Page 34 of Wild Thorns

But Eli was looking at me like my answer mattered. Like I mattered. And I was so tired of carrying everything alone.

"Not great," I admitted. "Sleeping, I mean. There's someone. From my past. He keeps finding ways to contact me."

Eli's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture. A stillness that reminded me, suddenly, of Callum. Of energy being held in reserve.

"This is what Jasper was referring to."

"Yes."

"Is he dangerous?"

"I don't know." The honest answer, the one I hated admitting. "He never hit me. He never technically did anything I could point to and say, that's abuse. But he made me feel like I was losing my mind. Like I couldn't trust my own perceptions. And now..." I swallowed. "Now he won't let go. And I don't know what he'll do if he finds me. Or if he’s already found me, and he’s just fucking with me."

Eli was quiet for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like he was absorbing what I'd said, turning it over, examining it from all angles before responding.

"You're not losing your mind," he said finally. "Whatever he made you feel, that was him, not you. Manipulation is designed to make you doubt yourself. It's the primary tool of a certain brand of predator." His voice was precise, clinical almost, but underneath I heard something fierce. "The fact that you recognize it now means you're clearer than you think."

I blinked at him. It was so close to what Jasper had said, but different. More analytical. More precise. Where Jasper had offered warmth and protection, Eli offered clarity. Understanding. A framework for making sense of the senseless.

"How do you know so much about this?"

"I read." A hint of dry humor surfaced in his voice. "About psychology, among other things. Predatory behavior patterns. The way certain people operate." He paused, adjusted his glasses in that familiar thinking gesture. "But also... the family has dealt with problematic individuals before. People who don't respect boundaries. Who see what they want and try to take it regardless of consent."

"What happened to them? The problematic individuals?"

His pupils dilated. His jaw tightened slightly. Something that made me think of old stories, of justice served outside courtrooms, of the kind of protection that didn't involve lawyers or police reports or waiting for a system that moved too slowly.

"They stopped being a problem," he said.

I should have been alarmed. Instead, I felt a strange comfort in the words. In the implication that the Voss family dealt with threats. That they had the capability and the will to protect what was theirs.

"That's ominous," I said, trying for lightness.

"It's accurate." But he softened, the fierce edge receding behind his usual thoughtful composure. "Serena. You're not alone in this. Whatever happens with this person from your past, you have people here who will help you. Not because we expect anything in return. Just because..."

He trailed off, and I watched him struggle with something. Something he wanted to say but couldn't, or wouldn't, or wasn't ready to. His jaw tightened. His hands, resting on his knees, curled slightly.

"Just because?" I prompted.

"Just because you're worth protecting," he said finally, the words coming out carefully, precisely, like he was measuring each one. "That should be obvious. I'm surprised you need to be told."

My throat tightened. "I keep trying to remind myself that I deserve protection, care, basic human consideration. But after three years of being told the opposite..."

"Then you've been surrounded by the wrong people." He held my gaze, and behind his glasses, his eyes were fierce with a conviction that took my breath away. They'd gone silver again, bright in the fading light. "That changes now."

We sat in silence after that, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happens between people who don't need words to communicate, who can simply exist in each other's presence and feel understood.

The stars came out, one by one, appearing against the darkening sky like holes punched in velvet. The preserve went fully dark, the trees becoming black shapes against the deeper black of night. Somewhere in the main house, I could hear Jasper's laugh and the low rumble of Callum's voice, their sounds carrying through the evening air.

"I should go," Eli said eventually. "You need sleep. Real sleep, not the anxious kind."

"Is there a non-anxious kind? I've forgotten."

He didn't laugh at the half-joke. His expression remained serious. "There is. It involves feeling safe. And knowing that nothing can get to you while you rest."

"That sounds nice. Theoretical, but nice."

He stood, brushing off his pants. When he looked down at me, something in his expression made my heart stutter. An intensity that went beyond his usual focused attention. A decision being made behind those silver-gray eyes.