Left For Wild: A Stranded in the Wilderness Romance

by Harloe Rae

  I expect to be greeted by the unforgiving concrete, but the crash never comes. Before awareness completely slips away, I feel a pair of arms swoop in to support my weight.

  A fog descends like a thick comforter, cocooning me in blissful oblivion. Something prods at me. I should be falling. But this eerie state I’m drifting in steals all possibility of concern. The sensation of being hoisted upward shouldn’t fill me with comfort, yet I’m floating on a puffy pillow of indifference. Am I being carried? What happened? Mere seconds ago, it seemed as if dread and panic plagued me. All that surrounds me now is quiet serenity. I must be dreaming. But wasn’t I going somewhere? The details escape me as inky midnight closes in.

  Without rational thought clogging the way, I slip deeper into this fuzzy abyss. Am I sleeping? My mind takes the opportunity to wander. Seconds bleed into minutes, lapping over hours. Or maybe I’m caught in a loop that’s only a single beat long.

  It’s pitch black, but the hint of random shapes dance along the fray. A biting chill whisks into the vast nothingness. I should curl into a ball, but can’t control my movements. Muffled voices attempt to penetrate the haze, but don’t quite break through. I can’t grasp what’s shrouding me. It’s just blank.

  I’ve been coasting along this placid sea long enough to assume it’s my new normal. That’s when the black veil begins to dissolve away, one layer after another. Recognition seeps in on a slow drip. The cold is unforgiving, a fierce howl screaming at me to hide, but a nosedive in temperature isn’t the worst of my problems.

  A sharp pain is piercing into my skull. The stabbing agony is what pulls me to the surface. I regain consciousness with a gasp, as if my body has been yanked prematurely from a deep hibernation. My limbs feel like they’re encased in lead, leaving me limp and immobile. I’m lethargic and groggy, worse than a tequila hangover. My brain is bobbling in sludge as clarity snaps into focus. Static hisses in my ears, making it impossible to hear a damn thing. Not that I would at this rate.

  I’m struck with a blast of realization as the events leading up to this void filter through the numb. There’s a shrill tone drowning out the white noise. That unbearable pitch squeezes the vice at my temples. I force my eyes open, barely a crack. That thin gap is wide enough to catch a shadow looming over me. It takes great effort to concentrate on the form. A figure takes shape, narrowing into a masculine face with a pair of stunning green eyes.

  “Thank Christ. I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

  A strangled yelp rips out of my throat. “Who the hell are you?”

  Survival tip #6: Expecting the worst is meant to be a last resort.

  My journey to awareness isn’t gradual. The instant I regain consciousness, the gravity of getting captured punches me in the jaw. Gathering my bearings isn’t necessary. Once that injection plunged into my veins, I was at the mercy of all powers that be. It’s somewhat of a surprise that I woke up at all. The skyward view of solid forest explains why.

  Where in the frozen hell did they dump me?

  Nowhere civilized, that’s for certain. A frigid snarl in the air cracks across my face. The slab of ice I’m sitting on guarantees that my temper can’t overheat. All that greets me are evergreens and silence. It appears that I’ve managed to be released from one prison only to land my ass in a more lethal one. How foolish am I to believe freedom had been granted? That’s a mistake I won’t be fortunate enough to make again.

  A sharp screech pierces my eardrums, and I whip my head toward the sound. The cry is distinctly feminine. My theory is further proven when another pitchy wail breaks into the vast stillness of this natural blind alley. Counting my regrets can wait. I’m not alone in this purgatory.

  Finding her takes less than thirty seconds. The bastards responsible for this disaster didn’t bother separating us. She lays frozen on the ground, as if caught in a nightmare. Shit, that’s an illusion I don’t need my imagination for. We’re trapped in the middle of nowhere, as she’ll soon realize.

  The moment I lean over her prone form, the force of a sledgehammer crashes into my gut. I know this woman. How could I forget? She’s been playing on repeat in my dreams for years. I wanted to claim her as mine from that initial glance we stole, and with each fleeting opportunity that occurred since. It seems I’m finally getting a chance to linger in her presence. The length of our acquaintance depends entirely on her reception. Minutes tick by without another peep from the brunette beauty. The urge to shake her is strong, but that seems like a horrible idea considering the potential harm.

  As if suddenly aware of my leering, her eyes snap open with a gasp. Relief dumps over my head faster than a torrential downpour. “Thank Christ. I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

  A raspy squeak rips from her throat. “Who the hell are you?”

  That’s one way to kick off our introduction. First impressions are everything, right? I give her some space, crouching in the slush beneath my knees. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Halder.”

  The woman—Blakely—props herself upright while continuing staring at me. Her presence in this crime against me is a beautiful curse, far more twisted than anyone should be capable of. Her expression softens with a flicker of recognition. “Wait, we’ve met before.”

  “Not officially.”

  That bit of eased tension returns to her already rigid form. Her blue eyes are blown so wide I’m worried she’s going into shock. “You’re from Streebston Correctional Facility. I’ve seen you there quite often. The guy who was just released.”

  I nod along with Blakely’s choppy statements. The fact she’s able to recall our very minor connection probably means there’s no significant brain damage impacting her memory. Would it be better for my reputation to start with a fresh slate? Without a doubt. But the less severe injuries we have impacting us, the better our chances will be.

  Silence hangs between us as the weight of our predicament settles in. With a long inhale, the rattling edges of my attention sharpen. The drowsy effects from whatever was keeping me under is wearing off. A glance at Blakely shows her gaze focusing, and the expression she wears is more lucid than moments ago.

  Looking at her isn’t a choice. She feels similar to a compulsion, a deeply ingrained need. But freaking her out with my blatant interest will only cause alarm. To her, I’m a stranger. A nameless felon amongst the sea of orange jumpsuits. Not out here, though. I’m a free man. A corralled chuckle bubbles in my chest. Shit, the harsh truth of that statement is almost comical.

  Without any sort of warning, yet completely unsurprising considering where we are, Blakely’s chest begins rising and falling in erratic beats. She looks to be on the verge of hyperventilating. The list of possible ailments is getting longer, not that I blame her.

  “Hey, look at me.” I motion between her face and mine with two fingers.

  She clenches her eyes shut, sucking in several lungfuls of air as if suffocating. Her body begins to tremble. The icy dirt below us almost seems to shake with her movements. Instinct has me leaping into action. I grip her gloved hands, giving them a squeeze.

  “Please look at me.”

  She does, peeling her lids open the barest hint. It’s enough to catch glittering blue watching me.

  I rub my thumbs over the top of her fingers. “There you go. Just listen to my voice, okay?” A jerky nod is enough to know she’s with me. I exhale through pinched lips. “Tell me your name.”

  “Blakely Tate Cross.” Her response is barely a whisper, voice quivering and laced with terror. But at least she answered.

  I give her a smile that’s meant to be encouraging. “When’s your birthday?”

  “September eighth.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.” Her nostrils flare with a forced breath, sending twin puffs of steam barreling out.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Wrylea, Minnesota.”

  “What’s your address?”

&nb
sp; “Are you completing a thorough background check?” A dimple pops in her rosy cheek.

  My grin cracks wider at that. “Fair enough.”

  The friction has slowly seeped from her rigid posture. I find that the cloud of doom hanging over me is diminishing as well. The severity of our situation be damned, I can’t stop myself from admiring Blakely’s beauty. She’s flawless, better than the hottest version in my fantasies. And I’m only granted a view from her neck up. I’m certain whatever hides under the bulk of her winter gear is equally as tempting.

  I’m openly staring, one bad decision away from doing something stupid and irredeemable. “Do you feel better?”

  She tucks some stray hair underneath her knit hat. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  The wind picks up, releasing a shrill howl. That eerie sound is a stark reminder of where we are. For a moment, she had consumed me to the point that I was lost in her. That’s a dangerous error I can’t afford to make out here. With revived resolve, I do a visual sweep of our immediate vicinity.

  Every direction is a mirror image of each other. Rows of trees sprawling across acres of snow. There’s no sign of civilization. Only endless miles of uneven terrain we can’t easily travel. The distance just keeps going until my eyes water from trying to picture something out there. It’s cold, but not unbearably so. The temperature must be above freezing, so we’re not in immediate danger of frostbite or hypothermia. But once the sun has set, all bets are off. Our escape plan will involve staying alive until a loophole forms, or someone happens to find us.

  We’re fucked, plain and simple. The worst part is Blakely being dragged down with me. She doesn’t deserve this. Our lives don’t belong on the same track. We weren’t meant to cross paths. If we hadn’t, she would be safe from harm. I shouldn’t have shown a gleam of interest in her. If I hadn’t, her fate would be safe from mine. But it’s too late for wishful thinking.

  Stefano and his goons executed a foolproof plan to dispose of me. Blakely is collateral damage. Across the wide scope, we’re two seemingly insignificant pieces in a massive plot for revenge. But I can sugarcoat our outcome for her. I’m about to do just that when she interrupts with a choked cry.

  Her wild stare is scanning the confinement of our surroundings. She presses a palm to her quivering lips, trapping a sob. “Where are we?”

  My sigh carries the load of our detriment. “I could take a damn good guess.”

  “Please do.”

  “In the northern Canadian wilderness.”

  She flays her arms out to the side. “But it’s so empty. There’s probably nothing around for miles.”

  “A lot farther than that. I bet we won’t find any visible landmarks. That’s kind of the point.”

  Her mouth forms a flat line. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t freak out, okay?”

  Blakely quirks a slim brow. “Didn’t I already?”

  “Nah, that was a normal reaction.”

  “But I’m a mental health professional. Dealing with crisis is my specialty. To be truthful, I should probably be embarrassed about my reaction.”

  “Pretty sure anyone would lose their shit under these circumstances. You have every reason to panic.”

  She huffs. “You didn’t.”

  The urge to laugh strikes me again. “I’m fresh outta prison, sweetheart. There isn’t much that can scare me after that.”

  “Yeah, all right. That makes me feel better.”

  “Good.” I drop my gaze, choosing to glare at the lush mixture of spruce and pines fencing us in. The fact we’re sitting on frozen ground, trapped in the wilderness, while having a civil conversation, proves that reality is already sinking in. We don’t have anywhere to go, at least not anytime soon.

  “So, why are we here? Might as well rip off the bandage and face facts.” Blakely shivers, burrowing deeper into the collar of her coat.

  “This is where my previous employer mentioned dropping a few traitors to let nature take its course. We’re the latest batch, I guess.” I draw in a slow breath. “I wouldn’t blame you for going postal.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, long enough for my nerves to spike. It was sheer luck that I got her to calm down once. A second time would take a miracle. Blakely finally puts an end to her silence, dragging me out of misery. “That doesn’t make sense. I don’t know who they are. Why me? What did I do?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I gotta be honest, it really doesn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t assume otherwise.” A crank tugs at a hidden coil buried inside of me. The pinch is intense and immediate. “The people we’re dealing with are sick lunatics.”

  She sniffs, swiping at her glassy eyes. “My skin is far from thick. That thin layer is little more than useless against keeping warm and warding off hate. What did I do? Why would they abduct me?”

  “You’re an innocent victim,” I murmur.

  A garbled croak shoots mist from her lips. “Holy shit, I’m a random target. My mother was right. She’s probably flipping the eff out. I’ll never live this down.”

  I cringe as her pitch raises several octaves. “They chose you for a reason, Blakely.”

  She balks at that. “Which is?”

  “Watching you struggle by my side makes this torture far more painful for me.” Blakely is resigned to the same dismal fortune. We’re going to suffer together, but I’ll be forced to endure her destruction. As if my punishment wasn’t already cruel.

  She scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve never exchanged a single word prior to now. You’d feel the same way about anyone else stranded out here.”

  I drop my gaze. How much do I reveal? Not like my integrity matters at this point. She deserves to hear why her future is now entwined with mine. “I had enough sense to keep my distance when you’d visit the prison. But we saw each other over the years. I can’t pretend that those moments didn’t impact me. It only happened with you. They noticed, unfortunately.”

  “Oh,” she whispers. “That’s seriously shady. I didn’t know stuff like that actually happens outside of movies.”

  “Yeah, moles are planted everywhere. This is completely my fault. I never should’ve looked at you.”

  If possible, her cheeks flush a brighter scarlet. “You didn’t ask them to take me.”

  “Of course not.” Jesus, the thought alone makes me nauseous.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask why they wanted you gone.”

  “Several reasons. The type of business they run is built on corruption and secrets. Getting caught isn’t an option, and having loose ends is a problem. I was released from prison early and needed to be dealt with.”

  “Are you a mobster or something?”

  I grunt while picturing Stefano in a custom three-piece suit, barking orders from behind his massive mahogany desk. “No, not at all. I just got involved with the worst kind of people.”

  “What could you have possibly done to deserve this?”

  “That’s a very long story.”

  She takes an obvious glance from one side to another. “Because I’m in a huge hurry. It doesn’t appear that I’m going anywhere in the near future.”

  “Let’s focus our energy elsewhere for the moment.” The last thing I want to do is let my darkest skeletons loose on the last soul I might see in this life.

  The furrow creasing her brow suggests there are more questions coming, or a protest. But Blakely surprises me. She gestures at her jacket and snow pants. “Why bother dressing us for survival?”

  I inspect my outerwear. “To make us suffer longer.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “And that’s not all.” I hitch a thumb toward the canvas satchels piled by a tree. “Looks like they left us supplies.”

  “How didn’t I notice those sooner?”

  “You were preoccupied.” To say I’m surprised—and thoroughly impressed—with Blakely’s ability to take this all in stride is an unders
tatement. After her initial episode of panic, she’s been calm and collected.

  “Well,” she pushes herself off the ground. “Might as well see what we’ve got at our disposal.”

  Survival tip #7: That theory about a wolf dressed as a sheep doesn’t apply in this place.

  As it turns out, standing isn’t that big of a chore. I can’t be too sure of anything at this point. Being cautious seems like a solid standard to abide by, considering the horrific scene I woke up to. Well, that’s not entirely fair. This front row seat of the Canadian wilderness is rather stunning. Under different circumstances, I could probably appreciate the natural beauty cocooning me. But these isolated woods currently represent a trap with zero means of escape. It’s so quiet that my ears burn to hear anything at all, just to prove noise still exists.

  While staring across the desolate stretch of forest, I wait for a second surge of terror to rise within me. Nothing bubbles above the surface. There’s only skeptical indifference peppering at my lid of firmly sealed emotions. My psyche is firmly parked in the denial phase. Acceptance is far away, if this numb defense is any indicator.

  Am I one strangled inhale short of a panic attack? Most likely. My behavior is tough to predict seeing as I’ve never been drugged, captured, and left for dead until now. I should probably be more upset. But flipping tits isn’t going to change a damn thing. My life will be forever altered, regardless of what the next five minutes bring. That’s precisely why the urge to tuck and run is nonexistent.

  I pause for another moment until the quaking in my thigh muscles subsides. The sedatives or whatever was pumped into me has mostly left my system. All that remains is fading adrenaline. After a mental shove, I place one foot in front of the other. The squish of wet snow underneath my boots is startling. I glance down at the offensive slush with a scowl that’s meant to express my upset. As a Minnesotan, I’m no novice when it comes to the wintery white stuff. But it’s only October, dammit. What part of the world already has several inches accumulated? I almost smack my forehead at the stupidity behind that query.