Page 35 of Sweet Doe
SLOAN
I’m drifting in and out of a delirious sleep, and my skin feels like it's on fire, sweat soaking through the oversized t-shirt he gave me to wear.
"Asher," I whisper, my voice barely audible. My throat feels raw, scratchy, like I've been screaming for hours.
He stirs beside me, instantly alert. His hand finds my forehead, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Jesus, Sloan. You're still burning up." His voice is tight with concern.
Everything feels distant and strange, like I'm viewing the world through someone else’s eyes.
He's up and moving immediately, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a cool washcloth that he presses to my forehead. The relief is immediate but temporary. Within seconds, the cloth feels warm against my burning skin.
I slip away, falling into a fever dream.
The blizzard isunlike anything I've ever seen. Snow whips through the air in violent spirals, turning the world into a white void where up and down lose all meaning. I can't see more than a foot in front of me, but I keep running anyway, my bare feet numb against the frozen ground.
I have to get away. I have to escape before he finds me.
The cabin is somewhere behind me, growing smaller and more distant with every step. My lungs burn with each breath of frigid air, and ice crystals form on my eyelashes, but I don't stop. I can't stop. This is my chance… possibly my only chance.
But the cold is winning. I can feel hypothermia setting in, making my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. My vision starts to blur at the edges, and I stumble over roots and rocks hidden by the snow.
How long have I been running? The storm has disoriented me completely, and for all I know, I could be running in circles.
And then I hear it—my name carried on the wind, wrapping around me as it grows closer.
"Sloan!"
His voice cuts through the howling storm so easily—like a blade—and terror gives me the strength to keep going. I push harder, forcing my frozen legs to move faster even as feeling abandons my body entirely.
But he's gaining on me. Of course he is. He knows these woods and how to navigate in conditions that are completely foreign to me. And I'm leaving a trail in the snow that even a child could follow.
“Sloan, stop! You're going to freeze to death!"
The concern in his voice almost makes me hesitate. Almost.
My foot catches on something hidden beneath the snow, and I go down hard. Pain explodes through my ankle as I hit the ground, and when I try to get up, my leg won't support my weight.
The storm swirls around me as I lie there in the snow, and I can feel the cold seeping into my bones. This is how it ends, then.
"Sloan!"
He is so close I can almost feel the vibrations of his voice slicing through the air. I can vaguely see a dark shape moving toward me, closing in quickly as I begin to lose consciousness. I swear I’ve been here before. I’ve been in this exact moment.
"What were you thinking?" His voice is so gentle. So warm.
I have so many things I want to say. So many things I should say. But my lips are too numb to form words, and the cold has silenced me.
He carries me through the storm with sure, steady steps, somehow finding his way back to the cabin even through the blinding snow. The warmth blasts against my face as we step inside, and I start shivering uncontrollably as feeling fights to return to my frozen limbs.
He sets me down gently on the couch in front of the fireplace, then disappears to gather blankets. When he returns, his hands are infinite in their gentleness as he strips away my wet clothes and wraps me in nothing but a blanket and his arms.
"You could have died," he says softly, and there are tears in his eyes. Actual tears for a woman who just tried to escape him. "Don't you understand that? You could have died out there, and I would have lost you forever."
The anguish in his voice breaks something inside me. Because this is what love looks like to him—desperate, possessive, willing to destroy anything that threatens it. Twisted and wrong and yet completely sincere.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, and I mean it. Not sorry for trying to escape, but sorry for the pain in his eyes. Sorry that love has been so distorted for him and that he has never known it.
