I can hear his gentle, controlled breath in and out, louder than the chirp of the bugs and hum of the wind.
I can feel his warmth—there is no way he needs my body to stay warm.
W
hy do I stay draped over his body, then?
Because as soon as I touch him—I’m his. I can’t turn away. Some part of me I thought I had long ago buried likes his smell, how he sounds, his touch. I like it more than I should. I like a man I hate—a man who wants to kill me.
I’ve always wanted Langston. He was the first boy I ever wanted. I wanted him before I wanted Enzo. I just don’t think about that time and wanting Langston was something I never spoke out loud. I never let anyone know, even him.
That could be the truth that frees me, but I will never admit it to Langston.
It was just lust, not want for the man beneath the muscles, the smug smirk, the light-colored hair boy who taught me how to hunt, to search for secrets. He was the boy who taught me to lie.
If I could separate Langston the man from Langston’s body, maybe I’d finally give in to my desires, and we’d fuck willingly. Unfortunately, the only way to separate the two is to kill him and then fuck him, and I’m not into necrophilia.
Langston starts snoring. He’s asleep. Now’s my chance—to break free of his arms, to run.
I don’t want to run, but I shouldn’t stay snuggled up against him.
I force my head to lift and my arm to slink off his chest.
But his hand grips my arm, gently pulling it back over his chest. He’s still snoring; I’m not even sure if he woke up or not.
I huff out a deep breath.
There is no way I’m sleeping tonight.
The sun is what wakes me. It’s bright and hot and makes me squint as I open my eyes.
I slept.
I didn’t think I could.
And I’m still lying on Langston’s chest.
I jump up.
“Easy,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you breaking a nail. There are no salons around here.”
I frown as I regain my composure and remember what happened and where I am.
Birds are chirping happily nearby, and I swear I hear monkeys in the distance. We are in the wild, and I just slept on dirt. Well, technically, I slept on Langston. I should be grateful, but I’m not.
I fold my arms over my sweatshirt that is once again heating me up. I really should have taken Langston up on his offer for me to wear new clothes. These sweatpants and sweatshirt really aren’t made for the jungle.
“What now?” I ask. Please tell me this was all a joke. That we are in Santorini and he dragged me here to meet Kai and Siren.
“Breakfast.”
He snuffs out the fire and then stretches.
“You have more bars?”
“Nope, you are going hunting for our breakfast.”
I laugh. “When you call me huntress, you know it’s a nickname, right? I don’t actually hunt animals.” I hunt men. I hunt secrets. I hunt truths. Not poor, furry animals.