41
We're still standing outside when Elias leans in and takes in the scent of my hair, then groans out, ‘Is that the new shampoo you made?’
‘No.’ I laugh softly, pulling back just enough to keep us steady and keep me from falling too fast. ‘I failed that one. Sunna gave me a bottle she made.’
I want to learn to make things with my hands the way everyone else here seems to be able to, but no matter how many batches I stir, mix or pour, something always curdles, separates or comes out smelling vaguely medicinal. I’ve come to accept that the camera is my only real tether to art.
‘Is the room finished?’ I ask.
He shakes his head, sawdust drifting from his hair and shoulders as he brushes himself off again.
‘What in the world are you making?’ I trail after him as the door clicks shut behind us and the cabin’s warmth curves around me.
‘I’ll finish tonight. I need to shower, I’m itchy all over. Can you heat the stew? I’m starving.’
He tilts closer, slowly enough to suggest something chaste.
But Elias has never delivered affection in a chaste way.
His mouth closes over mine with urgency, and I open beneath it.
The kiss is a taking. Every one after it, a claiming. Hunger pressed into flesh like a brand from heaven and hell alike. He always drags me right to the edge of something reckless and consuming—
Then sawdust hits my tongue.
I jerk back. ‘Oh—wood…’ I spit, fishing grit from my mouth.
His eyes darken. ‘You’re not far off,’ he purrs.
‘No. No—go shower.’ I laugh. ‘Your cheeks feel like sandpaper,’ I add as I brush the dust from his beard and start for the kitchen.
‘I’ll shave then.’
I spin so fast my neck complains. ‘Don’t. You. Dare.’ My eyes narrow as he walks backwards down the corridor with a smirk. Finally, he turns and proceeds.
The firm slopes of his buttocks perfectly outlined in those damned tracksuit bottoms disappear around the corner, and warmth curls low in my belly as I attempt to peel off my coat on the way.
I wrench my gaze away from that spot, trying to reel in the purpose of the day. Then I clock the damn fishing gear.
And downright shudder.
Refocusing on the kitchen, I make quick work of his dinner, then pull my coat back on, grab the smaller crossbow Elias insisted I learn to use – and my camera, of course – and hurry back to the lake.
I’m itching to catch the twilight colours.
It is after nine by the time the sun slips behind the western ridge now. Even then, the light is too stubborn to die, stretching the evening into a long blue surrender.
I think about framing the body of water. About the last light on the ice. About how Elias looks when darkness softens the harsh contours of him.
Beside a small trunk, I brace the crossbow against its bark and unzip my camera bag, reaching for the lens I want.
I enjoy the prickle of winter’s last tendrils at my neck. It’s still too cold to stay outside overnight—
Crack!
I turn—
Darkness slams over my head; rough fabric scrapes over my face, and my body remembers the airport in one sudden rush.
Panic detonates.
A scream forms, but a hand clamps over my mouth and kills it.
Arms lock around me from behind. I kick forward uselessly. Another pair of hands grabs my ankles, and I’m lifted clean off the ground.
Shock drives my heart up to my throat. My pulse roars so loudly I can barely hear anything around me. Words blur, smear. My ears ring like they’re about to split my brain in half.
Metal creaks. I’m shoved sideways onto a cold, rigid seat. The stink of rust and oil overtakes the air.
An old vehicle.
Hands drag my wrists together even as I fight, but they end up in front of me anyway, with a cord wound around them. As I start spouting curses, a strip of cloth is pressed across my mouth over the hood and knotted behind my head.
It’s not Elias. He wouldn’t do this – well, not this way. There’s no reason for him to.
And then the realisation sinks deep and dire.
‘Please…’ I lisp through the fabric. ‘Just… don’t take him.’
Silence.
Cromwell.
The grey car.
Those two men smiling when they frightened me.
Every warning Elias gave me without giving me enough.
I pray they leave him breathing.
The drive feels like five hours, but time splits and bows while anxiety holds. The bag scratches against my eyelashes every time my head jolts.
The vehicle rattles and groans as if it’s older than all of us put together. Every turn throws my weight sideways.
There are no threats or demands. Not even a single insult.
I’d rather have that than this silence.
They’re just breathing. Two, maybe three people. One of them has a rasp in his lungs.
I try to count the turns. Left. Straight. Right. Another right. My brain scrambles for patterns like a dog digging for a bone in the frozen earth. If I survive this, if I get out, maybe I’ll remember enough to lead someone back to Elias.
If I survive this at all.
Oh God…
Anna.
If they found us, they know where she is.
Is she okay?
Elias’ face keeps forcing its way into my mind. His smile in the corridor. I imagine the door bursting open, strangers pouring in with guns or knives or whatever people like Cromwell’s men would bring.
And Elias walking straight into it.
My hands close into fists until the rope bites deeper into my wrists.
The vehicle begins to climb. Tyres grind through slush and snow, the engine labouring through a series of turns until my ears pop with the change of elevation.
Then we stop.
The engine dies, a door opens, and a bone-deep chill floods the car. Boots hit the ground around me before hands pull me out into snow deep enough to drag at my feet.
Someone frees my ankles. Marches me forward. Wooden boards groan beneath my boots before the gag comes off, followed by the bindings at my wrists.
Finally, the hood is ripped from my head.
Low light stabs into my eyes.
When my vision clears, my breath congeals.
Two men stand before me in carved wooden masks: rough animal faces made to look older than they are. The wood is darkened with soot, grooves painted around the mouths, and antlers lashed across the crowns.
Theatrical or not, the too-wide eye sockets turn my blood cold.
‘What do you want from me?’ I ask, voice cracking.
Neither of them answers.
My eyes flit around me and I realise we’re standing on a porch of a small cabin, its door open and showing a room made of rough timber and shadow.
A fire crackles inside, its heat only barely reaching us here.
Bundles of dried herbs dangle from the ceiling beams, their smell sharp and bitter.
A low table stands in the middle. A thermos atop it, enamel mugs and—
A knife laid across a cloth.
My mouth closes with a click.
One of the masked men takes a step towards me, gloved hands slightly raised but not quite reaching. It might be a calming gesture – or it might just be my mind wanting me to believe that.
‘No!’ I snap, taking a step back.
My pulse thunders, every instinct screaming to wait and listen, not to make it worse. But another part of me – the wild, terrified core of my being that has survived an ordeal already – knows I am already in the middle of something that can’t end well.
And Elias isn’t here to stand between me and whatever this is.
But as the cold gust licks over my back, I realise – there’s no one behind me.
I lunge sideways, snatching a piece of wood from the ground, pivoting hard and bringing my arm up in a clumsy arc.
The branch connects with the nearest mask. A dull, cracking thud resonates.
My captor staggers back with a grunt and a curse, a hand flying to his masked face.
The other man swears sharply – too fast for me to catch the words – and lunges for me.
The second the gap opens, I’m gone. But he’s right on my tail.
My boots skid.
My lungs seize.
Branches claw at my sleeves as the night swallows me.
Snow. Dark trees. A fucking mountain I’ve never been on – at the time of year Elias warned me the animals start moving again.
The world narrows to breath and impact. Snow squeaks and crunches under my boots. The air burns my throat, my lungs. My fingers are already stiffening inside my sleeves.
Behind me, boots hit the ground rapidly. A voice shouts something urgent but the drumbeat of my pulse in my ears won’t let the words through.
I don’t look back.
The cabin disappears behind a curtain of trees as I plunge into the forest. The slope tilts underfoot, steeper than I thought, the ground treacherous with roots and iced-over rocks.
I grab for trunks as I slip, my fingers scraping rough bark, snow shaking down my collar.
If I die here, Elias will never know what happened. He’ll search and search until the snow swallows his tracks too.
If he survives.
Won’t he?
The uncertainty makes me stagger—
Impact catches me between the shoulders.
I hit the snow chest-first, and a weight follows right after, forcing the air from my lungs.
One forearm presses across my upper back while the other hand reaches for my wrist.
‘Stop fighting!’ the man growls gruffly.
As if!
I drive my elbow backwards until it catches a set of ribs.
His weight shifts.
I buck, twist beneath his arm and jerk my knee up blindly. It catches him between the legs. His grip breaks with a strangled sound and we both go down.
We tumble in the snow, the world flipping once, twice.
And finally, I scramble upright, boots sliding beneath me. My legs shake. Trees wheel around me. But I’m lucid enough to remember the cabin is downwards – so I go the other way while the man is still writhing in pain by the birch trees.
No plan. No map. No weapons – and the fucking animals are waking.
I focus on the rhythm of my breath, the rasp of the coat against my thighs, and the way the hood keeps most of the wind off my ears. Tiny mercies.
Wind.
I’ve done this before – when Elias tried to teach me how to move without being seen, without the animals noticing me.
Downwind. Quiet breaths. Light feet.
Once the trees swallow every trace of civilisation, Elias’ voice cleaves through the adrenaline in the shape of memory.
If you get lost, stop, breathe and listen.
I lean back against a boulder and crouch, fighting to quiet my breath.
Running until I sweat will only give the cold more access to me.
Voices move far below. No engine. No footsteps ahead of me, either.
I look up at the first hard stars finally showing through the blue and I find… What did Elias call it? Polaris. North. The wind bites at me, but neither tells me where home is, just how not to get any more lost.
It usually comes clean off the fjord.
The wind. I follow the stars, imagining him right next to me.
Whatever you do, Elias’ voice rises again, don’t spend all your strength on fear. You’ll need your legs more than your imagination out here.
I scoff at my demons who speak in his voice now, while I’m rubbing my face to force myself into some semblance of tranquillity, but my heart won’t settle.
Find a landmark. Do not waste your strength wandering in circles.
Landmark. Landmark. Landmark.
My gaze collides with a crooked section of a cliff that rises through the trees, shaped like a bear caught mid-yawn. I anchor my mind to it.
When I settle in its crevice, I cast a long gaze across the small clearing that dips into a sea of treetops.
When the commotion below completely dies, my heart reaches for Elias.
He has lodged himself too deeply in my chest. Every terrified thought turns towards the cabin somewhere in the distance and the possibility that, while I am running for my life, Elias may still be fighting for his.