Chapter 13 Calder
Calder
“Bathroom. Tent. Tent. Our tent.” Lara drew her finger along the map she’d sketched into her journal, tapping twice on the spot that marked our current location.
We’d both returned to the tent just as the dinner gong sounded. Within moments, the thud of approaching footfalls terminated in Ben’s petulant voice announcing he had our dinner.
Neither of us said a word as he delivered the food, which was more promising than the accommodations: a chicken-and-quinoa salad layered in vegetables and a citrus dressing.
Ben took one long look at Lara like he’d almost dug up the gumption to dare me to do something about it, but then cowered, reminded us about curfew, and left.
I listened to his footsteps, nodding when it was clear for us to speak freely.
She immediately opened her journal again.
“I counted three more groupings of three tents, all branching off of this grassy area here.” She’d created a map of the area in lines and shapes. “Beyond the last set of tents, there’s a small overlook above a stream or river—I’m not sure.”
“Probably a small stream off the Snake River.” I closed her journal and handed it back to her. “Your map is good.”
It wasn’t detailed by any means, but I was impressed by her spatial awareness .
. . and the fact that she’d thought to draw it out in the first place.
Cassius would be impressed, too. My father had a thing for maps.
A hobby . . . if Cassius Stone had hobbies.
He made them. Collected them. Restored them. My old bedroom had become his map room.
“The history of the world can be deduced from maps alone. He who controls the land, controls the story.” Not a rule, but a resounding truth.
“Thanks.” She traded the notebook for her dinner bowl and sank onto the edge of the bed. “I only passed five couples, but none of them . . . I didn’t see Rachel.” She mixed everything with her cardboard fork. “What did you find?”
I wanted her to keep talking so she wouldn’t hoover in her food, but it was too late for that. She’d finished almost half her dinner by the time I started mine.
“Maxwell has a motor home on the other side of the Sanctuary where she stays. She was on the phone with a man named Adam when I found it. He sounded like her significant other.”
I’d stopped at the same point along my way back to message Callum again.
“What were they talking about?” She scooped up her last bite.
“It sounds like she uses Wilderness Within as some kind of recruitment platform for a place she called ‘the Garden.’ She mentioned inviting another couple or two from this session to whatever this garden is.” I tipped forward and scraped together a bite, adding, “She did suggest one of the other couples who was arguing during their session with her yesterday, so it could be for some kind of advanced therapy.”
Lara nodded and swallowed, setting her empty bowl on the table, her expression lost in thought.
“I also spoke to Callum.”
Her head whipped to the side. “What? How?”
I dropped my fork into my bowl and carefully lifted my left foot.
My silence encouraged hers as I opened the heel and showed her the tiny phone.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did he talk to the reporter?”
I nodded. “And Hannah’s parents. It was Maxwell who was treating Hannah—who they believe she was involved in some kind of . . . relationship with.”
“Relationship?” Her jaw dropped.
“A threesome, possibly coerced, with Maxwell and Maxwell’s boyfriend at the time.”
“Oh my god. That’s so . . .” Horror rounded her eyes. “Is Adam . . . Was he—”
“No. Maxwell’s boyfriend at the time was a lawyer, James Braun. He threatened to sue Hannah’s parents if they continued to come after them. Didn’t matter, because Maxwell disappeared out here not long after that.”
“Oh my god.” Her hand pressed to her stomach like she was going to be sick. “So they groomed Hannah, and then she committed suicide. I can’t believe this.” Her wild eyes found mine. “Do you think that’s what she’s doing here? Grooming people for this garden and then—oh, god. What if Rachel—”
“Lara. Breathe.” I bent in front of her and grabbed her shoulders like I could hold her thoughts steady. “A good tracker moves at a pace of observation, not desperation. We can’t get ahead of ourselves.” Again.
Breathing deeply, she took a moment and then nodded. “What rule is that?”
“Thirty.” I released her and sat back in the other chair, contemplating an additional tenet to my survival rules: Remain at least three feet from Lara Crane at all times.
Gripping the edge of her seat, she bent forward and hung her head. “Maybe I should get a copy of these rules.”
“Why? Do you want to obey me all the time?” The words were out before I could stop them.
She didn’t look at me, but she’d heard me loud and clear. Her shoulders stiffened, and I caught the fringes of pink spreading through her cheeks.
Ignore it.
Ignore me.
Of course, she wouldn’t.
Lara lifted her head, her hooded eyes finding mine. “And if I do?”
There was a loud screech that turned to static. We both jerked our attention to the small speaker hanging from the top of the tent just as Maxwell’s voice imbued the space.
I knew I was in bad shape when I welcomed this woman’s intrusion.
“Good evening, my wild hunters. I hope you had a wonderful afternoon immersed in nature and encouraging your wild core.”
We stared at the speaker like it would make a difference. Like ignoring a growing fire was an effective way to extinguish it.
“Tonight, our reflection will be on something critical to your wild core and the connection it has with others: physical intimacy.”
Shit.
I didn’t know who turned first, but in a second, my eyes pierced hers. Everything that shouldn’t fade away did—where we were, who we were here for—and left only one thought: Why was there so much space between us?
“In the wild, animals don’t disguise or hide their intentions or attraction, yet that is what society has taught us to do. Cage it. Restrain it. Compose it.”
I should have turned away. Looked away. Moved away. But I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze from her. And Maxwell spoke like she knew it.
“Physical intimacy isn’t only about touch.
It’s about allowing your wild core to recognize its counterpart in another without barrier or restraint.
When you find that connection with another person or persons, society teaches us it’s a distraction, when the truth is that it’s instinct.
When you are hungry, you eat. When you are thirsty, you drink.
And when your wild core connects with its counterpart, you give in. ”
My hand tightened on my knee. Believing Maxwell to be right or wrong didn’t change my position. It didn’t change my attraction to the woman in front of me. And it couldn’t change my ability to act on it.
The last thing I could do was reach for Lara, no matter how my wild core or how my throbbing cock felt.
Stifling a grunt, I reached for one of the refillable steel water bottles that had been delivered along with the dinner tray, uncapped it, and downed several long dregs.
“That connection . . . you feel it now in your tents. The awareness between you and your partner humming like a current of electricity that needs to be grounded.”
Current of electricity? More like the charge of a hydrogen bomb.
Lara stood suddenly and I went still, my body bracing for a physical attack. She dragged her chair toward the corner of the tent and climbed up on it.
“What are you doing?” I spun the cap back on the bottle and shot to my feet.
“Seeing if I can turn it off.” She grabbed the speaker.
“The body knows what the mind denies,” Maxwell continued, her voice contorting as Lara searched for a switch.
“Probably not,” I replied and then cursed when she stood on her tiptoes.
In the span of a split second, I broke my tentative new tenet. Forget three feet—I put myself within three inches of her, worried she would lose her balance and fall.
“We will begin intimacy sessions tomorrow, but starting tonight, I encourage you to not censor your desires.”
“Lara, let me,” I growled as the chair wobbled on the unsteady ground.
“I think I found it.” She ignored me and shoved herself up higher, leaning forward. Big mistake.
“Lara!” I lunged just as the chair toppled, her feet sliding off the edge and sending her straight into my arms.
She cried out as my arms locked around her waist, catching her as the chair tumbled to the ground, forgotten by the time it landed.
All that was left was her in my arms. Her body against mine. Her lavender scent. Her face inches above my own.
“No matter what trials you face in your relationship, resisting or restricting the primal urge for physical connection is dangerous.”
We stared into our own destruction, face-to-face with our own lies. Maxwell’s warning dumped gasoline on our fire.
I gritted my teeth. Heartbeats scrambled through my veins like I was at the edge of a cliff.
At the precipice of peril by the press of her softness.
I couldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t be feeling this.
But I did, and I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t contain it.
No matter all my rules, she was their every exception.
Fuck. I should’ve let her fall.
A terrible thought, but she would’ve been fine. Eighteen inches off the ground wasn’t catastrophic; a big step rather than a fall. But this . . . this wasn’t saving her. Maybe Maxwell was right: Resisting this was dangerous, but giving in would be destruction.
Still, I couldn’t let her go.
The soft pants of her breath drew me closer. The roam of her blush over her freckled skin and down her neck muddied my reason. And these clothes . . . they concealed nothing. Not the hard peaks of her nipples, nor the stretch of my stiff cock.
“Surrender the illusion of control and the weight of society’s propriety.”