Page 57 of Dean's Delinquent

“Twenty-seven.”

Fuck. Close again. No. I have to trust that I’m going the right way.

Left.

“Twenty-eight.”

Softer again.

Left.

“Twenty-nine.”

His voice is barely a whisper on the breeze, a tickle on the back of my neck.

Left.

“Thirty,” I whisper out loud as I turn to the next right.

So far, I haven’t hit another dead end. The Russian must have been right.

I’m so close.

So fucking close.

Right.

As I turn, a long path yawns before me. The end is so far away. Off in the distance, the others call out. I cannot tell if they’re trying to locate me or flush me out. Placing my palms against my thighs, I lean forward a touch and pull in a gulping breath of air.

I can’t stop now. I’m so close.

Even though I can’t fully see the end, I know it’s different from the other paths.

It can’t just be a dead end.

It can’t.

The wind picks up again, stinging against the exposed bits of skin revealed by the open flaps of my robe. My fingers tremble as I pick them up and wrap them around me, but it’s too late. Goosebumps explode over my skin as my body and brain finally collide.

I’m out here practically naked with just a bit of fabric to cover me. It was hot, downright erotic at the beginning, but now, all I want to do is curl into Dean Anderson’s heat and stop shivering.

Footsteps pound around me, setting my head to aching. I can’t tell where they’re coming from. Are they close? Are they far?

Are they him?

As I look behind me, I see nothing but trees and shadows. They’re nearly the same as what stretches out in front of me. Even though I’m out in the open, it feels as if the trees close in, hovering ever nearer.

A startled bark of panic rips from my lips as I force my way forward. This has to be the way. I have to be almost there.

As I reach the end of the path, however, my heart sinks as I lower myself to the frigid ground. Nothing. Just a wall of leaves.

Was I really so naïve to think he’d be telling me the truth?

“Giving up already?” A deep voice growls out from behind me.

Dean Anderson.

Though I know he’s come to devour me, I can’t help but picture him as my devil in tarnished armor sent to rescue me first. Turning, I tip my face up to the chill and smile at the man but stop short. Instead of some polished, put together instructor about to bend me over a desk for being naughty, it’s as if some erotic demon stands before me.

---