Deep Woods

by Newbury, Helena

  Deep Woods

  Helena Newbury

  Foster & Black

  For Isabelle, who sparkles

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Bethany

  2. Cal

  3. Bethany

  4. Bethany

  5. Cal

  6. Bethany

  7. Bethany

  8. Bethany

  9. Cal

  10. Ralavich

  11. Cal

  12. Bethany

  13. Cal

  14. Bethany

  15. Bethany

  16. Bethany

  17. Cal

  18. Ralavich

  19. Bethany

  20. Bethany

  21. Cal

  22. Bethany

  23. Cal

  24. Bethany

  25. Cal

  26. Bethany

  27. Cal

  28. Bethany

  29. Cal

  30. Bethany

  31. Bethany

  32. Cal

  33. Bethany

  34. Cal

  35. Bethany

  36. Ralavich

  37. Cal

  38. Bethany

  39. Cal

  40. Bethany

  41. Cal

  42. Ralavich

  43. Bethany

  44. Cal

  45. Ralavich

  46. Cal

  47. Bethany

  48. Ralavich

  49. Bethany

  50. Bethany

  51. Cal

  52. Cal

  53. Bethany

  54. Cal

  55. Bethany

  56. Bethany

  57. Bethany

  58. Bethany

  59. Cal

  60. Ralavich

  61. Cal

  62. Bethany

  63. Cal

  64. Bethany

  65. Cal

  66. Bethany

  67. Cal

  68. Bethany

  69. Cal

  70. Ralavich

  71. Bethany

  72. Cal

  73. Bethany

  74. Cal

  Epilogue

  © Copyright Helena Newbury 2020

  The right of Helena Newbury to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, events, companies, organizations or products is purely coincidental.

  This book contains adult scenes and is intended for readers 18+.

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright remains with) Wander Aguiar Photography

  First Edition

  Prologue

  THIS IS A STORY about people.

  It’s about a smoking hot guy called Cal, a guy so big and intimidating, so much part of the forest that they nicknamed him Bigfoot. A guy who turned out to be the most loving, most protective guy in the world. And it’s about me, Bethany, a very normal, pale, curvy girl who never thought she’d leave the city, or even why she’d want to.

  But this is also a story about people and what happens when they’re treated like a commodity. And it’s about the huge, wild places where there are no people, where you can walk and walk and never see another living soul, where you can be totally alone with the person you love.

  We need to start at the beginning, though. And before the stars and the sunrises and the rivers, before campfires crackling and a cow nuzzling my palm and being carried in Cal’s strong arms and before I was running barefoot through the forest, terrified for my life...I met Rufus.

  This is a story about people, but it begins with a dog.

  1

  Bethany

  IF I HADN’T been moving slowly, I’d never have heard him. A shift had just ended and most people were running through the cold March rain to their cars. I was left far behind as I trudged across the parking lot, exhausted. I’d just pulled a double shift and my neck and back were in agony from hunching over my computer, my ears ringing from twenty-four hours of being yelled at. Everything seemed gray. Slate-gray sky overhead, newspaper-gray buildings all around me...even the fumes from the factory next door smelled gray: a bland chemical tang that got inside your nostrils and blocked out anything pleasant. All I wanted to do was get home and cocoon myself in bed with a movie—

  I froze. What was that?

  There’d been a sound. Faint, almost covered by the hissing rain. But it resonated deep in my chest, waking a chain of instincts and setting them ringing like silvery bells. My mom had had those same instincts, and her mom before her. None of us could ignore them.

  It was the sound of someone in pain.

  I looked around. Everyone else was getting into their cars. The next shift were already inside. I was the only one who’d heard it.

  The sound again: high and ragged, a kind of wail. I moved slowly towards it. In the alley between two buildings, I could just barely make out a dark shape on the ground. A drunk, passed out? Or was it a trap, was the guy going to leap up and grab me when I got close? I looked back at the parking lot and cursed. Everyone else was driving away.

  I took a tentative step into the alley. I could hear him breathing, now. Slow. Labored. And there was something off about it: each out-breath was a throaty rasp.

  I took another step and the shape twisted and lunged, teeth snapping. I screamed and jumped back, going down on my ass on the soaked concrete.

  I dug out my phone and switched on the flashlight. Tan fur and a shining black nose. Big brown eyes. A dog. It was stretched out on its side, but it had twisted and raised its head to snap at me. I traced the light over its tall, silky ears and the black patch that covered its back. A German Shepherd, almost as big as me.

  We stared at each other. The dog gave a warning growl, a rumble that made my insides turn to water. Stay back. But as I retreated down the alley, the growl became a whimper.

  I lifted my phone higher and traced it over the dog again, lighting up the rest of it. Metal strands gleamed bright, tangled around two of the dog’s legs. Barbed wire. The ugly little spikes had sunk into its flesh and the more it struggled, the more it hurt itself.

  That feeling in my chest again, the one I couldn’t ignore. I needed to help it but as soon as I inched forward, it barked, loud enough to make my ears ring. I froze, my heart hammering. I’d gotten a glimpse of its teeth, this time, teeth designed to rip and tear flesh. It was only aggressive because it was scared, but it could still injure me. Maybe even kill me if it went for my throat.

  I had no idea what to do. I’d never been around a dog before, at least not a big one. The only ones I saw around my apartment building were tiny little pugs. “It’s okay,” I told the dog. I crawled forward and, on instinct, I held out my hand.

  The dog stared at it and then sniffed suspiciously, its nose twitching. It growled again, but less certainly.

  I crawled closer, one inch at a time, hand still extended. The dog tensed, ready to attack. I could see the muscles coiling under its coat. “It’s okay,” I said in a strangled voice.

  We stared at one another, neither of us daring to move. I held my breath...and moved my hand close enough for it to reach. Images flashed through my head: teeth snapping, severed fingers falling—

  The dog sniffed at my hand. It was so big, I could feel the suck of air against my fingertips. “It’s okay,” I whispered.

  The dog drew its head back and relaxed, flopping back onto its side. I crawled right up to it. God, it was enormous! How big would it be, if it
was standing? Past my waist, at least.

  How do you calm dogs? I hesitantly reached out and put my hand on its side. My fingers sank into deep, soft fur. I thought of German Shepherds as having short, bristly coats, but this one didn’t. I stroked and it was so soft...I felt both of us relax. “Good dog,” I breathed.

  I shone the flashlight over its legs. Shit. It was really tangled. It must have gotten wrapped up in the wire and then struggled, unable to escape, and made it worse and worse. It would have been trapped there until it died of thirst if I hadn’t heard it.

  I reached for one of the loops of wire, and the dog lifted its head and growled again. There was a metal jangle right next to my head and I looked round...and stopped dead.

  There was a coil of barbed wire an inch from my face. I leaned back out of the way and shone the flashlight around, lighting up the dark parts of the alley I’d ignored until now. The wire led up to the top of the fence at the end of the alley. The dog must have scrambled over the fence, gotten tangled in the barbed wire, and pulled half of it down with him. It lay in sharp, springy coils all around us. When the dog moved, it moved. If the dog struggled, I could lose an eye. If it panicked and tried to get away, I could wind up with wire wrapped around my neck.

  I looked back towards the mouth of the alley. I could just walk away, and I’d be safe. But if I didn’t help it, no one would.

  Barely daring to breathe, I took hold of a loop that had dug deep into the dog’s leg. The dog raised its head and let out a whimper. The coils jangled and moved around us. “Shh,” I told it desperately. “Shh, I know. I know it hurts. But you have to stay still.” Idiot. Like it’s going to understand you.

  But the dog looked at me with big, sorrowful eyes and then slowly laid its head back down as if it did understand.

  I loosened the wire, wincing as I teased the barbs from the dog’s flesh. Its breathing tightened and it trembled in pain...but it didn’t move. I ran a hand over its big, furry flank. “Shh, shh. You’re doing great.”

  Barb by barb, loop by loop, I slowly freed the dog. I didn’t have anything to cut the wire with, so I had to just pull it out of the way and use my elbows and legs to hold it clear so it didn’t spring back. I picked up a few scrapes and cuts even through my jeans and hooded top, and my hands were scratched to hell. But finally, I got the last leg free. “There,” I said triumphantly. The dog scrambled free and rose up: God, it was even bigger than I’d thought, looming over me as I knelt. I expected it to run away but it waited for me as if wanting to make sure I was safe, too.

  At the mouth of the alley, I crouched down and ruffled its fur. A big, wet tongue licked my cheek and I yelped in surprise and then laughed, relief washing over me. We did it. When I stood up, the dog immediately pressed close to me. It felt like we’d bonded for life.

  I stood up, ruffled its fur again and waited, expecting it to run off home. But it looked around, sniffed the air and then moved over to me, limping a little. Either it didn’t have a home, or it didn’t know the way. I looked for a collar but there wasn’t one. Shit. Now what? It needed a vet, but even if I could find one at this time of night, I had no money to pay. I couldn’t just leave it like this. Its wounds would get infected if they weren’t dressed.

  The dog looked at me and cocked its head to the side, then snuffled its wet nose into my hand.

  I sighed. “Okay,” I said aloud. “Looks like you’re coming home with me.”

  It limped alongside me, pressing tight against my legs as I crossed the parking lot. As soon as I opened the back door of my aging Toyota, it jumped inside and curled up, taking up the entire back seat.

  When we arrived at my apartment building, I sneaked the dog into the elevator and up to my floor. My apartment was silent: I share it with three other women, but we’re all on different shifts at the call center so we barely see each other, and because people don’t stay at this sort of job long, there’s no time to get to know them. Some of my flatmates I see literally once every few weeks: if it wasn’t for notes on the refrigerator, they wouldn’t know I was still there.

  I fetched the first aid kit, then sat down cross-legged on the kitchen floor and went to work on the dog’s wounds, gently cleaning and bandaging them. The dog seemed to trust me now, and let me work, occasionally pushing its head at me so I could scratch behind its silky ears. When I’d finished, I dug in the refrigerator and found it some raw steak I’d been saving for the weekend, which it wolfed down, and gave it a bowl full of water which it noisily drank. Then I laid some towels on the couch to make a bed. “You can sleep there,” I told it, yawning.

  I stumbled into my room, stripped off my clothes, and fell into bed, exhausted. I’m sure I remember sleep being pleasant when I was a kid, a slow drift into warm peace. But ever since things went south, I don’t so much sleep as pass out when my body runs out of energy. I wake up exhausted, like I’ve slept with one eye open, afraid that something bad might happen if I sleep too heavily. Maybe it’s the shift work or maybe it’s something deeper, something to do with everything in my life being so temporary. Maybe I don’t sleep well because I never feel truly safe.

  Just as my eyes closed, I heard a pattering and the creak of my door opening, and then the whole bed bounced as something warm and heavy landed on it.

  “Oh...no,” I told it half-heartedly. “No, wait, you can’t sleep—”

  The dog turned around three times and then sank down and curled up in a determined warm croissant against my legs.

  I sighed and relented. It was a cold night and the warmth of it was very comforting. “Okay,” I said. “Just for tonight.”

  * * *

  I had the next day off and I’d been planning to spend it catching up on sleep. But I needed to find the dog’s owner and I figured the alley was a good place to start. Maybe in the daylight, the dog would be able to retrace its steps.

  But I’d barely pulled up and let the dog out of the back door when it pricked up its ears, sniffed the air and bolted off, a furry missile. Its wounds didn’t seem to slow it down at all: it raced down the street and disappeared around the corner. I sprinted after it, rounded the corner, and whumped straight into someone.

  A flash of impressions. The huge size of him: a wall of warm, hard muscle. A red and black plaid shirt. The scent of him: pine needles and freshly-chopped wood, dark earth and clean air.

  I fell on my ass for the second time in twenty-four hours and looked up….

  And up.

  He was taller than me by a full head. What was he, 6’8”?! But he wasn’t lanky, he was big. His biceps stretched out his plaid shirt like boulders. Lower down, the fabric was rolled up to reveal caramel-tanned forearms loaded with muscle and they led down to huge, powerful hands with fingers twice the size of mine. His legs, in faded black jeans and muddy boots, were as sturdy as giant redwoods. He looked like he could wrestle a freakin’ bear. But it wasn’t his size that made me gaze up in wonder. It was his spirit, his attitude: it affected everything, from his clothes to the way he stood.

  He was wild. The polar opposite of everything I was. He didn’t sit in an office, or commute by car, or worry about customer satisfaction surveys. He lived out there, someplace far from the city, where you had to hunt and kill to survive. It throbbed from his soul and when it hit me, I could feel my whole body reacting in a way I didn’t understand. It was like running your hand over rough tree bark when you’ve only ever felt smooth plastic. It was like mountain air when you’ve only ever breathed air conditioning.

  Then I became aware of the dog, up on its hind legs and frantically trying to lick the man’s face. Its big, furry tail was wagging so hard I could feel the breeze. It was ecstatic. And the relief in the man’s eyes as he ruffled the dog’s fur and scratched behind his ears made my throat close up. This was who the dog had been running to. This was its owner.

  God, he was hot as hell. Not in a Hollywood movie star, smoothly perfect way. In a rough, whiskey-and-nails way. He was tanned from a life spent
outdoors and his hair was thick and untamed, the color of a wheat field. His beard was just as richly gold and framed a hard upper lip and a gorgeously soft, full lower one. Then he turned to me and—

  Cornflower-blue eyes that lit up as they stared at me. They pinned me, held me as securely as if he’d used those massive hands to push me up against a tree. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. Didn’t want to. A hot ripple went right through my body—

  And when that ripple hit my soul, it vibrated like a guitar string plucked just right. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

  He stared down at me, transfixed, those deep blue eyes gobbling me up in huge, hungry chunks. And it made no sense because this was me. I’m not some tanned, willowy blonde with abs you can bounce a quarter off. My hair’s black and curly and won’t behave. I was pale even before I started working in the call center and I’m curvy, all hips and ass and boobs. My German great-grandmother used to proudly say that our family came from good healthy peasant stock. We’re dependable, not remarkable. I never transfixed anyone.