothing lives up here that isn’t supposed to be dead.”
The words land heavy in the cab, but she doesn’t react the way she would’ve an hour ago. No snarl. No bite. Just a little shiver under my coat—her body curling in on itself like it suddenly feels too far from solid ground.
She shifts again, this time more like she’s melting into the seat than moving with purpose. Her voice is tighter now. “You really... built a place out here? Alone?”
I glance at her. Her eyes are glassy, blinking too slow. She’s fighting the haze, but it’s a losing battle. My pulse thrums with satisfaction.
“Every nail. Every plank. Solar runs the essentials. Spring water’s clean. Stove keeps it warm. It’s not much, but it’s enough. We have a backup generator, too.”
I pause, watching the way her head tips back slightly against the seat. “No cell towers for miles. No eyes. No interruptions.”
The road ends.
The trees part into a clearing, the headlights spilling out across untouched snow.
The cabin appears like a ghost summoned from the woods—dark timber, peaked roof, smoke curling from the chimney, porch lanterns swaying slightly in the wind.
The glow flickers off the icicles like firelight licking glass.
I kill the engine.
Silence settles between us, the kind that presses into your skin. She stares at the cabin, her gaze loose and unfocused. Her hand lifts slightly like she wants to point or reach, but it doesn’t make it far. Her arm sinks back down.
Then she turns to me, slow as a dream. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted just slightly like she’s struggling to form the thought she’s trying to speak.
Her limbs are loose, draped over the seat like she’s sinking into it. Not from comfort—no, from the weight of the drug. Her eye movements are sluggish, breath shallow. That spark of defiance is still there, buried behind heavy lashes, but it’s flickering now. Struggling to stay lit.
She blinks slowly, eyes drifting to the windshield. The cabin glows beyond the glass—lanterns flickering like tiny stars against the snow.
“It’s… pretty,” she mumbles, lips barely moving. “The lights…”
I smile, letting my hand settle possessively on her thigh. “I knew you’d like it.”
She doesn’t reply. Just keeps watching the cabin, lashes fluttering like she might pass out mid-thought.
“I can’t wait to show you inside,” I murmur, voice smooth and full of promise. “Wait until you see what I built for us. It’s perfect. Just like you.”
She swallows hard, slowly. Doesn’t speak again.
Her lashes flutter like she might pass out.
I reach across her, fingers brushing her cheek. She doesn’t pull away—can’t, really. Her muscles are jelly.
I grin.
“You’ll warm up to it,” I murmur. “Just like you’ll warm up to me.”
She turns her head toward me, clumsy and uncoordinated, her pupils dilated. She blinks like the light hurts, then slurs, “You’re still… fuh-fuckin’… s-sick…”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean in, letting my breath brush her ear. My voice drops, teasing and cruel.
“Yeah? Well, let’s not forget how wet you were a few hours ago for this sick fuck. How hard you begged and clenched around my cock, hmm?”
I let the silence stretch, letting her stew in it. Then I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear, low and steady.
“Yeah, I may be twisted, little doe—but you?” I pause, savoring it. “You fucking love it.”
Her breath catches, just a fraction. A twitch of her lips. A stutter in her pulse. She turns her head toward the window, like that’ll save her. Like looking away makes it untrue.
But I saw it. Felt it. Heard her fall apart beneath me, gasping my name like a prayer she didn’t know she knew.
The SUV purrs as we pull up the final stretch of icy gravel, tires biting through frozen ruts carved in by snow and time. A wall of pines sways just ahead, dusted thick with white. The clearing opens, revealing my cabin—dark and still, tucked into the woods like it’s always been waiting.
I shift the gear into park but leave the engine running. The heater hums, warm air blasting faintly as snowflakes tumble past the windshield, swirling in gusts of wind like they’re chasing each other.
She sways in her seat, dazed. Her breath fogs the window. Her legs shift, then go still again. The drug’s still holding, just soft enough to blur her fight but not enough to knock her out cold.
She’s quiet. Breathing slowly, uneven, her body slack against the seat.
Perfect.
The snow’s coming down heavier now, blanketing the windshield in a thick white sheet. The world outside is cold, silent, buried in winter. But in here?
She’s mine.
“Welcome home, little doe,” I murmur, my voice low, smooth like a secret I’ve been waiting too long to tell.
I watch her lashes flutter, slow and heavy, like she’s slipping in and out of awareness. Her lips are parted, but there’s no sound. No questions. Just that soft, confused breath.
She doesn’t need to ask where we are. She knows. She’s seen the trees, the isolation, the nothingness beyond us. There’s no one coming. No one to call.
This is it.
Our beginning.
I lean across the console, close enough to feel her exhale catch on my cheek. “You’re gonna love it here,” I whisper. “It’s quiet. Safe. Just us. No lies. No noise. Just the truth, raw and fucked-up as it is.”
She blinks, slow. Glazed eyes meeting mine for half a second before dropping in defeat again. There’s fear in her body—tight and buzzing beneath the sedation—but I can see it: that flicker of awareness. That flicker of me.
“You’re gonna fight,” I say softly, dragging the back of my hand down her cheek. “Of course you are. That’s what makes this fun. But in the end, you’ll see. You were always meant to be mine.”
She tries to shift, a weak protest murmuring from her lips, but it dies in her throat. Her skin’s pale in the glow of the dash lights, lips a little cracked from the cold, eyes glassy.
Still beautiful.
Still here, and all fucking mine.
And that’s all I ever fucking needed.
She thinks I’m a monster, and she’s probably right. But she’s the fucking myth that made me.