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I lie down with her for a moment and squeeze her frail body against mine, pressing my lips to her forehead. “We have to leave now, okay? If we wait even a day, the temperature will drop.” More snow is coming; I can smell it. And heavy snowfall is usually followed by a prolonged deep freeze. I’m not risking getting stuck here all winter with them, not when I can have London all to myself—completely devoid of anyone else. No more distractions for her. Just me, her, and the island… like it’s supposed to be.

Her breath lengthens, and her tiny fingers grasp the fabric of my shirt. She raises her head to gaze at me, then grabs me harder and lays her head in the crook of my arm. Her eyes are glassy, like she’s been crying. I understand what she’s thinking; I’ve left her too many times, and as a result, she doesn’t fully trust me. The thought of being alone out here terrifies her, and being here without Maison scares her even more. And in the back of her mind, she is petrified of who is out there… the one wearing a bow tie.

I arch my brows, sensing her hesitation to leave with me. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, London.” I keep my voice low and even. “You need to trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

I love her like I’ve never loved anyone. And even though she knows I struggle to say the words, she must feel it. I won’t let anyone near her again. And when I’m done with her—not that I plan on ever being done with her—she won’t have the capacity to think about anyone else, let alone cry about anyone else.

That seems to settle her. She nods, her eyes hooded, and gives me a faint smile. She looks broken, her pale skin blending in with the fresh snow I packed around this shelter.

Hold on a little longer, sweetheart. I’ve got you.

It’s dumped at least a foot of snow already, which is a perfect framework for a liveable shelter the others can use to survive. I have a small sense of relief knowing I’m abandoning them to it. Snow is a natural insulator, so it’s as if they have a thermal blanket… if they choose to see it that way.

I grab London’s hand, and she winces. She will need major rehab from what that fucker did to her a week ago when he stepped on it, twisting her wrist and shattering her fragile bones and veins before stabbing her in the hip. When I finally have time to focus on her, I plan to put her back together. She can’t walk long distances yet, and I won’t push her—at least, not this time. I’ve pushed her enough on this island. I’m going to carry her every step of the way if I can.

The place is ready; I’ve spent the last three days making sure it’s fucking perfect for her. I have no intention of leaving, and I have no intention of letting her leave, either.

With her head resting on me, her shallow breaths tease my chest. She may have fallen back asleep. “Are you sure we shouldn’t at least tell Thomas and Jade where we are going?” She yawns, keeping her eyes closed. “They won’t be happy we’re leaving,” she adds, a tinge of guilt in her voice, “especially since we’re fleeing in the dead of night.”

That makes me chuckle. “We’re not fleeing, London. I don’t run.” However, fleeing might be accurate. Thomas has been watching me; he knows I’m up to something. But he won’t speak to me… We haven’t uttered a word to each other since I cut off his hand. And other than saying I was sorry to him when he regained consciousness, what else was I supposed to fucking say about it?

“Whatever you say, Micah,” London murmurs, her lips on my neck. “But it seems like we’re fleeing.” I shift beneath her as I suppress the jolt in my groin from her lips touching me like that—it happens every time those beautiful lips touch my skin. But there will be ample opportunity to focus on that once she’s fully healed.

“I don’t trust any of them anymore,” I tell her softly. “It’s better for everyone if we leave.”

A week ago, her fury matched mine, but now that her energy has depleted, all that’s left within her is all-consuming grief. And all that’s left within me is a primal need to claim her, to make her pain go away and pull it inside me.

Her body is like an ice cube next to me, so I rub her arms and back, pulling her wolf blanket around her. As I gaze at the midnight sky, I can feel the gentle rhythm of her breathing next to me. The stars are the main reason why I don’t sleep at night—they fill the void of nothingness within me. I much prefer nocturnal life when I don’t have to talk to anyone.

I see the way they all look at me now. Every single one of them fears me. I chopped Ezra’s fingers off with zero hesitation, and I would have done it to Nigel, too, if he hadn’t scuttled away from me like a fucking mouse. They believe I’m unhinged because Maison died. They barely bring up his name when I’m around, like it’s some dirty, taboo topic. They all moved on, gathering wood, hunting, and fishing, and I helped them stock up for winter. It makes me feel less guilty knowing they at least have some food to keep them going. If they run out, it’s their problem. Maybe they shouldn’t have given a third of our supplies away.

I rest my eyes, and after a few minutes, soft snores fill the shelter. That’s my signal. With London so drained, she will hopefully sleep most of the way. So I gather her in my arms and wrap her wolf blanket around her head. She’s going to need the comfort and warmth since the trek won’t be fun for either of us, but the payoff will be worth it.

She lets me lift her without any complaint and leans her head against my chest as I cradle her. Her eyes are barely open, her lashes fluttering. She’s wearing Maison’s hockey sweater, which she hasn’t taken off since he died. My body tenses at the sight of it, but I quickly push him out of my mind. She isn’t his anymore. And it doesn’t matter that she won’t let him go because she’ll learn who she belongs to soon enough.

I walk through the dark camp with my hood over my head, past the pile of food I left them along with some hunting wire. I’ve already made this walk twice tonight, counting when I took London’s pack and all her belongings. This will be my third and last trip, and by the hint of light in the sky, I can tell it’s nearly morning. I took what I deemed mine, including the girl in my arms, away from here. The only other item I have on me is my hunting knife, which is secured and sheathed on my back.

I think about the knife often… more often than I should. What the sensation would be like having it slice into my side instead of his. I swear, Maison’s pain fused with my own, creating an indistinguishable blend of anguish between us.

London is light as a feather in my arms as I glide through the soft snow, but her face betrays her. Every step I take hurts her. She whimpers, even though I take careful steps through the planned route to the abandoned hunting cabin I found a few days ago, sequestered among the trees. She isn’t well, but I couldn’t keep her here any longer knowing I have a place much better for her. Somewhere she can actually heal and forget all the shit she’s been through. Where I can keep her alive while preserving our sanity.

The cold wind bites through the fabric of my hoodie, and the snow seeps through my shoes to the point where I can no longer feel my toes. Since I only have shoes, not boots like any sane person should have given we are in Alaska, my feet are fucking frozen. I have a clear understanding of the route despite the snow reaching up to my calf. I’ve done it a few times prepping for this, and I’m not making London walk in the snow. Not that she can even walk yet since her wound is still fresh. And I can handle the cold, probably better than I should.

Everything is still so fresh… white and crisp. After a while, her whimpers stop, and I’m certain she’s asleep. How this girl can sleep while being carried like this is beyond me, but she seems to have no issue anytime she’s in my arms. She passes out within minutes.

I’ve always wanted her… I was certain the day after the plane crash—when she was wearing the wrong number on her back and looking at me with utter disdain—that we belonged together.

So I took her, just as I’m taking her now. Over the course of a month and a half, I carefully and gradually separated her from my brother. At first, I resisted it, but eventually, my desire seeped into my subconscious. Despite my efforts to despise her, I now realize that every action I took—every touch, gaze, or avoidance—was an attempt to make her fall in love with me. Unlike Olivia, who was wrong for me from the beginning, London should have been mine from the start. Maison had his chance at love, but he killed his last girlfriend.

He didn’t deserve London.

My body nearly gives out after an hour of walking. The only light is the moon reflecting off the snow, but I learned a long time ago that on a clear night during winter, snow acts as a flashlight. I can see perfectly in the dark.

London shifts in my arms as I sit for a rest, keeping her cradled on my lap. The passenger princess finally wakes up. “Micah, are we almost there?” Her lips tickle my stubble. Her soft angel-like cheek is cold as it presses against my face.

“Yeah, London. We’re close. I just need a break.”

Her body shivers. “Good. I’m so cold, and I just want to sleep for a year.”