by Vivien Vale
Adam’s bringing the fireball with him. The bright orange blaze follows him deliberately and certainly. They’re both getting ready to come and meet me soon.
The steely glint in Adam’s eye is now reflected by a bright glare emerging from his left hand.
And there’s something emerging from his pocket, as well, something in his hand. All I can see is that it’s bright—too bright to look at directly.
I’m finally able to turn my head, and I see the dense fog, and the evergreens, and fresh, white snow.
I can still feel the heat moving towards me.
And I feel Adam’s voice again. I don’t just hear it, but I sense it.
“I can make my darkest dreams a reality.”
Each word rattles the whole world, sending seismic tremors, making the ground swell up and recede in waves under my feet.
The pure snow, the trees, the placid fog—it’s all still right in front of me. But the coming inferno, now crimson and glowing, is in the corner of my vision.
It’s so bright now that I involuntarily jerk all the way around, and I see a clean, open path in front of me.
I summon every bit of strength into trying to run, to break into a mad dash away from the hell I can feel at my back. Every movement I make is met with fierce, invisible resistance.
I can only move as fast as Adam’s moving behind me.
Every step is more difficult than the last, and the horizon seems to just keep getting further away.
And the peril behind me is still gaining.
I inch forward, away from the heat, into the cold, clean air. My breathing is getting shallow, and the air is getting thinner, warmer.
I cannot let myself succumb. I’m still moving, or trying to move, but now it’s like there’s an invisible wall keeping me from getting any further down the path.
The white, wintry scene in front of me is starting to turn that horrible shade of red, and it’s getting as difficult to breath as it is to move.
The reddish tinge suddenly vanishes, and the landscape looks clean and safe again. I take in a deep breath of crisp air, and I turn around.
There’s no more heat, no more fiery air, no more Adam.
“Avery.”
I turn back to the voice behind me. There’s no more path. Now it’s a wide, open clearing covered in snow.
And there’s a figure there.
It’s my father.
I feel myself on the verge of tears. I take in another deep breath, feeling like this all may be over, finally.
“There’s nothing I can do for you, Avery.”
The reddish tinge comes seeping back into the landscape, and the winter air starts giving way to scorching heat.
“No. No, please.” It starts out as a scream, but comes out as a desperate whisper.
“The world goes how he wants, Avery.”
“No,” I hiss, the sound barely traveling through the air.
“No one can save you.” Without warning, I’m facing the other way again, watching in horror as Adam reappears with the crimson firestorm at his back.
“I paid for the world,” Adam says. “And when I find you, I’ll make sure you know it.”
My eyes open abruptly, revealing the still, quiet cabin bedroom.
“Oh, my gosh,” I whisper, knowing it was a dream, but still feeling the chill and the terror.
I’m on my side, wearing nothing but Jack’s flannel shirt.
On me, it’s less of a flannel shirt and more of a flannel tunic, or a flannel shroud. It’s a flannel shirt-dress, which is very much Out this season, but I’m pretty sure if I wore it to New York fashion week, I could bring it back In. The comfy fabric envelopes me softly, resting gently over almost my entire body.
Although I’m sweating now, the fearful sweat from my dream drenched into my pillow, this room and this bed feels so calm, if not exactly cool.
And there’s no one else here.
Not Adam.
Not Jack.
Not anyone.
“Boof,” woofs Buck. His shaggy black form trots in as if he sensed something was wrong. I pat the bed and he hops up into it with me.
With Buck curled around me, I feel the strong urge to float back into sleep.
The nightmare, already fading from my memory, isn’t enough to discourage me.
On the other hand, I’m in a pool of my own sweat, and this colossal shirt is probably just making things worse.
I can’t sleep like this, not with so many recent, actual waking nightmares I’m now just remembering. Nightmares truly involving treacherous roads and treacherous people like Adam. Nightmares that don’t feel far from the first bad dream I’ve endured tonight.
That memory is either fading or blending with the confusion that’s taken over my life.
It hasn’t all been bad, but it’s been so confusing in so many ways. I close my eyes again, worried that if I don’t get back to sleep now, it might never happen.
I lie there with my eyes closed, breathing slowly.
I try to force my mind to go blank.
I try to ignore the questions that won’t leave my mind, questions about everything that’s been happening.
The most recent question being: where did Jack go, and why am I suddenly alone in this airless, muggy bedroom?
I open my eyes for just a second, and lower the flannel shirt away from my neck a little so it’s not covering me entirely.
Now that my shoulders are cooler, I close my eyes again, knowing that I need more sleep.
I’m a different person now than I was before. The thought comes out of nowhere.
I try telling my mind to shut up. I can’t deal with this right now. I’m probably not equipped to deal with this…I don’t know. Maybe ever.
Something changed tonight.
I know. I know that something inside me shifted tonight with Jack’s hot, hungry mouth against my delicate, trembling flesh. But whatever that something is and whatever it means, I can deal with it tomorrow.
I focus on my breathing.
What I went through tonight, whatever it means, it’s important. Before tonight, there was something all balled up in my sex begging to be unraveled, and now it’s unfurled inside of me, flying like a white flag of glorious surrender.
I just needed the right man to do it.
Not Adam. I know that Adam never would have made me feel the way I feel now.
I needed Jack.
I need Jack.
I shift once more, onto my other side, and I lower the flannel shirt a few inches more. Buck snores beside me, already asleep.
My mind is finally quieting down, letting the nagging questions and worries wither away for the time being. Feeling a bit exposed, I pull the flannel back up above my shoulders.
The shirt smells like Jack. Like his laundry detergent, clean and fresh. Like the lingering scent of his skin.
It lulls me into a sense of security. I don’t know where Jack is now, but I know that I’m here in his bed…and for as long as I am here, I’m safe.
That thought alone is enough to help me drift away again, into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.
Chapter 13
Jack
I smell sulfur and smoke. The singed blackness of burned hair and the char of still-burning skin.
Last thing I knew, I was in bed with Avery.
Now? I’m back in the fucking war again.
I point my weapon into the chest of an enemy operative. He points his weapon at me right back. I fire first, but—fuck.
Nothing happens. I feel my big, bad, high-tech Stanton Industries rifle fail right there in my fucking hands.
The other guy isn’t so damn unlucky. When he fires his gun, it nearly blows my fucking head off. I feel the bullet zip past my face and lodge itself into the wall behind my head.
Close fucking call.
I can’t allow there to be another one.
I decide, fuck it. Toss my gun aside, curl my lips into a snarl and barrel towards the man.
He shoots several rounds at me. I know from the pain that some of them must have hit. But I’m in a frenzied rage now. Bullets don’t stop me—they just slow me down.
I can smell the fear on him when I tackle him to the ground. He’s whimpering—begging—
And suddenly, it’s not his face I’m looking at. It’s Avery’s. Sweet little Avery’s beautiful fucking face, with my hands poised threateningly over her throat.
Then, in a flash—it’s the face of the terrorist again, contorted in fear. That’s better. I fucking prefer that. This motherfucker arranged some twenty bus bombings in his city before I got to him. Bastard was targeting mothers and school children, hardworking men and the elderly.
I want him to be afraid of me. He deserves to fucking die.
I reach my hands down to his throat again, ready to kill him like I’ve killed him a thousand times before.
But when I do, in a flash—there’s Avery again. Sleeping soundly, her blonde hair splayed out on something that I vaguely recognize as one of my own pillows.
The fuck?
I shake my head, growling like a fucking animal and trying to get my bearings. I can hear explosions in the distance—no doubt those are more of this son of a bitch’s bus bombs, ripping away more innocent people from their loving families.
And then I blink, and the booms aren’t explosions. It’s just Buck fucking barking, clawing at the bedroom door, trying to get inside.
I blink again. I smell the burned gunpowder of spent ammunition.
I blink again. I smell Avery’s skin, the scent of jasmine and lavender from the perfume of her bath.
When I shake my head, reality comes crashing back to me. I’m on top of Avery, whose brow is furrowed in her sleep. I can feel her fragile, delicate body beneath the blanket between my thighs.
My hands are poised over her neck, threatening to strangle her while she whimpers in her sleep, having nightmares of her own.
Christ. I’m a fucking monster.
This is why I can’t have a woman in my bed. This is why I can’t have anyone in this entire goddamn house.
No wonder Buck is barking up such a storm. Buck and I understand each other. Buck wakes up from his own night terrors too. Sometimes, he’ll snarl awake and come at me, teeth bared, ready to fight some imagined enemy that’s haunting him in his dreams.
It makes me wonder what kind of life my dog led before me. Kind of scared me, having Avery here with both of us being such fucking savages. But by the way Buck is pawing at the door now, I get the sense that he doesn’t want to do anything but help Avery.
He’s a good fucking mutt.
But me? I’m a goddamn monster.
It’s not just my killer’s hands that are threatening to harm Avery when I wake up from my night terror. No, it gets much worse than that.
I’ve got a hard-on like you wouldn’t fucking believe, too. Happens sometimes—it’s not an arousal response, it’s just fucking adrenaline.
But I’m naked, and she’s a virgin, and I’ve got my cock pressed so hard against her body while I straddle her that I’m afraid it might rip right through the blankets between us that I’ll deflower her in her sleep.
Christ. I’d never forgive myself. She’s been so sweet, so fucking trusting with me.
And here I am, poised over her body like some kind of animal, ready to just fucking take and take and take.
The erection softens as I slump away from her, rolling off the bed and finding myself some clothes. I know how PTSD works. Logically, I know that I would never intentionally do anything to Avery that she didn’t want done to her.
But I also know that there’s something inside me that makes me a killer. This time, Buck’s barking stopped me from doing anything that either of us would regret. But what happens the next time I wake up from one of my intense war dreams?
What happens when I dream about fucking Avery—about having her writhing beneath me, cooing and moaning, only to wake up and discover that I’ve ruined her life?
This. This is why I came out onto this fucking mountain.
To be alone where I can’t fucking hurt pretty little ladies like her.
I grab my bow and arrow and pull on my boots. Nothing calms and centers me like hunting does.
Maybe if I can kill something, some of this aggression can filter out of my body. Maybe my blood won’t be so fucking boiling. Maybe I can set my head straight again.
I practically run away from the cabin. I need to get as far away from her as possible. I need to put as much space between Avery and I as can be.
She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves much better.
What was I thinking pretending that I could make a life with her? I almost hurt her today.
All I know is that it ain’t gonna fucking happen again.
Chapter 14
Avery
I wake up to Buck licking at my face. He’s got dog breath, but his intentions are good, so I don’t really mind.
“Boof!” he barks softly, nosing against my ear. I can hear him sniffing me. Almost like he’s trying to make sure I’m alright.
After the nightmares I’ve been having, it’s kind of nice to be checked up on.
Part of me just wishes that it was Jack burying his face in my hair instead.
I look over to Jack’s side of the bed and notice it’s still cold. It’s a shame—I was really looking forward to waking up this morning and cuddling against that hot, steamy naked body of his.
I’ve never woken up in bed with a man before.
I was kind of hoping this morning would be a first.
Instead, it’s Buck in bed with me. As far as consolation prizes go, I don’t mind this one so much. Even if Buck—who has got to be at least part wolf, the more that I think about how freaking huge he is—treats me like I’m some kind of helpless puppy most of the time.
To him, I guess I must seem like one. Especially compared to big, capable Jack.
Jack. I hope he’s not having regrets about what happened in the bath last night. I’m certainly not. But it would explain why he left before I woke up, I guess.
Maybe he’s got, I don’t know. Mountain man things to do? Chopping wood, wrestling bears, that kind of thing.
Or maybe he just can’t be around me, now that he knows what a slut I am.
That’s a bummer.
I hope he’s just climbing a mountain or catching fish with his teeth or something.
I get up out of bed, feeling a lot better than I did the day before. When I locate a mirror in Jack’s room, I can see that my bruising is already fading.
Good. I’m way too vain to go around forever scarred and bruised from rolling my freaking car down a mountainside.
But while I’m up, it’s like…I can’t help myself. I’m in Jack’s bedroom, all alone and with no one but Buck to keep me out of trouble.
I try not to snoop. I really do.
I remember what happened the last time I looked into something I wasn’t supposed to.
I discovered my fiancé was a war criminal, nearly got myself raped and had to run away from my own freaking wedding.
That little adventure ended up with me crashing my car down a mountain.
But since it all led me here to Jack…
It couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Don’t tell Jack I did this,” I say to Buck.
Buck says, “Boof!” and wags his tail, then licks my knee cap.
Okay. We’re co-conspirators now.
I look around the room and see Jack’s meager possessions laid out. In the closet, there’s a few shirts and jeans, sweaters and gear, but nothing that provides evidence of who he really is.
I open his dresser and sift through a couple of things. Hidden under some garments I find evidence that he’s ex-military and highly decorated at that.
He’s got medals and pictures. I examine his face, his handsome and beautiful face, surrounded by a group of men. They are all military and they all have determined expressions o
n their faces.
Jack looks shredded as ever and in control.
I wonder idly if this is his team? If so where are the rest of them?
And why is Jack out here in the wilderness by himself if he’s military? What happened to him?
Suddenly his gruff nature and his intensity make a lot more sense. If he’s military then he’s probably seen a lot of action, a lot of blood and gore, and a lot of debasement. I can’t imagine being in that position, having to kill when commanded, and seeing people suffer.
Does this have anything to do with the way Jack has been with me? Is it why he’s isolated himself out here?
And then I think back to what just happened. He almost raped me. And then he woke up as if from a daze.
I know Jack is a good person. I intuitively feel like I can trust him. And yet, I’m somewhat afraid of what happened early this morning.
A part of me wants to believe in him so much. I don’t see him as a rapist, I don’t see him as a bad person.
Upon finding this evidence of his military background, I’m starting to see him as a man with wounds. Deep wounds that I hope I can help heal.
I look at the photographs for a while. Jack’s deep, penetrating eyes are as intense as ever.
It’s interesting to see him in an environment that is not this small cabin. I really wonder what his life was like before he moved out here.
I gently run my fingers along the precious metals and military memorabilia. It makes me feel like I’ve uncovered another layer of Jack.
Before I have time to rifle through all of my finds, I hear the door open.
I’m frozen in fear. What if it’s Adam?
I’m all alone with Jack gone and Adam could easily hurt me. I don’t even know where Jack keeps his weapons.
I tiptoe out of the living room, still naked, not wanting to make a noise just in case I have to make a fast escape out the window.
I peek behind the corner and breathe a sigh of relief to see Jack standing with the door swung open and cold air infiltrating the place.
His huge stature takes up the length of the door frame and slung over his shoulders is a bleeding deer carcass.
He looks like the picture of a barbarian, a hot barbarian at that. He looks like he’s been out in nature and that he’s conquered something.
