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I keep my head down in the shelter as he takes a can from my backpack. He blows on the fire and get’s it burning with a piece of small dry kindling. His heavy presence lingers over me as he works. He takes the can of beans and starts making small cuts into the lid, eventually squeezing it so the lid pops off. He moves to heat the beans over the fire, but I rip the can out of his hand and start shoving those beans into my mouth with my fingers while he watches me with amusement as I stuff my face. I forget to offer him any until I’ve almost finished the can. Of course, he refuses, and I don’t say thank you—after what I endured, it’s the least he can do.

When I’m done, he takes the can from me and walks over to the nearby creek, filling it with water. He then holds the can over the fire until it’s hot enough, even he flinches.

I watch him, stone cold, as he crawls in front of me and arches his brown eyes in a soft gesture of neutrality. I raise my chin as he reaches out for me. “What are you doing?”

“I have to wash you up with hot water. Cuts and scrapes can easily get infected. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with that.”

He doesn’t wait for my response. He pulls my sweater off, leaving me in my ribbed tank top. I lean back, aware of how close to me he is, how exposed I am to him again, and how his presence makes me so nervous. He only focuses on my wounds as he dips a spare T-shirt into the hot water, gently lifts my tank top up.

I flinch when the heat hits my skin. “Relax, London, it’s just water. I’m only cleaning you.”

I nod hesitantly and lay back, deciding to enjoy the slight burning and sizzle on my skin. His hands are like they were before, soft but pointed, skilled. He wipes me, starting with a nasty cut on my belly. So attentive, giving my cuts just as much focus as one of his precious spears.

It doesn’t take long for my body to react, for that heat to build in my lower belly. I jolt and he stops just as his hands rub against my ribs. “That’s enough,” I tell him. “I can do the rest.” I don’t want him to notice the reaction I have to him, or the wetness building between my legs.

He nods, as if understanding the exact reason he needs to stop. “When you feel better, go for a swim to clean off the rest of the dirt. It will help.” He rises and steps toward the river.

“Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly afraid to be alone, as if I didn’t just run away into the wilderness alone with no plan.

“I’m getting myself dinner. Just rest, you’ll be fine,” he says and stalks off.

I listen to his advice and head toward the nearby spring and rub every part of my body. I’m quick about it, mainly because the waters are icy and I’m not exactly sure where Micah went off to or if he’s watching. When I’m done, I dress in layers and grab some extra clothes Micah has stored here. I wrap myself in blankets and lay down on the comfortable bed he’s made himself.

When he returns a couple of hours later, the sun is a low haze in the sky, hidden behind the thick brush of trees around the camp. I dozed on and off, waiting for him to return, realizing and dreading where he will need to rest his head tonight.

I hear him fussing and can vaguely stay awake long enough to know he’s skinning and cooking something nearby. Eventually, he stokes the fire, flames bursting to life and heating my face and toes. He hesitates before joining me inside, crawling in next to me. I shift a few inches away, giving him lots of room before my teeth start to chatter despite the heat from the fire. He wraps his arm around me, tucking a blanket around me, and I immediately pull away.

“I can’t let you shiver,” he tells me, keeping me close. “Shivering burns calories, which you need right now. I’m not going to touch you like that again, London. I promised Maison I wouldn’t.”

They talked about me. I wonder what they said and how Maison’s feeling about it. I hope Micah clarified some things. I want to bring up the story, bring up Olivia, but I don’t dare. And since he’s not bringing it up, either, I don’t bother. It hardly feels like it matters anymore.

From pure exhaustion, my body relaxes and conforms to his, and immediately, the warmth makes me feel better. Before I close my eyes to sleep for the night, I shift and ask him the question I’m dying to know. “Micah?” I ask in a low voice. “Why do you hate me so much?”

His lips brush against the back of my head. “I don’t hate you, London,” he breathes, and a beat of silence goes by before I hear him say, “and that’s part of the problem.”

Chapter Thirteen

Day Eighteen

Micah brought me back two days ago, and I still refuse to talk to anyone. Jade moved in with me for the time being after I ignored Maison’s attempts to talk to me. My bruises are still raw and visible—a reminder of what this group is capable of—and my body feels like it’s eating itself. Micah still retreats to the forest, but spends every night here now. I think to watch over me, though he won’t say so. He ignores everyone, including Naomi. Maison punched Nigel for what he did to me. The only reason Maison didn’t turn on Ezra was because James and the others had him pinned down before he could do anything further. His fury reminded me of Micah’s primal rage, a side of Maison I had never seen before. It’s like I don’t really know him—or either of them, really. Nothing is as it seems. Everyone realizes the gravity of our situation. I worry about what will be left of us when they come.

I wring out my hair and slip my clothes back on. Winter’s first blast is behind us, with warmer weather the past few days. I felt strong enough to leave the camp for the first time since the attack. Desperate for a cleanse, I slipped to my retreat and dove into the chilly waters before soaking up the late evening sun. The warmest time of day is when the wind stops and the heat retains in the air. I sprawl out the flat rock, laying my leg out in front of me, staring at the water and mountaintops above the dusty horizon. The mountains feel so close today, like I can reach out and touch them.

Footsteps draw my attention toward the tree line where Micah emerges. I am certain it’s Micah, as Maison is not aware of this cove, and I have always kept it a secret from him. Micah is the only one who knows about this place, and I can easily recognize him from his broody expression. “What do you want?” I ask, shifting my gaze back to the mountains.

I’ve avoided Micah since we got back, but for different reasons than Maison. Maison, I’m still furious with. Micah… Well, I confess I might have been wrong about him from the start. But it’s easier for me to pretend to hate him than to admit he’s not a complete asshole. I jump off the rock, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and try to walk past him. He grabs my wrist, his eyes blazing into me as he pulls me back to him.

I snatch my wrist from his iron grip. “Let go of me, Micah.”

He squeezes harder, which catches my attention. “I want you to hit me, London.”

I scoff, thinking he must be joking. Then I remember I’ve yet to even experience Micah’s laugh let alone him making a joke. “Enough games, Micah, let me leave.”

“Hit me,” he repeats and lets go of my wrist. He stands before me like a mountain, immovable.

I place a hand on my hip. “I’m not going to hit you.”

He takes a step closer, his face only inches from mine. His hair is longer now than when we first arrived, his bangs falling over his piercing, dark eyes. When he looks at me like that, I can’t tell him apart from Maison, and it freaks me out. I have to look away.