Stolen Moments
Aviana
Past
Age 15
It’s been two weeks since Ryan and I shared that kiss in the barn. My first real kiss. The one that has me floating on cloud nine every single day since. I can’t stop smiling—no matter what happens, even Liam can’t bring me down. Every afternoon after school, I head straight to the barn to help Ryan with Blaze. There’s something about being with him, working side by side, that makes everything feel right.
In return, Ryan always helps me with my homework, making sure I stay on top of things. But it’s more than that. He’s become my escape, my safe place—away from all the tension, away from Liam. With him, I feel free. There’s an electricity between us that I can’t ignore, and every moment we spend together just makes me want more. More of him. More of us. And I can’t wait for what comes next.
“Aww, don’t you two look cozy in here,” Liam’s voice cuts through the air, his head poking into my bedroom where Ryan and I are sitting at the foot of my bed, working on an English Lit assignment.
I freeze, my heart racing as his presence fills the doorway. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my skin crawl. Ryan, quick to react, grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at Liam’s face, the sound of my nervous laughter slipping out before I can stop it.
“Har har,” Liam mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he ducks to avoid the pillow .
“Go on, Liam. Don’t you have a tractor to fix?” Ryan shoots back, clearly irritated, but the tension in the room hangs thick.
Liam, completely unfazed, leans against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Actually, Little Screamer here asked me this morning at breakfast to help her with some math homework. I told her I’d be obliged, you know, seeing as I was at the top of my math class and all.” He winks at me, and I feel my stomach twist in fear, wishing I could sink into the floor and disappear.
“Ryan, I did not—” I try to protest, my voice faltering, but Liam cuts me off with that mocking tone of his.
“Tsk tsk, Little Screamer, we don’t tell lies in this house. That gets you punished,” he says, the menace in his words making my chest tighten.
Ryan looks at me, his expression softening. “No, it’s fine, Avi. He can help you.” He turns away, but I can see the unease in his eyes too. “I actually have to finish painting the other side of the barn before Dad gets home or he’ll wonder what I’ve been up to all day.”
“But Ryan—” I start, panic rising in my chest as I try to stop him.
He grabs my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I won’t be long, and we can finish this assignment when I get back.” His voice is calm, but I can hear the hesitation beneath it.
I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and I’m left alone with Liam. The weight of his gaze presses on me, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.
“Making me look bad in front of baby bro? Not cool, Little Screamer,” Liam says, his tone all mock offense.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, asshat. You’re the one telling lies. I never asked you for help.”
He leans back with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the banter. “No? Oh, there will be a day. Trust me.”
“Don’t count on it,” I shoot back with a laugh, the sarcasm thick in my voice. “What do you want anyway?”
He looks at me, one brow raised, as if the answer is obvious. “Isn’t it obvious, Little Screamer?” he says, his smirk deepening as he makes a show of adjusting himself .
I scoff. “You’re gross.”
“You haven’t even tried it yet. How can you say such things?” Liam taunts, his voice thick with amusement.
“And I definitely won’t be anytime soon. Now get out of my room!” I snap, my patience wearing dangerously thin.
He leans against the door frame, completely unfazed. “And do what?”
“I don’t know, Liam—maybe go fix that damn tractor you’re supposed to be working on?”
He grins, the kind that makes my skin crawl. “You gonna ride my big green tractor?”
“Ugh! Why are you so disgusting?” I hurl a pillow at him, but he catches it effortlessly, laughing.
“What can I say, Little Screamer? You bring it out in me. My hormones go wild when I’m around you.”
I glare daggers at him, my fists clenching at my sides. “Then get them under control, you disgusting pig.” I go back to staring at my English Lit assignment in silent prayer he leaves my room.
“If you just help me take care of this little ache I’ve got, I’ll leave you alone—for now,” Liam taunts, flashing a wicked grin and a wink.
“Get out, Liam!” I snap, pushing to my feet and stomping toward the door, yanking it open. “There’s the exit. Use it.”
But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he drops the pillow he’s been holding and steps in front of the doorway, grabs the door and slams it shut.
“I’m not leaving that fast, Little Screamer,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with amusement.
My stomach churns. “Get out,” I demand, my voice sharper now. “I will scream.”
He chuckles, low and smug. “Do it, baby girl. Who do you think will hear you? Mom’s at work. Dad’s at work. And Ryan? Well, he’s all the way down at the barn. You’re all mine.”
My blood turns to ice. “Get out!” I shout, my fists slamming into his chest.
But before I can land another hit, he moves—fast. In one swift motion, he lifts me off my feet and throws me onto the bed.
***
“Get out!” I jolt awake, my own voice ringing in my ears.
“Whoa, whoa, Little Bird. You’re safe.”
Blinking away the haze of sleep, I rub my eyes and see Nightshade standing beside me, pulling his mask back over the lower half of his face. He must have taken it off while I slept.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up with a gentle touch. His dark eyes lock onto mine. “It was just a dream.”
“A nightmare,” I correct, my voice hoarse.
“Same difference.”
I shake my head, pulling his hoodie tighter around me. The scent of leather and spice clings to the fabric, stirring memories I thought I’d buried.
“You want to talk about it?” Nightshade asks.
“I’d rather not, if that’s okay. I’m starving. I should get dressed and head to the common area for breakfast.”
“Stay here,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll make you something.”
I hesitate. “I really should go back. The girls are probably worried sick that I didn’t come back last night.”
He exhales, shifting slightly. “Yeah… about that.”
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”
“I was out earlier and heard some rumors about you and Cade—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I snap. “Let me guess. Scarlet ?”
“Most likely,” he shrugs. “Can I ask… why do you dislike her so much?”
I swallow hard, my fingers brushing over the fabric of his hoodie. “She reminds me of Mrs. Widlow.”
He studies me, curiosity flickering in his expression. “How so?”
I take a slow breath. “Her looks. If she were twenty years older, she’d be nearly identical to Mrs. Widlow when I was in her care.” My fingers drift to my cheek, the ghost of a sting resurfacing. “Mrs. Widlow blamed me for Mr. Widlow’s actions. She was the first person to ever slap me… and I still feel it.”
“Is that the only reason?” Nightshade asks, already heading out of the room. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just assumes I’ll follow. And he’s right—I do, a few steps behind him. It isn’t until we’re halfway down the hall that I realize something horrifying.
I’m not wearing anything under his hoodie.
“Uh… Nightshade?” My hands clutch at the hem, suddenly hyper-aware of how oversized it is.
He glances over his shoulder, amusement flickering in his dark eyes beneath the mask. “Relax, Little Bird. I didn’t take advantage of you last night.” His smirk is evident in his tone as he adds, “Trust me, if I had, you’d definitely know—and you’d still be feeling it this morning.”
My jaw drops. “Oh, we’ve got a cocky one here, huh?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered, and turns into the kitchen. “What can I say?” He grabs a pan and sets it on the stove. “Now, tell me—what else has you so anti-Scarlet?”
I cross my arms, trying to will away the warmth creeping up my neck. “She’s just annoying . She acts like she’s God’s gift to men. Flirting with everyone, dressing like she’s at a nightclub instead of a camp —”
Nightshade cuts me off with a slow, knowing grin. “ Oh , I see. You’re jealous.”
“What?” I screech, nearly choking.
“You’ve got a thing for Cade, don’t you?”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” I huff, turning away to avoid his gaze.
He drops some ingredients onto the counter with a dramatic sigh. “Little Bird, don’t lie to me. It’ll hurt my feelings.”He smirks beneath the mask as he starts mixing the batter, his intrigue evident in the tilt of his head and the sharp glint in his eyes. “Just admit it. You don’t like Scarlet because she’s got the hots for a guy you’ve got a full-blown schoolgirl crush on. ”
“Think what you want, Nightshade. Just cook the damn food before I get hangry.” I grab a seat, ignoring his smug expression.
He props himself against the counter, his masked face unreadable, but the possessiveness in his voice is unmistakable. “Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t like this idea. And more importantly, you’re mine.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“But I won’t stop you if you wanna explore that little crush.” He grins, pouring batter into the pan. “Not that it matters. Rumors or not, you did sleep in my bed last night. Not his.”
It’s then that I catch the familiar, sweet scent of melting chocolate wafting through the air. I glance at the stove, my eyes widening as I realize what he’s making.
Chocolate chip pancakes.
My favorite.
But… how does he know that?
A strange unease coils in my stomach, tangling with hunger. I don’t remember ever mentioning it. I open my mouth to ask, but the words stick to my tongue. Instead, I watch as he flips the pancakes with ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before.
He practically dances around the kitchen—like a teenage boy who just found out his crush might actually like him back. Finally, he sets the plate down in front of me—golden-brown pancakes studded with gooey chocolate chips, eggs, sausage, and a side of toast. My stomach growls in appreciation, but my mind won’t stop spinning.
“Nightshade, do you have coffee or something to wash this down with?” I ask, silently praying he says yes.
Without a word, he grabs a glass and heads to the fridge. The anticipation builds as I hope for the rich aroma of coffee, but when he turns around, he’s holding a glass of orange juice . Disappointment flickers, but before I can complain, he moves behind me, reaching around to place the glass beside my plate .
Just as I go to grab it, his fingers close over mine.
Before I can react, he spins me around in one fluid motion, yanking the hoodie’s drawstrings and pulling the fabric over my eyes.
“Nightshade, what the hell—?”
But I don’t get to finish.
Because his lips crash into mine.
Why was my first thought when did he pull down his mask?
But then my second thought— why does this kiss feel so familiar?
I know he kissed me the other night, but this… this is different. There’s no playfulness, no cocky dominance. This kiss is laced with something deeper, something raw. It’s hesitant yet urgent, as if he’s waging a war within himself but can’t bring himself to pull away. His lips mold to mine with a softness I didn’t expect, a tenderness that sends a shiver down my spine.
Then it shifts.
The hesitation fades, replaced by a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs. His hands, warm and steady, grip my waist, anchoring me to him. I clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, though I don’t even know what more is. A soft growl vibrates from his chest, and I swear I can feel it in my bones.
His fingers trace up my spine, sending electricity through my veins. My mind is spinning, trying to grasp the whirlwind of sensations—safety and danger, heat and longing. And that nagging feeling, the one that whispers in the back of my mind…
I know this kiss.
Not just from the other night. Not just from stolen moments in the dark.
This kiss—it’s not just Nightshade’s.
It’s something older. Deeper.
And that realization terrifies me.