Rough Exile

He had a good point, but I ran anyway, feeling like my boots might fall off between one step and the next. I took the chance of looking back at him once. He hadn’t moved, so I slowed to a walk as I got into the relative safety of the trees, trying to sort my thoughts.

I walked for what felt like ages, filling my lungs with the clean, crisp air while I watched the birds. I thought I spotted Ilya’s raven a few times.

A small part of me was still afraid of the possibility of wolves. I hadn’t heard any since the one time the guys were hunting me, though, and I could almost believe it was them being creepy weirdoes. The memory of the beautiful, deadly sound still made my bones feel hollow. Then again, considering what Bron had done to the man in the park and their complete lack of remorse, maybe wolves should be the least of my concern.

Did he really mean to keep me here forever? Knowing Ilya, he did. He wasn’t the kind of guy to say one thing and mean another. I was trying hard to be afraid and worried—to be angry that he thought he could make such a huge decision without at least discussing what I wanted with me.

The only thing I felt was relieved.

I wasn’t ready to leave the two of them and go back to playing the full-time Cinderella role in my family. Sure, there was work to do here, too, but it felt fair. More evenly divided. Here I felt like the main character in my life instead of being a servant in the background of everyone else’s.

So, the sex was rough. Ilya wasn’t wrong about me liking it that way.

What would I miss from my real life? Not much came to mind. I’d miss getting new books, but knowing Ilya, he’d buy them for me if I asked. As for people? Even though I’d raised my siblings, we weren’t friends—we’d been more like fellow hostages. They could be cute when they wanted something, but they were all ambitious and competitive, and I found them exhausting. They were also busy with their own lives, which was as it should be.

Being here meant no one could ask me for favors. My parents couldn’t guilt trip me into giving up my few plans to work at the store or clean the always immaculate house. I’d thought I loved my family, so why did the idea of living so far away from them and only visiting them occasionally fill me with exhilaration? It tasted like freedom.

The only person I really missed was Lane.

What did that say about me as a person?

Guilt gnawed at me. I needed to go home when my time here was over, but if Ilya kept me here, and it wasn’t my fault…

No. This was ridiculous. I had plans to go to school with the money Bron had promised me. I wasn’t going to stay here to be a live-in…what? Piece of ass?

I thought about all the different fields of study I could take, but going back to school now felt daunting. I’d graduated from high school at seventeen, but I’d been cleaning and raising kids since I was old enough to hold a rag. I didn’t even know who the hell I was, what I liked, or what I was good at. It wasn’t as though I had aspirations to become anything in particular—not the way Clover did, with her dream of being a doctor. My big dream had been to escape my role as my parents’ unpaid support staff.

But what was I here? Then again, what were they? We worked around the house and in the garden and fields, and with the animals. There was no pressure to be anything as permission to exist. There was no mortgage or rent to pay that I knew of, and no bills for the solar and hydro power we used. We grew or made most of our food here other than sugar and some spices.

Something in the environment changed—it wasn’t a sound or a smell, just a feeling. I wasn’t alone.

I scanned the area and caught sight of him between one tree and another. A flash, and then he was gone again.

Was he spying on me or stalking me?

I kept walking, directionless other than trying to move away from him. Had he been trailing me the whole time? Of course, he had been. It didn’t seem to matter what I was doing, Ilya was always paying attention.

“I know you’re there!” I called out, trying to calm my nerves. Not knowing what his intentions were, had made me start shaking. This was Ilya, not Bron. He was nowhere near as scary. This possessive edge he’d developed had changed things a bit, but it didn’t mean he was suddenly going to skin me alive and wear me as a suit.

I picked up speed, trying not to trip on my boots or hurt my screwed-up ankle.

“Leave me alone! I need time to think, and you’re not helping!”

Was that a twig snapping behind me, or was it one breaking under my foot? How could he move so silently when I was still loud enough for them to hear me on the mainland? They didn’t need a bell to keep track of me when my feet did an admirable job of letting everyone know where I was.

I slowed to a walk again. Either I had actually lost him this time, or he was only planning to keep an eye on me to make sure I was safe.

I found a strangely shaped tree that seemed familiar, and from there located the wider path that led to the old fisherman’s cabin. It seemed as if I kept finding my way there.

A smarter woman would have avoided the place, but the log walls were comforting when it felt like Ilya was watching me from the trees.

Inside, I assessed the work I’d done the last time I was here. The dirt floor was clean of debris now, and I’d also wiped the cobwebs out of the corners. The place could use some intact chairs.

As secret clubhouses went, it wasn’t very secret or homey, but it was the closest thing I had to privacy on the island, other than my bedroom, which apparently was public access when I was asleep. With all the fresh air and exercise I got here, no wonder I conked out at night. That they came into my room sometimes while I was asleep should have disgusted me, but it turned me on. I really needed to get a therapist.

I was sitting on the cold hearth when the door slammed open. Startled, I leapt to my feet.

Ilya loomed in the doorway, shadowed and shaggy, blocking the only exit unless I suddenly developed the power to freeze time so I could squeeze out one of the small windows. I didn’t even know if they opened.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he demanded.

“I told you I need time to think.”

“I already thought for both of us. You only need to cooperate.” He entered and shut the door behind him. His gaze took in the work I’d done on my prior visits, but I wasn’t sure if he approved.

“I hope you don’t mind I cleaned up in here.” Maybe trying to have a normal conversation with him would snap him out of this weird, dangerous mood he was in.

He shrugged. “I used to hide here when I was a boy. There wasn’t anything worth salvaging.”

“Hide?” I asked. “Who were you hiding from? Your nanny?”

“No, from my brothers. I was small for my age—or at least small compared to them.”

“They weren’t nice to you?”

“They were children hoping to win our father’s approval so they could leave this place.”

I wrinkled my nose in sympathy. “What did they do to you?”

He shrugged. “What brothers do. Stole my clothes. Tied me to trees. Whipped me and dripped soda on me so the ants would bite.”

What the fuck? Was that what kids were like when they grew up without access to the internet—they went full-on Lord of the Flies?

“My brothers didn’t do things like that.”

“Your brothers weren’t encouraged to be cruel and competitive?”

I shook my head. “No. Our parents raised us to be useful and obedient. You definitely had it worse.”

He toyed with the folded net I’d hung on some nails. It was thick and rustic-looking and felt at least quasi-decorative.

“You only had a few years of peace after they left, and then Bron came and started it all again.”

“What Bron does to me isn’t the same.”

“Maybe it’s different because you both like it.”