Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Prize

As I pick my way up the muddy incline, my thoughts tangle and knot. What exactly am I doing? Checking messages? Calling for help? Neither feels quite right. I'm not a prisoner here, despite Beau's possessive declaration yesterday. Yet I'm not entirely free, either. The memory of his words—"You're mine now"—sends another tremor through me, equal parts thrill and unease.

The truth is more complicated than either captivity or freedom. I want...what? To know the option exists? To keep a tether to my old life while I decide about this new one?

Halfway up the slope, I check my phone again. Still nothing. I climb higher, mud clinging to Beau's boots, my breath coming faster with exertion. The higher I get, the more exposed I feel, like a creature that's ventured too far from its burrow. The forest around me is alive with sounds I can't identify, reminding me how foreign this world is to me, how dependent I am on Beau's knowledge and protection.

I stop at a rocky outcropping, checking my phone once more. One bar flickers uncertainly at the top of the screen. My heart leaps. I could call someone. My boss. My neighbor. Anyone.

I stare at the screen, finger hovering over the keypad. Who would I even call? What would I say? "Hi, I'm alive, just shacked up with a mountain man who thinks I belong to him now"?

The absurdity of it hits me, and a nervous laugh bubbles up from my chest. Five days ago, I was drowning in a life that felt meaningless—dead-end job, empty apartment, relationships that never went anywhere. Now I'm on a mountainside, wearing a stranger's boots, contemplating whether to return to civilization or stay with a man who looks at me like I'm his reason for breathing.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The voice—Beau's voice, rough with fury—slices through my thoughts like a blade. I spin around, nearly losing my footing on the slick rocks. He stands ten feet below me on the slope, eyes flashing dangerously, hands clenched at his sides. No rifle. He must have returned early, found me gone.

My mouth goes dry. "I was just?—"

"Getting signal?" He gestures to the phone still clutched in my hand. "Planning your escape?"

"No! I wasn't?—"

"Bullshit." He climbs toward me, each movement controlled but radiating barely contained rage. "I told you. I fucking told you yesterday. You're not leaving."

"I wasn't planning to leave," I say, standing my ground despite the flutter of fear—and something else, something darker and more primal—in my belly. "I just wanted to check my messages. Let people know I'm okay."

He reaches me, towering over me on the narrow outcropping. His eyes are storm-dark, the blue nearly swallowed by black. "Let people know where you are? So they can come take you away?"

"No one's taking me anywhere," I snap, irritation cutting through my apprehension. "I'm an adult, Beau. I make my own choices."

"And what choice are you making right now, sneaking behind my back?" His voice drops lower, more dangerous. "Testing me? Seeing how far you can push before I break?"

My heart hammers against my ribs, blood rushing in my ears. "That's not?—"

In one swift motion, he snatches the phone from my hand. Before I can protest, he hurls it into the forest below, sending it arcing through the air until it disappears among the trees and underbrush.

"Beau!" I gasp, shock and anger coursing through me. "What the hell?"

His hand closes around my wrist, not painful but implacable. "We're going back," he says, voice eerily calm now. "And then we're going to address this."

"Address what?" I try to pull away, but his grip is unbreakable. "You don't own me. You can't just?—"

"Can't what?" He leans in, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Can't protect what's mine? Can't keep you safe from your own recklessness?" His other hand cups my face, the gesture at odds with the fury still smoldering in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out here alone? The predators? The cliffs? The hidden sinkholes after all that rain?"

The genuine fear beneath his anger penetrates my defiance. He wasn't just angry that I might leave—he was terrified for my safety.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, the fight draining out of me. "I didn't think?—"

"No, you didn't." His grip on my wrist gentles, but he doesn't release me. "Come on. Before you catch cold in those wet boots."

The walk back to the cabin is silent, tense with unspoken words and simmering emotions. He keeps hold of me the entire way, as if afraid I'll bolt into the forest if given half a chance.

Inside, the cabin feels different—charged with an energy that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. Beau closes the door behind us, the soft click somehow more ominous than a slam.

"Take the boots off," he says, his back to me as he hangs up his jacket.

I comply, setting them neatly by the door, watching him warily. When he turns, his expression is composed, controlled, but his eyes still burn with that dangerous light.

"You disobeyed me," he says simply. "Endangered yourself. Tried to contact people who would take you from me."

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