Page 19

Chapter 19

Lillian

“ N o!”

I’m sorry, what did he just say?

I smack his chest. It’s entirely ineffective, but he does look down at my hand on his chest and back to me before tilting his head. “Why do you hit me?”

“Because you’re an idiot, that’s why!” I smack him again. He looks down in confusion, but not nearly enough confusion to knock some sense into him, and I’m not having that. So I smack him a third time. “How dare you say that to me!”

“I am confused–”

“Yeah, ya are, ya big oaf! Not just confused, but fucking insane! If you think I’m just going to let you waste away here on your own–”

“Lillian!” He grabs my hand, which has been flapping against his immovable chest like one of those big long noodle clothes in a car wash. I resume the ridiculous attack with my other hand, and he instantly grabs that one too, drawing our hands between us. “Why are you tickling me with your palms?”

“Tickling??” I attempt to yank my hands free, but his grip is too strong. Because of course it is. He’s a fucking badass who literally spends his free time chopping down trees. And I’m a plus-size paralegal. If he wanted to, he could crush me like a bug.

But he doesn’t want to. He wants to rescue me. Protect me.

Even if it means cursing him for all of eternity.

“Calm yourself, my treasure. You are breathing too fast. Please, tell me what is wrong?”

“You! You’re wrong! I’m not going to leave you here alone for all eternity!”

Sadness crosses his features again, but this time it carries an edge of pity. He shakes his head. “Lillian, it is too late for me. You do not understand–”

“I understand what Pho–sorry, what He said to us in the cave. I remember it crystal clear. He said that there was only one way for us to get out of this situation, and that was to–”

I’m cut off when Erik covers my mouth with his in a crushing, bruising kiss. My hands are trapped between our chests as he maneuvers me like a rag doll, surrounding me in his embrace with one hand locked around my back and the other securing my head against his. He sweeps his tongue into my open mouth and devours me with everything he has, fighting my lips like a war until I succumb.

How could I not? Jesus Christ, this man makes me melt. In an instant, I’m returning his affections with gusto.

But as quickly as it started, it stops, and I’m left panting when he wrenches our mouths apart. His eyes are wild when his fingers sink into my shoulders to the point of pain.

“I will not let him use you! Never, Lillian! Not you. Not anyone, but never—never you… ”

Tears flow from his eyes as he chokes on his own words. The bruising grip falters, sinking down my arms to my hands, which he squeezes with wordless affection. His head dips, forehead falling to my chest, and the man sobs.

Earth-shaking, heart-wrenching sobs.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Erik soaks my lap, but this time it isn’t my thighs clenching. It’s my throat, as I work to swallow down tears of my own.

Fuck. It’s tragic. Absolutely tragic. And I have no idea how to fix it.

I bend over him, resting my head on his back and holding him, stroking up and down his spine in long gentle scratches, soothing him in the only way I know how. I flash back to the days that Tiffany held me like this after my miscarriage, when I would just cry for hours and hours as hormones and guilt and fear and who knows what cocktail of emotions swirled endlessly through my brain.

But that was nothing compared to this. I can’t even comprehend living a month without Netflix, and this man has lived hundreds of years completely alone. With only a couple of stolen Harlequins to offer him the slightest distraction from the literal monster clawing for dominance inside him.

“Let it out, Big Guy,” I coo, my mouth squished against his trapezoid. “Just let it out. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be.”

The muscle under my cheek tenses and stretches as he shakes his head. “No… no, no…” is all I can make out.

I almost fall asleep scratching Erik’s back, folded over him on the log by the cooking fire as the sun shifts westward in the big, open sky. But eventually, he shifts himself up from my lap, eyes red from crying a thousand years worth of tears.

“I must hunt,” he says at last, gathering the sharpened sticks and arrowheads by our feet.

“I can hel–”

“No. I will do this. You will read,” he says, tone hard. I just nod. My legs are numb from holding our position for as long as we did, and it’s going to be a bitch to get the blood flowing back into my ankle. I lean back on my walking stick and straighten out my legs and posture, and by the time the pins and needles finally ease away, Erik is gone.

I guess we’re back to this.

I’m not used to a man being so… emotional after sex. Even my boyfriend of five years never acted this attached to me. He certainly wasn’t protective. I remember once we got a flat on the highway on our way back from a concert, and he didn’t even help me change the tire. He made conversation with an unhoused man on the sidewalk of the corner gas station while I cranked the carjack, after said unhoused man cat-called me while I loosened the lugnuts.

Real winner, that guy. Really shouldn’t have been surprised that he peaced out after knocking me up.

I can’t imagine Erik doing that. No way. He’s the kind of man that would drop everything to take care of his baby mama. Even if they drifted apart. He’d still be there, providing for the kids, helping them with their homework, picking them up from soccer practice…

Picturing Erik in the modern world is wild. At once completely insane and totally natural.

I bet he’d be an amazing father.

I cradle my stomach, scolding myself as tears prick my own eyes. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did those first few months, of course. After I had time to process, and honestly, after Tiffany forced me to come out here for our annual girls’ trip like always, I was able to see that life does go on.

And I haven’t cried about it since. Not once, oddly enough. It was like once we came back from vacation, the grief lifted. Enough for me to get back to my life. To move on.

Of course, there will always be twinges. When Tiffany and Dean found out she was pregnant, I had a little twinge of jealousy. A few more, when he crashed our vacation this year.

And now, thinking about Erik and the life he could have, as a normal guy, with a normal wife, and two adorable little kids…

All within the realm of possibility.

My hand freezes on my lower belly as fear skitters down my spine.

It’s just the tide, Lillian. Making swishing noises. It’s all just a shock to the system; you’re fine. Totally not hearing voices.

I get up from the log and drag myself around the campsite, shaking out the furs to the best of my ability as I lean on my walking stick. They’re basically dry now, so I gather them up and arrange them back into their comfy nest in the corner of the shelter.

I debate making two. Will Erik still want to sleep next to me after this afternoon? He seemed pretty distant when he went off to go hunting.

He cannot resist you. You are his treasure. His perfect mate.

My spine snaps straight as the voice rings in my head again. Crystal fucking clear this time.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Sweet Lillian…

Every hair on my body is standing at full attention as the familiar voice fades as it says my name. Casually, almost, like a “see you later,” but creepy and powerful.

I collect the rest of the laundry as quickly as I can, slipping into my own skimpy cover-up because being naked feels too vulnerable. Using a metal scoop that Erik brought from his other cabin, I carry in some embers from the cooking fire and use them to breathe some life back into the shelter fire. Once it’s lit and flames lick the little pyramid of logs I’ve built, I curl up under one of the fresh furs with a book, taking Erik’s advice after all.

I hope it warms up soon. The shelter’s got a bit of a chill all of the sudden.