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  Her brown eyes flutter open and they’re sad. I feel like she’s giving up. I stroke her dirty hair from her face and start ripping at the fabric to see where she’s hurt. Once I tear apart her clothes, I can assess the damage. Blood coats her abdomen. Long, deep gouges slash across her flesh. Her breasts are so small and her stomach concave. Such a fragile little thing. The bones on her body protrude everywhere. There’s no way a small girl like herself can survive such a brutal wound.

  Reed kneels down beside me and starts threading a needle. “Clean her wounds,” he barks out.

  I shake away my daze and set to pouring alcohol on a clean rag. When I dab at the gash near her breast, she cries out, tears spilling from her eyes.

  “Shhh,” I coo. “We’re going to fix you.”

  Reed’s jaw clenches and I understand what he doesn’t say.

  She won’t make it.

  Fuck.

  I need her to make it.

  “Please be strong,” I beg as I carefully cleanse her. “Please.”

  Her eyes roll back and she passes out the moment Reed starts stitching her up. He works quickly but not very neatly. I don’t care, though, as long as he closes up those gaping holes in my little friend’s body. We manage to get her to choke down some over-the-counter painkillers too. After nearly a half hour of stitching, he’s done. I’m careful as I wrap her with gauze. Once we’re sure she’s not going to die on us, I scoop her in my arms and take her to the guest room Reed and Devon keep for me for when I visit. Reed yanks back the quilt so I can lay her down. I pull the covers back over her so she’ll stay warm.

  “We need to keep an eye on her. If she hasn’t improved by morning, you probably should take her into town to the hospital,” Reed utters, reluctance in his voice.

  It’s the last thing she’d want.

  “She’ll improve,” I assure him, my teeth grinding to dust. “She has to.”

  He gives me a clipped nod before slipping out of the room. I undress down to my boxers and climb into bed next to her. Wrapping my massive body around her tiny, fragile one, I warm her. She’s blue and icy to the touch. I just need her to get better.

  Her breaths are ragged and raspy. I worry about her lungs and her heart and everyfuckingthing.

  “Stay alive and I’ll bring you all the fruit you could ever dream of,” I vow, pressing kisses to her temple. “Stay alive, little one. For me.”

  She turns her head slightly and her eyes crack open. Her hand shakes as she touches my scruffy face. My heart leaps at her movements. I want to squeeze the life out of her, but one hug from me could probably do just that, so I refrain.

  “Fruit,” she rasps, her lips dry and cracked.

  I kiss her right on the mouth because it’s the closest part of her to me. “Yes, Eve, fruit. Just hang in there for me.”

  Her eyes flutter closed, but a smile quirks up her lips on one side. This girl never smiles except when fruit is involved. My little Eve. For three and a half years I’ve looked out for this girl. I sure as hell won’t stop now. Not when she’s out there all alone. I’ll protect her. Eve needs me.

  And goddammit, I need her too.

  “Fruit,” she whispers, and my heart leaps in my chest. “Atticus…”

  * * *

  * * *

  “Eve.”

  The sound is rich and throaty. Like the sound of a bear grunting as he plays with his cubs. Deep and rumbly. Possessive yet loving.

  In my dreams, I always ran away to live with the bear in his cave. He was a nice bear despite the claws and teeth. I could burrow up against him for warmth and he simply held me.

  “Eve.”

  I crack my eyes open and a sharp searing pain rips across my chest. I’m thrust into reality where I remember that real bears aren’t cuddly or sweet. They are ferocious. Feral. Hungry. And the bear I happened upon when I was checking my rabbit trap wanted to devour me. He was giant and determined. But I’m small and clever. The big beast managed to swipe his sharp claws across me, but I slipped away from him. Always quiet and light on my feet. I disappeared into the night.

  “Eve.”

  The voice is familiar and relentless. Deep down, I know who it is. It was him I’d sought as soon as I knew my injuries were too grave to treat on my own. I wasn’t sure he’d be at Reed and Devon’s big home on the hill, but I’d hoped they would know how to contact him.

  Atticus Knox.

  I’ve hardly said more than five words to him in the past three and a half years, but I’ve come to know him as someone safe and trustworthy. In the wild, the people you come across aren’t always that way. They steal from you or hurt you. They try to own you.

  I belong to no one.

  Reed Jamison made sure of it the day he ripped my brother Nathaniel from my body and slaughtered him in front of me. I was certain he’d kill me too, but he didn’t. And while he frightened me, that all changed when Devon gave birth to Rowdy in my home. The way he treated her and loved her was something I’d never experienced before.

  Reed didn’t rule over Devon.

  If anything, it was as if she ruled over him.

  It made no sense and went against everything Papa and my brothers taught me about marriage. When Papa and Ezekiel were killed, John claimed I was his wife, but he let Solomon and Nathaniel take turns. I hated my father and brothers with a passion. When Reed murdered them all, I felt free. No man would ever lay claim on me again.

  “Eve.”

  I’m exhausted and my chest is on fire. My toes still feel frozen. And I’m in the warmest, softest, best smelling bed I’ve ever been in. I’m not eager to wake from this dream. To wake up all alone, cold to the bone, in my little shack. I shudder at that thought.

  “Eve.”

  My stomach cramps and I’m reminded that my cycle is due. I remember heavily menstruating the night Devon had her son in my home. I was terrified Reed would notice. That he’d try and mount me like my father and brothers had. But he never did. His eyes only ever saw Devon, which was fine by me.

  When Atticus came along, I was terrified. I even tried to stab him. He’d been gentle with me, though. Regarded me with the kindest eyes I’d ever seen. All my fears lessened when he smiled. He had teeth. Bright, shiny, white teeth. A mouthful of them. Prettiest mouth ever. It wasn’t until he began dropping in on me from time to time that I began to trust him. Fruit. Always fruit. Eve was tempted by fruit in the Bible, so it’s fitting I’m the same way.

  Sweet. Syrupy. Delicious.

  The best thing I’d ever tasted.

  My stomach groans.

  “Fruit,” I croak, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

  I manage to open my eyes and two glittering green orbs bore into me. Like the hot summer days when I lie on the riverbanks and stare into the sky. The sun is severe and blinding but warms me to my core.

  Atticus’s eyes are that way.

  They soak into me. Heat me. Burn me in ways that feel good.

  I like his eyes on me.

  “How are you feeling, little fox?” His voice is deep and it seems to rattle the bed.

  My cheeks heat under his intense gaze. Better now that you’re here, big bear. I don’t say those words, though. I don’t say anything. Instead, I study his face. Something about his face is hard to look away from. His hair is the color of honey straight from the combs. Rich, golden, perfect. He sometimes pulls it out of his eyes in a silly knot on the back of his head. It fascinates me. I want to tug the band that holds it in place away so I can run my fingers through it to see if it feels as soft as it looks. Unlike Reed and my family, Atticus’s face has less hair. The hair is clipped short so you can still see the bones in his face. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones pronounced. The nose on his face is strong but has a slight bump in the middle. I want to touch that too.

  But I don’t.

  I never touch him despite my cravings.

  He’s a man.

  What if he wants to make me his wife?

  A shudder rip
ples through me. Atticus is larger than Reed or Ezekiel. His shoulders are every bit as wide as the bear that attacked me last night and he’s nearly as tall. Muscles upon muscles are what make up Atticus Knox. He’s both beautiful and terrifying all in one breath. If he wanted to mount me and teach me how to be his wife, he could. Easily. After three and a half years of being free, I’d belong to someone again. The pain would come back.

  Another shudder.

  “Eve,” he coos, his voice soft like the underbelly of a rabbit. “I’m here. I will protect you and look after you.”

  His warm words calm my stuttering heart. He isn’t touching me in any awful ways, so I greedily steal the moment. Sometimes, from afar, I watch how Reed strokes his fingers along Devon’s cheek. How she leans into his touch and meets his gaze with a smile. I’ve watched them for years and I’ve never seen him hurt her. The sounds that come from their cabin when he mounts her are ones of pleasure. Like when you sink your teeth into a juicy berry and a moan slips out.

  Just. Like. That.

  Warmth curls deep in my belly despite my injuries. I can’t say I hate the feeling. It’s a tingly feeling that seems to ripple through my body.

  “You have to get better,” Atticus murmurs. “For me.”

  My gaze falls to his full lips. They’re pink and look soft. Without thinking, I bring my fingers to his mouth and touch them. His breath hitches and he regards me with a frown. Perhaps he doesn’t like it. Feeling chastised, I pull them away. He presses a kiss to my nose and a strangled sound escapes me. Papa and my brothers would kiss me often, but this doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like a reward. Before I can consider his actions, he climbs out of bed.

  I’ve never seen anything so mesmerizing.

  I knew he was muscular, but I hadn’t seen him without his clothes on. Now, he’s wearing nothing but some tight black underwear. His back has artwork drawn all over it and a pang of jealousy cuts through me as I wonder if his wife drew it on him. I never considered that maybe he has a wife. It would certainly explain why he didn’t mount me.

  He jerks on his clothes as if he’s angry, with his beautiful back to me. Eventually, his art becomes hidden when he pulls his shirt on. When he steals a glance at me, his eyes seem worried.

  “I’m sorry, Eve,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I’m going to have to do something you’re not going to like.”

  Terror wells up inside me. It doesn’t make any sense. If he’s going to mount me, then why did he put his clothes back on? Where is the hunger in his gaze like Papa’s and my brothers’? I’m confused when he leaves the bedroom completely.

  I try to sit up, but it hurts too much. Hot tears roll down my temples.

  Beyond the walls, Atticus and Reed are arguing. These walls aren’t thin like the ones at my shack. I can’t hear like I want. Why are they angry?

  A few moments later, Atticus storms in with a scowl on his face. Reed follows behind him, his nostrils flaring. Panic assaults me and renders me immobile. Are they going to take turns mounting me like Nathaniel and John used to do?

  “P-Please…” I choke out.

  Reed glowers at Atticus. “She doesn’t want to go.”

  Atticus growls like the bear that attacked me. “Goddammit, Reed. She’s feverish. I’ve waited for four fucking days for her to get better, but it’s not.”

  Four days? I thought it was one.

  He continues, “There’s infection, I’m sure of it. She needs a doctor.”

  Most of his words are gibberish, but I get the gist. He wants to take me away.

  “They’ll put her in child protective services. Eve can’t survive in that world,” Reed bellows. Despite the sharp tone, I feel like he’s trying to protect me.

  “She’ll die if we don’t do something. I can’t…” Atticus pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I won’t let her die.”

  My panicked gaze dances back and forth between them. I nearly stop breathing when I see the resignation in Reed’s brown eyes.

  “Promise you’ll bring her back the moment she’s better,” he pleads.

  Atticus nods at him before turning his attention on me. He sits beside me and takes my hand despite my attempt to pull it away.

  “You’re not getting better,” Atticus tells me, his voice firm. “I’m going to take you someplace where they’ll give you medicine.”

  I shake my head. “N-No.”

  His jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, but I won’t take no for an answer.”

  A screech rips from me when he slides his strong arms beneath me and lifts. The pain across my chest is intense. The more I move, the more it hurts. Defeated, I choke on my sobs as Atticus carries me through the house. I feel eyes on me—most likely Devon and the children—but I can’t meet their gazes. I’m wounded and weak. I’m at this man’s mercy. He carries me to his truck. It’s big and black and terrifying. Papa used to tell me stories of his father’s truck. A metal contraption that takes you to far places so you don’t have to walk.

  I don’t want to go anywhere far.

  I want to stay here.

  But I’m powerless to fight against him. He lays me down in the back seat before he climbs into the front. The truck roars to life and within minutes we’re moving. I try to sit up, but I can’t move. All I can see are the trees rushing by at an alarming speed.

  I want to claw at him and demand he take me back, but I’m too tired.

  From the simple exertion of screaming, I’m depleted of my energy. With a sob, I close my eyes and hope that wherever we end up, no one tries to keep me as theirs. I don’t want to be kept.

  I want to be free.

  * * *

  * * *

  Eve sleeps peacefully in my bed while I pace my bedroom and panic. Taking her to the hospital was out of the question. They’d demand answers I didn’t have to give. And quite frankly, Eve would have been traumatized as fuck. Which is why I called in a favor to a friend.

  Suma Walkingstick and I go way back. My parents used to hire the Native American woman to watch over us during the summers when they’d travel to California. Suma is wise and known for having remedies for everything. Even local doctors have called upon her when modern medicine doesn’t do the trick. But it isn’t her healer ways that had me dialing her number, it was desperation. If anyone could help her and keep it discreet, it was Suma.

  “This paste will help the infection on the surface. The elixir we made her drink will help beneath the surface,” Suma explains. Her dark brown leathery skin is a contrast to Eve’s pale white flesh. “The paste must be applied four times a day. It will burn and itch, but it needs to be applied.” She clicks her tongue in disproval. “The stitching your friend did isn’t right, Atticus. It needs to be pulled out soon. Until then, keep the child comfortable.”

  I swallow and nod. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Her black eyebrows furrow together as she regards me with the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My brothers Will and Vic used to tease me that Suma was a witch. “The Wild burns in her veins. When we forced the elixir down her throat, I saw into the windows of her soul. She’s untamed. The child doesn’t fit in the world we know. Once she’s healed, you need to free her.”

  I bristle at the thought of letting Eve go back out into the wilderness where she’s practically defenseless. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. “Thank you.”

  The short old woman waddles over to me and takes my cheeks in her hands as she looks up at me. “Anything for you, son.”

  I lean down so she can kiss my forehead. Suma and I grew close after Judith nearly died. I blamed myself for not watching my sister. Even after she was fine and back home, happy as could be, I held onto that guilt. Suma taught me how to release that from my mind. Explained that the dark thoughts that owned me were evil in nature. That I was too good to allow the darkness to steal me. Eventually, I learned to work through that guilt with her help.

  Leading her out to my porch, I watch with a frown as she cl
imbs on her old bicycle and rides away through the snow. Suma lives six miles from me and refuses to let me drive her anywhere. That old woman will live to be a hundred easily. Nobody her age is in that good of shape.

  An owl hoots in the distance. It will be dark soon. At night, the wilderness comes to life. I’m still twelve miles away from town. Close enough for amenities and to see my family, but far out enough that I don’t hear the buzz of people. Trees surround my modest home. It’s peaceful here.

  I slip back inside and lock up. My home isn’t large. I don’t require a lot of space being that it’s just me. I have a living room with a single recliner because I don’t ever entertain guests. But what I do have, that I find difficult living without, is electricity. The television mounted on the wall looks ridiculous in the space when not turned on, but it’s pretty badass when I can watch football in high definition.

  Walking past the living room, I make my way into the small kitchen. A refrigerator, stove, and microwave are about it in here. I have a small table with two chairs in one corner despite always eating alone. I’m thankful to have the other chair because Eve will have a place to sit. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and make my way back to my bedroom. The shower calls to me as it always does after spending time camping. It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t live like Reed and Devon. I love a hot shower more than anything in this world.

  I rip off my clothes once I’m in the tiny bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror as the shower heats up. The scar on my right shoulder is a living reminder of why I live out here in the woods rather than in Colorado playing for the Denver Broncos. Gritting my teeth, I tear my gaze from the mirror and step under the hot spray. The water cleanses away the body odor and dirt buildup of a few weeks with Reed and his family. I scrub until I feel raw. And fuck does it feel like heaven to be able to wash my hair again. Once I’m good and clean, I stare down at my cock. Thick and limp. I hardly get an erection anymore. The last two I’d had were when I was staying with Reed and Devon. Those two fuck all the time. And I’ll be damned if hearing them have sex didn’t make my dick hard. Embarrassing as shit having to whack off into one of my dirty T-shirts.