Page 12 of Gunnar

I look at the road.

Then I step away from him.

Not toward the lodge.

Toward the gravel track the SUVs disappeared down.

I take another step, then a third. Gravel crunches under my shoes.

I expect someone to call out, but only silence reaches my ears. I keep going. I lengthen my stride, exhilaration racing through me.

The road slopes downward. The trees close in tighter here, branches arching overhead. The air feels different beyond the clearing—warmer, heavier.

No one stops me.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

The road dips sharply around the first bend.

Gravel shifts under my shoes. I speed up.

Then I start to run.

I don’t know where I’m heading. I don’t care. I just want to return to that point in my life when I was making my own decisions—even if that was whether to drag my ass into my dead-end job or not.

The slope steals control almost immediately. My steps turn uneven. Too fast. My balance tilts forward.

The ground drops.

My foot slides.

For a split second there’s nothing under me but air. I yelp⁠—

And a hand clamps around my upper arm.

I’m jerked backward before I hit the dirt. My body slams into solid heat instead.

Another hand grasps my waist, fingers digging in.

My breath leaves me in a sharp rush.

He holds me there, his chest crushing my backpack against my back.

“Enough,” he says, close to my ear.

I twist in his grip, furious at how easily he stopped me.

His fingers are locked around my arms like he’s holding onto something that might bolt.

I try to tear myself away from him. “Let go.”

He doesn’t.

He just stands there behind me, chest rising and falling with a deep rumbling sound.

Then his hold shifts, and he turns me to face him.

His eyes are different up close—not wild but focused, the irises gold, almost glowing. And those hard lines of his face—handsome in a brutal kind of way⁠—