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All movement stops.
I freeze and turn to scan the trees.
A chill rolls over me, followed quickly by a feeling I can’t quite put my finger on, but I don’t see anything unusual. Still, my hand tightens around my axe as I keep moving toward the house, where my first stop will be the library to check on Callista before I shower and cook her dinner.
Maybe tonight, I’ll even sit with her while she eats to further torture myself by watching the fork disappear into her mouth when that’s where I’ve been fantasizing about having my cock since our night together.
It stirs against my jeans at the mere thought.
Dinner is a bad idea.
As it stands, I’ll have to end up stroking myself in the shower again to try to relieve some of the tension.
“Weston?”
My name slowly drifting through on the breeze freezes me in place, and I spin toward the sound.
What the hell?
It comes again.
“Weston?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. Have dreamed about it during the few fitful minutes I’ve managed over the past few nights alone in the library.
Panic seizes my chest.
What the hell is she doing out here?
I scan the trees, trying to determine which direction it came from, but out here, sound travels oddly, bouncing off trunks, tumbling through the gorge, echoing across the lake, making it almost impossible to determine which direction it’s coming from.
“Callista?”
My voice booms through the darkening night, and I wait for her reply. But it never comes.
Shit.
“Callista!”
Why the fuck is she out here? Where the fuck would she even go?
What would she—
It comes to me suddenly, and I turn back toward the path that leads from the house to the lake.
She loved it there.
Seemed to enjoy dipping herself in the cool water.
Maybe she went and got lost on her way back. Or maybe—
No.
I shake my head, unwilling to let myself consider the other possibility—that one of those things I repeatedly warned her about finally managed to corner her out here alone and unprepared to defend herself.
A blood-chilling scream tears through the night, and I run.
My boots pound on the uneven ground, smashing twigs and leaves underfoot as I race along the path. “Callista?”
