Wrong Way Home - Taken (Criminal Delights 1)

Their size was perfection, and when he picked one to try it, it exploded in his mouth with layers of sweetness and taste. He was so proud of their mutual achievement he couldn’t wait to see Taron try one too. Since he wasn’t leaving just yet, he might as well join Taron by the river and have a picnic. And then fuck in nature. Just the thought of it had Colin grinning.

He ran back to the house to get a box for the fruit. It then went into a basket that also held some other snacks and the juice they’d pressed themselves a week back. Within minutes, he was off, following the narrow path that led to the river. The sunlight rubbed its warm digits against his skin as he walked, humming softly, but halfway there it occurred to him that he would reach Taron sooner if he took a shortcut.

Taron had told him not to go past certain areas, but by now Colin knew the collar wouldn’t shock him, so he strayed off the path and strode across the expanse of lush grass covering the ground between thick bushes. What Taron didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

He’d never gone this way, and the sheer beauty of the untouched woodland made him contemplate just how much he’d missed this for most of his life. His attention was scattered from one tree to another, but it was the huge blooming rhododendron with its pink petals that took his breath away. He just had to get some for their home, even if Taron was to laugh at his attempts at making the cabin homelier.

Colin left the basket in the grass and approached the bush, blinded by the sun that shone from behind the rhododendron. Every time he took a step, the moss gave under his weight, but for once the ground was hard.

Something clicked—not cracked—in the serene glade, and then he was knocked over, and fell without the ability to breathe. The leaves and plants trembled above him in the bright sun, their edges red, but as first shock wore off, Colin became aware of the throbbing pain in his leg. Something was wrong. So wrong.

He gave a choked cry and sat up, only to scream out at the sight of iron clamping on his lower leg. His lungs ached as if they couldn’t inflate, but the longer he looked down at the teeth digging into his flesh, at the metal jaws ruthlessly pushing at his bare leg from both sides, the more the numbness in this area changed into unforgiving, pulsing pain. Thinking was no longer possible, and his erratic thoughts made him struggle, even though it was obvious he wouldn’t just slide out of the snares.

This time, he couldn’t stop the scream that left his mouth, and within a few heartbeats, he was scratching the ground and clutching at grass, because there was no other way to cope with the searing sensation.

“Taron! Taron,” he cried, shaking in fear when something shifted inside his leg. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t…

Sweat beaded on his back, cooling his skin, and he went frantic when he realized the basket was far away. He didn’t check for ants, had he? What if ants overran his picnic basket and ate everything?

Tears stung his eyes, and he rolled down again, shaking all over. So far off the path, he might bleed out, or he could be found by a wild animal here, trapped and unable to defend himself. He knew he should be able to do something, but staying up was impossible, and looking down at that metal squashing his limb made his guts twist.

His brain shut down, but when his fingers suddenly traced a piece of metal hanging off his neck, hope flashed inside him, bringing logic back on.

The whistle. He had a whistle.

Colin’s lips found the metal mouth as if it was a bottle of water in the desert, and he blew at the top of his lungs. Time and time again, despite the sobs choking him, Colin blew the whistle.

He didn’t hear the footsteps, and when Taron appeared above him, his touch seemingly came out of nowhere. He squeezed Colin’s shoulders and kneeled in the grass with a tense expression. He wanted to say something, but he was so frantic it came out as a mix of grunts, so he took a deep breath and signed.

With absolute focus, he examined the snares taking a bite out of Colin’s leg.

Colin looked at him and blew the whistle weakly, shaking from the cold. When had the temperature dropped? “Picnic,” he said and waved his hand toward where he thought the basket was.

Taron inhaled through his nose. He fiddled with something by the snares, and Colin was so desperate for help he wouldn’t even argue with Taron.