Page 94 of Imprisoned

Anna nods, accepting this promise. Walking back to the house together, I realize something has shifted between us. Notfriendship, not trust, but a fragile alliance built on the one thing we have in common: we both love Willow enough to do whatever it takes to protect her.

Even if that means learning to tolerate each other.

41

AXEL

The evening air feels different here in Brazil—heavy with moisture and rich with unfamiliar scents. I stand beside Willow in our garden, watching shadows stretch across the ground as the sun sinks behind the dense wall of trees. The forest looms ahead, wild and untamed—like me.

Willow’s fingers brush against mine, her touch sending that familiar current through my body—the one that silences the chaos in my head.

Her eyes are fixed on the darkening tree line behind the coastal home. “I’ve always had this fantasy.”

I turn to study her profile. The orange glow of the sunset paints her skin gold and highlights the curve of her lips. “What fantasy?”

Her cheeks flush. “Being chased through a forest.” She swallows hard. “And then caught. And taken.”

Excitement ripples through my mind, igniting something primal. The hunter in me recognizes the invitation.

“You want me to chase you?” I ask, my voice dropping low.

Willow shifts her weight, still staring at the trees. Her pulse pounds visibly at her throat. The little pixie’s heart always beatsso fast when she’s afraid. When she’s aroused. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.

“I—” She hesitates, biting her lower lip. “Yes.” The word comes out barely audible. “I do.”

I step closer, my chest against her back. My hands find her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there. Claiming. “You should know better than to tell the wolf to chase you, little pixie.”

She shivers against me.

“How long should I give you?” I ask.

The forest waits before us. Watching. Patient. Just like me.

I watch her face intently, cataloging every expression like I always do. The way her pupils dilate. The slight part of her lips. The flush that creeps up her neck.

“Twenty seconds,” she says, her voice steady despite her quickening pulse. “And we need a safe word. Just in case.”

The monster inside me stirs at the implication. She’s giving me control but setting boundaries. Always the psychologist, even now.

“Babylon,” I offer without hesitation. A civilization known for excess and fall. Fitting.

She nods, testing the word on her tongue. “Babylon.”

I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Run, little doctor,” I whisper. “Or meet chaos personified.”

The shiver that runs through her body is exquisite. For a moment, she’s frozen, caught between the animal instinct to flee and the darker compulsion to surrender immediately. Then something clicks, and she bolts.

I watch her disappear into the tree line, blonde hair catching the dying light. I count slowly, savoring the anticipation. One... two... three...

The voices in my head grow louder, hungry and insistent with each number.

Ten... eleven... twelve...

My muscles coil tight, ready to spring.Seventeen... eighteen... nineteen...

Twenty.

I launch into the forest, the familiar rush of the hunt flooding my system. Trees blur past as I effortlessly pick up her trail. I hear the soft imprint of her footsteps on the damp earth, a broken twig, and the lingering scent of her perfume.

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