Page 39 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
She freezes. “Excuse me?”
I sit up slowly, taking her with me because I still haven’t let go. “Truth or dare.”
She tries to pull free. I don’t let her.
“What are my options,” she asks, voice a little too light.
“You know them.”
She bites her bottom lip. I watch her do it and my restraint wobbles. “Truth.”
Of course she picks safe first.
Fine.
I brush my thumb over her pulse just once. “Why did you come here.”
She blinks. “I won a retreat.”
“No.” I lean closer. “Why here. Why Devil’s Peak. Why my lodge. Why alone.”
She swallows. Her guard flickers. “Because I needed a reset.”
“Try again.”
She pulls her hand from mine. “Your turn is over.”
“It’s a yes-or-no question,” I lie.
“It’s neither.”
“It’s a simple truth.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re dodging.”
“You’re invasive.”
Silence cuts sharp between us. Her chest rises and falls. Mine mirrors hers. Then—from nowhere—she says softly:
“My parents loved Halloween. It was our thing. Haunted houses, pumpkin carving, dumb costumes.” Her voice goes quiet. “This holiday—it’s how I keep them close.”
My breath stills.
I didn’t expect her to answer at all—let alone like that. Something inside my chest twists. She looks down at her hands, like she regrets speaking.
So I do something I shouldn’t.
I tell the truth back.
“My mom used to send me candy corn in care packages,” I say gruffly. “When I was deployed. I fucking hate candy corn.”
She looks up, surprised.
“But I ate every piece,” I finish. “Because she sent it.”
Aspen stares at me.
