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He stills the circles he’s been drawing on my back. “I’m not complicated like Micah, baby. I don’t have grand ambitions.” He grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him, and I let myself sink into him. “Is there anything wrong with wanting someone to take care of and protect? I like to take care of the ones I love, London.”

My pulse quickens as I lean in and press my lips into his. I press my whole body into his, releasing all the pent-up tension I had with Micah earlier.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.” I feel his teeth through his smile and the wolves howl outside, causing me to tremble like I always do whenever I hear them. Maison pulls his hand up from under my sweater and runs it along my back, right over his last name. He traces his fingers over the number before moving them down to the base of my spine.

“Don’t worry about the wolves, baby,” he whispers. “Focus on me and what I’m telling you.” My heart hammers with the seriousness in his eyes, not the usual lopsided grin I’m used to. “I love my brother more than anything, even though he’s complicated, and I’ve also hated him more than I ever have over the past year.”

I press my lips together and I pull my fingers over his brow. “I know you do, Maison. Your experience must have been difficult. I can see how it would make things hard to get over.” I still have no idea what that was because they won’t tell me—all I ever get are half truths and avoidance.

“I owe him so much, but sometimes, it just pisses me off how much I have to cater to him.” I part my lips to say something, but he leans up and whispers in my ear and what he says shoots chills right up my spine, “I can see the way he looks at you, London. Just remember though, baby, Micah doesn’t do feelings the way I do. When you fuck him, make sure you don’t fall for him.”

Chapter Fourteen

Day Twenty-five

Everyone is raw and retreated, like they’ve all found their little part of the wilderness to call their own. Even Jade and Serena, who are usually so bright, are listless and dull. Splitting for this hunt is good. This camp is draining me, it’s degrading my soul. Maison’s going to give me to Micah. It’s like he’s prepping me for it, giving me subtle hints that he’s okay with it, even though I’m not sure he really is. I don’t know if I am ready or what will happen to my heart if I allow it. I’m not one to be shared for the amusement or needs of others. I just wish I knew what I needed or wanted, although I’m thinking it might be bits and pieces of both of them.

We leave for the hunt today, and I feel good about it. I wish I could get rid of this nagging feeling something bad will happen if we don’t come back with anything, although, something bad will likely happen, anyway. Almost thirty days on this island, and I’ve not even seen an airplane other than the one we crashed in.

Please pray for us.

The woods seem thicker than usual—heavier and denser. A layer of thick colorful foliage glazes the ground as our footsteps crunch over it, spoiling the natural beauty with each step forward. The three of us will hunt where deer graze in the thickets. Micah, Maison, and I are alone in the forest, as if no one else exists.

Realizing how good of a spot it was, Jade and Thomas stayed back at Micah’s camp—we decided to spend the night there. They are making a shelter to rest their heads and will trap on their own nearby and will wait till we make our kill so Thomas can come help us bring it back.

The trees are almost barren, though dashes of red and yellow still linger. A mist hangs in the air today—so thick I can almost choke on it—and its constant chill wraps around my bones. The air is stale, making it hard to differentiate between the sky and earth, causing me to trip. Micah shot me a menacing glare to be quiet.

Maison and I hang back, walking carefully and slowly following Micah’s lead, as if he’s a wolf sniffing out dinner. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but we aren’t allowed to speak, or even breathe, lest we make too much noise.

In front of us, Micah is gripping something I’ve not seen before today. Part of an animal I suspected he killed and has secretly been feeding Maison and me for days. His knuckles are nearly white, gripping it. A deer antler, I think, but I call it his bone weapon. Watching him with it, I can’t help but think nothing is sexier than a guy wielding a bone weapon.

He also made a spear for me last night in his shelter and gave it to me this morning before we left. He made sure it was nice and pointy, and I can imagine him making it, sitting alone in his shelter, after our almost kiss, carving it for me. And I can’t stop daydreaming about that almost kiss between each crunchy footstep that must be driving him crazy.

Maison’s words hang heavy in my ear, and every time Micah looks at me, my body jolts at the thought of it. But then my hunger and fear take over, ruining my fantasies of him, and even keeps me from admiring the beauty of the landscape that surrounds us. Micah is not focused on me today—he wants to make his kill.

We pass a few squirrels and rabbits, which Micah ignores—nothing less than a deer will do today. We didn’t come out here for smaller game, and I know he secretly wants to make a bigger kill than Ezra. We walk for what feels like hours and Maison stays close to me. I grab his hand for comfort, mainly because they are in way better shape than me, and I don’t want to get lost. Plus, those wolves I hear at night are stuff nightmares are made of, and I don’t wish to come upon one alone.

The forest eventually becomes settled and quiet, with just my heart and the slight crunch of our footfalls sounding around us. I pause as my knees weaken, and Maison, who hasn’t stopped holding my hand, turns and looks at me, giving my hand a squeeze as I meet his eyes.

Under no circumstances are we to talk; Micah made that perfectly clear.

“Micah, man. London needs a break.”

I’m just about to protest when Micah’s hand shoots up, and Maison and I both freeze.

The signal.

Micah sees something, so Maison and I immediately crouch down as we were instructed. We wait for him to signal, surround the prey, and one of us will kill it. I don’t want Maison doing it—I already told him that. Plus, we all know Micah will be the one to do it. It’s like he was built to survive out here.

He was made to kill.

Micah motions again, this time waving me over. Maison nods, but his worried expression cautions me to be extremely careful. He hesitates, but eventually releases my hand, and I encourage him with a smile.

I approach Micah, who is looking at the ground. Micah doesn’t look at me; instead, he pulls me down to a low crouch. It takes me a second to understand what he’s looking at. It’s an animal print, and from the looks of it, a fresh one.

“Do you know what animal that is, London?”

I shake my head, all too aware of how close we are, every body part touching me, and how Maison must be watching.