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As perfect as this situation is for me right now, it’s only a matter of time before I truly wreck this girl… more than I already have. Because I’m fucked up, I’ve always been fucked up, and I doubt that will ever change. I’m selfish… and I want her completely and utterly to myself.

I draw circles on her stomach and move my fingers to her back, where she melts even further into my body. The wind kicks up outside, pushing cold air through the poorly insulated, splintered walls. We barely made it before the snow hit. To the final place she will ever call home, with the last person she will ever see. Because I’ve found my new obsession, and there is no one here to stop me. What I have planned for her will erase Maison from her mind. I will make her forget the existence of everyone in this world but me.

Chapter Two

Micah

Ialways suspected I was different. Tragedy or no tragedy… it doesn’t matter. I was aware before I turned eleven that something was off about me. Before I almost lost Maison in the ice, before Olivia ruined my life, before the island happened. It’s a primal part of me, hidden in my inner psyche. I’ve fought it down for as long as I can remember, but it drives my need to control, to conquer, and to obsess over things until I master them. Whatever I choose to focus on in the moment so I don’t self-depreciate become my addictions.

I am driven by a relentless need for control, and I assert my dominance over anything I can manipulate. I suspect Maison knew… His instincts were never wrong. He let me be despite my demons. But when things slip out of control, that’s when I spiral.

It’s my vulnerability.

That realization this morning solidified how different I actually am. I spent the day shoveling snow and tending to the property. I don’t mind the hard work; I grew up in these hunting lodges. I appreciate them as much as the fancy houses—the simplicity of them—because deep down, beneath my complex personality, I have pretty basic fucking needs.

I decided we needed space around our door so we could at least get it open if we needed to leave. And by shoveling snow, I mean scraping it with a pot and moving it with my bare hands. My fingers registered the cold, knowing it should have hurt, but I didn’t move them. I kept my hands in the snow for as long as I could because the pain was a temporary relief from the emotions swirling inside me.

Before I head inside, I see London is awake through the singular window of the weathered shelter. She’s sitting up for the first time after sleeping for almost two full days and nights following our three-hour trek in the cold. She spent most of that time in a feverish state, moaning Maison’s name. She sits cross-legged on the bed, staring with her wolf blanket over her lap and wearing nothing but a spaghetti-strap tank top.

Damn, she looks delicious.

I can’t help but admire the swell of her breasts as she plays with the bandage of her broken hand. Her hair is matted and long, and she desperately needs a bath, but her pretty dark eyes are more full of life than I’ve seen in days.

Watching her, I pause for a moment, questioning whether she’ll be disappointed it’s me after dreaming about him for two nights. My insides clam up, knowing how fragile she is. Knowing if she breaks, it will be my fault. I hate how utterly pissed off I was watching her almost die, knowing I wasn’t the guy she was dreaming about.

I lift my hood and kick the snow off my shoes before creaking the door open and making my presence known. The moment our eyes meet, a flash hits her eyes. She can’t hide it—

She’s scared of me.

Or disappointed…

One is just as bad as the other.

We are in the most impossible situation—we are likely both going to die—yet my thoughts are wholly consumed by all the ways I can make this broken girl mine as she sits trembling like a kitten.

Like I said… I’m different.

It’s a part of me I’m sick of suppressing.

It’s also the part of me she fell in love with. Because London King sees me, too, and this girl is staring right at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out.

Don’t bother, sweetheart. Even I haven’t sorted myself out.

She recovers quickly. “How long was I asleep?” she asks, giving me only a hint of a smile, even though she knows exactly how I’m looking at her. It’s not the smile I so desperately want to see; it’s sadness that still lingers in her eyes. I don’t make girls smile—it’s just not an emotion I bring out in them, apparently. But I’m determined to fucking change that.

“We’ve been here for a couple of days. You had a fever.” I fall on the bed beside her. “How’s your hand?”

She places her hand over her bandaged wrist. “It still hurts when I move it. Will it get better?”

I grab it and inspect it, moving her wrist around, trying to keep my fingers soft knowing it hurts her. “Now that you’re awake, we will have to start working on therapy, among other things…”

She smirks and pulls her hand away. “I suppose you know how to do that, too?”

I shrug and move a piece of matted hair from her forehead. “Not really, but I’m good at pretending.”

She slumps her shoulders and stares at the small door I just walked through—her only escape to the outside world. I underestimated her strength or how close I was to losing her entirely. I’ve already decided that when I see Nigel again, I will cut off both his fucking hands for what he did to her, or maybe his leg. Then I’ll keep him alive for a couple of days before killing him in the worst way possible so he can experience what it’s like to lose an appendage before his miserable life ends.

“How far away are we from the others?” she asks, looking around the cabin again as if seeing it for the first time. I get it; she hasn’t been lucid since we’ve been here, and it’s dark. It will be dark here moving forward, the closer we push to December.