Page 64 of Tracked
“She sounded very sure to me.” Calder’s voice felt like warm rain over my fear-frozen skin.
“Let me go,” Ben ordered, but Calder didn’t budge.
He lowered his head uncomfortably close to Ben’s face. “Remember how I dismantled your weapon last night?” He didn’t wait for his answer; of course Ben remembered. “That is what I will do to the next extremity that trespasses into her personal space.”
“I could get you kicked out for this,” Ben snarled, like we actually cared.
Calder leaned closer, and Ben, insecure as he was, tried to pull away.
“And I could have you dead, dismembered, and disappeared faster than you can saywild core.” Calder released him with that promise—that warning—and Ben tripped over his feet to get away.
“I want someone else delivering our meals, clothes ... anything to the tent,” Calder added before the other man completely fled. “Either you can make the request or I can.”
Ben was practically fuming, but he finally thought better of saying anything else and turned and stomped away from our tent as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
Calder zipped the flap shut and looked at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I set the tray on the table, and the dishes would’ve clattered from my trembling if they weren’t that soft, recyclable material.
“Lara.” His palm landed on my shoulder, and all I could think about was the calloused heat of that very hand on my throat last night, holding me to the mercy of his mouth.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, jerking away at the first squeeze of ache in my chest. “Where were you?” I sank into one of the chairs.
Calder took one of the bowls from the tray and brought it to me, a not-so-subtle instruction to eat. Pausing, he tipped his head and made sure no one was outside listening.
“Checking in with Callum.”
I stirred the cinnamon oatmeal and took a few bites, though panic had demolished my appetite. “Anything on EC?”
The feathering of his jaw muscle was answer enough. “Not yet,” he said, and catching my forced exhale of stressed frustration, added, “But he’ll find something.”
Before he could say more, the chime sounded through the speaker above, distracting us both.
“Good morning, Wild Ones,” Dr. Julia’s voice soothed through the tent. “We will begin our morning session at the gathering place in five minutes. Please start heading there so we may begin on time.”
Calder took our bowls and set the garbage back on the tray. I watched his hands the whole time, remembering how they’d held me to him—held my mouth prisoner to his. Strong and immovable and as desperate as I was.
“We should go,” Calder murmured, and I snapped my head up.
He was right, but we also should talk about what had happened last night.
Setting down what was left in my cup, I called to him just as he grabbed the zipper to open the tent. “Calder.” He stopped but didn’t turn. “We need to talk—”
“I’m sorry for kissing you,” he said, his voice like sharp shards of stone grinding up the warmth of the memory. “It was our best chance at getting Ben to not question why we were out there. If I’d had more time—”
“Stop,” I interrupted, almost desperate to not hear his regret. “I wanted to apologize.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “For putting us in that position in the first place. It’s my fault.”
He didn’t reply right away, the pulse of his jaw marking the passing seconds.
“I should’ve told you I was going. I’m sorry. I’m not used to working with a ... partner.” Our eyes locked. Mine, hopeful. His, hard.
“But I still shouldn’t have kissed you,” he repeated, like we needed the reminder.
“It’s okay.”Was I giving permission or confessing to wanting more?
Calder’s jaw clenched, his eyes taking on that wild glint I’d caught only in the moonlight.
“Don’t tell me it’s okay that I kissed you,” he said harshly. “Not if you don’t want me to do it again.”
