Page 19 of Bird on a Blade (Hunter’s Heart #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EDIE

H e’s absolutely drenched in blood. When he found me stretched out on the pew, doomscrolling through social media while I avoided Charlotte’s texts, my first thought was that he was injured and I needed to drive him to the hospital.

And then my brain caught up to me. Because it’s not his blood.

He doesn’t seem bothered by the blood, though. Not as he hands me Baro’s phone or brings me a change of clothes. I keep staring at him, thinking back to that night at Camp Head Start. Because that was the last time I saw so much blood in one place, and it hadn’t belonged to Sawyer Caldwell, either.

He gives me a short nod before he steps out of the kitchen to go to the shower, his footsteps drowned out by the rain thundering against the roof. I shiver, hating the feeling of the cold, clammy fabric against my skin, but I’m afraid to change into the sweatpants and sweatshirt he brought me. The ED voice is hissing in my head, telling me that it will be humiliating to try and put them on. Sawyer is a slight man, slighter than you would expect for someone who has killed, at least as far as I know, six people. Almost certainly more.

One he just killed. For me.

To protect me.

The thought makes me dizzy, and that makes the ED voice louder. It’s as cold and vicious as it’s ever been. You lost control , it says. You lost control and look what happened. And you think you’ll even be able to pull those fucking sweatpants up around your thighs?

I brace myself against the table and breathe in and count to four. Breath out. Count to four. I try not to think about Sawyer covered in someone else’s blood. Sawyer asking me if I’m cold. Sawyer bringing me his spare clothes.

The shower turns on, the water rushing on the other side of the kitchen wall.

I stare at the sweatshirt and sweatpants. Maybe it’s better to just wear my wet jeans and T-shirt while I wait for my sweater to dry out. I left it draped along the back of one of the pews.

The water gurgles through the pipes, reminding me that Sawyer is on the other side of the wall. Covered in blood. Naked.

My face heats. I shove away from the table and pace around the kitchen, pulling the blanket— his blanket—tight around my shoulders. He protected me. He protected me at Camp Head Start, in a fucked-up sort of way. Every single one of those counselors tortured me. There’s no other word for it. They denied me food and water. Screamed abuse at me. Forced me to the brink of heat exhaustion. They only relented in their cruelty when he started to kill them, picking them off one by one.

Shameful heat blooms between my thighs.

I stop just at the entrance of the hallway, squeezing the blanket tight in my fist. The storm rages outside, the lashing rain pummeling the roof. The cacophony of it matches the cacophony in my thoughts, frantic and thrashing. I’m eighteen and I’m staring down at Michelle Evans’ body, her blood soaking into the dirt outside the cabin. I’m hiding in a closet, my breath tight and terrified. I’m telling Blake Foster I left my phone in the dining hall after dinner and maybe it’s still there and I can call for help and he scoffs and says no. Are you kidding, Edie? Look at you. We both know you can’t fucking run. I’ll go .

And then he was dead, too, and there was only me and the killer.

They can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let them hurt you ever again.

For so long, I wouldn’t let myself think of that moment between Sawyer and me. Not because of the trauma—that came from elsewhere, from when I cradled Gavin Ward’s body while he died and then when it happened again, when Sawyer died in my arms. But that moment, between those deaths, wasn’t traumatic. I didn’t let myself think of it too often because I didn’t want to wear the memory away until it was nothing.

So I would only ever think about it in the dark, one hand between my thighs with the other clamped down on my mouth to stifle my moans. And it’s time to confront the fact that what happened two weeks ago was not the first time Sawyer Caldwell made me come.

Thunder booms so loudly that the entire church vibrates. When I move, surging forward into the hallway, it almost feels like I’m outside my body, like something else is drawing me closer and closer to him.

I stop in front of the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. The shower runs on the other side of the door, nearly drowned out by the sound of rain against the roof.

My face buzzes. I should walk away right now.

But Sawyer protected me . He’s the only person, other than Charlotte, who’s ever done that.

I pull the blanket away from my shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

The ED voice hisses and snarls and tells me I’m broken.

Lightning floods the hallway with a sudden, blinding light, and the thunder that follows makes the walls shake .

I know I shouldn’t do this. I know I should leave. I should go back to my cabin. I should call 911. I should get in my car and drive far, far away from here.

Instead, I push the bathroom door open.

Warm, damp air greets me, a welcome balm against the church’s chill. I expected Sawyer to be in the shower already. I expected to have another moment before I could change my mind.

Instead, I find him standing naked beside the tub, his back to the door. He’s testing the water with one hand, but before I can duck out into the hall, he turns around and sees me.

I’m frozen in place. I can’t take my eyes off him—his lean, wiry body, his skin crossed with faint scars. Blood coats his shoulders, the top part of his torso, his arms and hands. But his face is clean.

His cock is also clean. And erect. It rises from the dark thatch of hair between his legs, thick and long. It’s big. Bigger than Scott’s.

“Edie.” His voice is hoarse. His eyes swallow me whole.

My heart beats like a hummingbird’s. I can’t back out now. I don’t want to back out now.

“Sawyer,” I whisper, stepping over the threshold. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s waiting for me to speak. The shower creates hot clouds of steam.

And I know I crossed this line a long time ago.

“Can I—Can I join you?”