Page 41 of Folds
“Because it’s what you want more than anything. And I can.”
I nod.
I know those words fit conveniently between the lines of his actual intent, but even so, everything I’ve wanted is too close to let it slip through my fingers, especially to something as silly as self-preservation. Sarah and Rowan will be furious. That’s almost enough to give me pause.
But Elias doesn’t wait, and any motion I might have of letting caution try and slide into the driver’s seat vanishes with the click of the lock. He swings the gate open and steps across the threshold, gesturing for me to follow.
I have more than enough reasons to cut my losses. The ticket to Svalbard mocking me from my inbox. The fact that owing Elias Carston a favour is a dangerous notion. Even the logistics, is it breaking and entering, even with a key? Why does he have one? Is a five-minute glimpse worth it? Maybe pining for something I could never have is better than being so close, allowed to sate a simple molecule of curiosity while the rest lies just out of reach. All of those reasons and more fly through my mind as my feet move of their own accord toward the now open gate.
What makes my steps falter isn’t my own logic or good sense, but the flash of a towering figure in the darkness beyond the edge of the driveway. Within the span of a blink, it’s gone.
Must have been my imagination.
transactional relationship theory
The shiver that runs through my entire body when I plunge into the unnatural dim beyond the gate is easy enough to dismiss. My senses are heightened; it’s the middle of the night, and I’m alone in a forbidden place with a man who has given me a sense of unease since the first day we met. I’m sure the heavy, rapid thud of my heart is a perfectly reasonable reaction to the whiplash of the evening and the rigid timeline Elias has imposed. That has to be it; it’s definitely not the fact that the darkness just beyond the edges of my adjusted vision isn’t behaving normally. The more I try to comprehend it, the harder I stare, the less it makes sense. It’s not even an absence of light, but a physical weight that seems to disturb the air.
I shove the thought away. I don’t have time to waste diagnosing the atmosphere.
Instead I move quickly up the neglected gravel driveway, forcing myself to overlook the small oddities. The mosses and grasses overtaking the grounds are fascinating, but I can see them from the gates. I need to find what lies beyond the artificial daytime of the streetlamps.
I jump at the sound of a quiet curse. Elias. I’d almost forgotten about my chaperone, but the tall man hovers behind melike a shadow. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to fill the strange air with words.
My urgency doesn’t allow me to glance back, but I suspect, if I did, the usually smug man would be showing another expression entirely. I don’t blame him. It’s almost impossibly devoid of light for the few feet we’ve made it onto the estate.
“Let me get my flashlight.”
“No!” I spin around so quickly I lose my balance.
Between one heartbeat and the next, I’m plummeting toward the ground, falling backwards with not nearly enough poise to guarantee I’ll land on the softest part of me. I brace for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, I am met with a lack of sensory input so absolute that it is deafening.
“Breaking all of our unspoken rules tonight, aren’t you?”
The shift is violent. I’m no longer falling. I am braced against a hard, warm surface. Judging by the rhythmic vibration in time with the words in my ear, I think it’s safe to say that surface is a man. The familiarity that floods me is uncanny.
But that’s nearly impossible. When one wakes up at 7 PM every day, they don’t tend to have booming social lives, at least not in their thirties. I don’t know enough people here to recognize someone by feel alone. The closest thing I have is how many times I’ve imagined what Rowan’s body would feel like against mine, but I don’t think my imagination is quite that powerful.
Yet, the firm hands that grip my shoulders and steady me until I’m back on my feet, feel right. Even once I have my composure, I still feel the heat radiating from behind me. I angle my body to assess the man who just saved me from an unceremonious tumble, but his grip on me strengthens slightly, keeping me facing forward.
“Don’t turn around, Auburn. Trust me.” His breath is hot, searing against the shell of my ear, as he whispers the words to me.
I should run. Scream, maybe. It doesn’t feel necessary. The unease that has tangled my stomach in knots is suspiciouslyabsent. If I were more reckless, I would explore the hot tingle of curiosity that’s replaced it.
That voice…
“Auburn!”
The sheriff stands a few feet in front of me, his eyes wide as he stares through me as if I’ve been erased from being. I wave weakly.
“Auburn, where the fuck are you?” His tone is thin and impatient, but he doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
The aura around me shifts, clearly unhappy with the man whose composure is obviously fraying in front of us.
“He can’t see us because he only sees the space where we should be,” the deep voice offers, barely above a whisper, an edge that is so familiar I can’t stand it.
“How can that be?” I don’t know why I match his volume, but the barely audible sound feels so natural in the heavy and expectant dead of night.
“He doesn’t belong here.” I’m aware the heat at my back hasn’t dissipated. My logic is short-circuiting against a sudden and bone-deep desire to lean back into him.
