Now that we have supplies, I can give her my full attention. I want to bond with her. I want her sweet and cooing under me. If it takes some lessons and punishments to get there first, so be it.
When I think of what could have happened if they’d captured her?
I’m seeing blood in my mind, their blood. If they try to come near her again I should rip them all to ribbons. But there’s also this uncertainty about them that has me way off kilter.
She pops a pill out of the packet I’d fetched for her into her mouth and swallows. I want to ask her what the pills are for. I don’t like that she has to take them. It makes something sick bubble and rise in the very back of my throat.
I swallow it down, thinking it’s best to ask my questions later. Right now, I’m anxious to get her home.
17
Ivy
Far too soon, we’re back on his property. I’ve paid attention to the route, too, so that even if I’m on foot, I’m semi-confident I know which way to go to get to my car. It’s not close and there were a few twists and turns on top of the fact that Tyson’s road isn’t marked, but I’ve done my best to commit some landmarks to memory.
He’s stopped and is out of the truck quickly, slamming the door angrily. I hesitate before I take my seatbelt off, watching him round the front to come to my side.
The look of sheer anger on his face is frightening. I engage the lock just as he gets his hand to the handle. His eyes go fiery.
“Open it!” he demands.
I’m terrified of the look on his face.
“Ivy!” He shouts.
I shake my head.
He looks at me with astonishment.
His keys are in the ignition, still. His bad. I bite my lip.
“Do not even think about trying to leave me again,” he warns, but his eyes suddenly look afraid and that does something to me.
I look away. If I don’t look at him, I don’t have to feel whatever this feeling is.
He steps around to go to the driver’s side, and I scoot over and lock the door before he gets there.
He sighs and closes his eyes.
“Come out.”
I shake my head.
“Ivy.”
I shake it some more and close my eyes as I turn the ignition.
I feel the vehicle bounce a little. He’s jumped into the back of the pickup, with the groceries.
Fuzz. If I leave, he’s coming with me.
Damnit.
The ice cream we got is gonna melt.
What a stupid thought.
What a stupid, stupid thought.
I look back and he’s got his face in the back window. He lifts an eyebrow and my adrenalin spikes.
“Come out. Now,” he commands in a deep and menacing voice.
I’m frozen, locked in a fiery green gaze, and it’s as if my mouth is suddenly filled with cotton. I turn the truck off and unlock the door with a sigh. I’ll have to figure something out later.
He’s already hopped over the side of the truck bed and is catching me as I’m exiting the truck by scooping me into his arms.
“You don’t need to carry me,” I protest but my words are ignored as he marches to the house, evidently not wanting to take chances. He opens the door and storms directly to that bedroom I’d been in before, dropping me on the bed.
“Wait here. Don’t move.”
I spring to my feet and in an instant, he’s pushed me back down, flipped me to my belly, and is pinning me with a hand in the center of my back.
“Tyson,” I protest.
His teeth are then on the back of my neck, not biting hard, but I feel them. He’s growling at me. His torso is warm, bordering on hot, over my back.
Holy fuck. He’s holding me down. With. His. Teeth.
I squirm.
He growls and his teeth tighten ever so slightly, so I stop squirming.
After an eternity, he releases.
“Stay. Here,” he bites off and then he’s gone.
I hear the creak of the door followed by slams three times as he’s obviously bringing the food in. I hear the refrigerator open and the rustling of bags. At least the beast has the sense to put the perishable food away.
I’m still on my belly on the unmade bed.
All sorts of questions float through me about him and his existence.
What the heck is gonna happen to me?
I need to go. Like soon. I have to get back to my car, find a way to get it towed, and get back home. It’s Saturday afternoon now and the boutique’s grand opening is Monday, so ideally Sunday morning would be a good time to get home. I told Megan we would need to leave the cabin of ill repute at the crack of dawn Sunday (before, when I thought it was a swanky chalet) and she agreed that’d work for her. I wonder, idly, if she’s staying the whole weekend and who she’s going to get a ride back with.