Chapter 21: I saw the change in your behavior, throwing yourself at me
The sun climbed higher, baking the clearing in a sticky, humid heat. Skylar meticulously followed Nate's instructions, practicing the dry draw. Her arms ached, the muscle fibres screaming protests with every hundredth repetition. Thwip-click. Thwip-click. The motion was endless, mechanical, and excruciatingly boring, but it was also a shield. Every repetition was one step further away from the desperate panic that had driven her to this man.
Nate returned two hours later, dragging two fat rabbits caught in his southern snares. He gave her another non-committal nod, verifying that she had, in fact, completed the task, before leading the way back to the hidden cabin.
The cabin was still an anomaly, a fortress of modern comfort inexplicably preserved in the ruins. Inside, the single large room glowed softly, lit by the two light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Running water flowed in the bathroom sink and tub, and the old-timey fridge hummed gently, protecting its meager stores of salted pork and canned goods. The huge wooden table was stacked with books, Engineering, Astrophysics, Molecular Biology, texts far removed from the dirt and blood of their current reality. Nate's survival wasn't just physical; it was intellectual, informed by a knowledge base that Skylar couldn't begin to fathom.
This complexity made him terrifying.
Nate moved immediately to the kitchen area, setting up the hotplate. He cleaned the rabbits swiftly, his large hands efficient and expert at the brutal task. Skylar sat at the table, watching him, trying to distract herself by flipping through a book on classical mechanics, but the words swam before her eyes.
The silence in the cabin was heavy, punctuated only by the low sizzle of rabbit fat hitting the hotplate and the rhythmic, guttural thud... thud... thud of something large stumbling outside the perimeter, the sound of the world failing to reach their sanctuary.
Skylar kept her eyes on Nate, and that was when she noticed the shift.
He was stirring the pot, adjusting the flame, his movements professional, yet his posture was too rigid. She watched him glance over his shoulder, his eyes snapping to her, trailing down her body where her sweaty tank top clung to her chest and hips. He held the gaze for a fraction of a second, a raw, palpable need, then he swore under his breath, turning violently back toward the hotplate, slamming the stirrer onto the counter. The flush wasn't just from the heat of the stove; it was a visible wave of frustration washing over the back of his neck.
He was thinking of last night. He was thinking of the desperate, urgent need they had fulfilled, the five hard, deep thrusts where he had unloaded himself inside her, the sticky, spent feeling of their bodies curled together before the cold, stark fear of pregnancy had dawned on them.
He wants to fuck me again.
The realization was a heavy, cold weight in her stomach.
She knew exactly what he was stewing over. They had established the contract in the wreckage of her old life: safety and stability in exchange for her body. She had made herself the currency, cheap and accessible, because that was all she had left. She was a great shot with a bow, yes, but Nate was a machine, he built traps, he cooked, he had power, and he understood the world with the precision of a surgeon. Until her archery skills became genuinely indispensable, until she pulled her weight in a way that truly mattered beyond the occasional target practice, her body was the only balance in the ledger.
It was a terrifying, degrading truth. If they couldn't find contraceptives or some other form of protection, the risk, the potential burden of a pregnancy, might suddenly outweigh her value. He would see her as extra luggage. He would enforce the agreement by chasing her out, back to the Rippers or worse, back to groups like Kaelen's, where her existence was defined solely by the quality of the men she pleased.
He doesn't care about me. This isn't love. It's leverage.
The thought scared her more than a pack of Rippers. This man, so solitary, so capable, held her entire future in his hands, and she knew she had to service the debt before he decided the risk was too great.
Just then, Nate walked over to the bathroom. He returned not with food, but with a metal bucket of pristine, cold water and a chipped ceramic plate and cup. He placed the plate, the cup, and the bucket on a smooth, flat stone near the edge of the kitchen counter. He then carefully poured water into the ceramic plate until it was filled nearly to the brim.
"I need you to open your hand and slap the water with your hand," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the earlier heat. "If the water splashes out, then fill it again and do it with your other hand."
He returned immediately to the hotplate, stirring the rabbit stew.
"What? Why?" Skylar asked, confused by the strange, juvenile request.
"Trust me and just do it," he said, not turning back.
Skylar looked at the silly, full plate of water. Her frustration and fear coiled into a knot in her chest. She couldn't sit here and play children's games while the transactional weight of their arrangement pressed down on them.
Without thinking, she shot back up from the table and walked quickly toward him, stopping right behind his shoulder, where the heat of the hotplate warmed her skin.
"Please, don't think I'm not honoring our part of the deal," she began, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "You are already doing a lot for me, and I am afraid you will see me as extra luggage and chase me out." She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with the rigid line of his back. "I am willing to give you what you want," she finished, her voice thin but firm.
Nate kept stirring the food, the tension in the room spiking so high it was almost unbearable.
"We already discussed that doing that would be..." he started, his voice a low growl, but he didn't finish the sentence. The implication of the pregnancy risk hung between them.
"I know what we talked about, but my body is the only thing you need from me," she insisted, taking a step closer, crowding his space. "And if I'm not giving it to you, you will see me as useless and chase me out." Her gaze was fixed on the powerful curve of his shoulder muscle, the strength that both protected and imprisoned her. "I am willing to give you what you want, when you want it, anytime, as long as you are also aware that there will be consequences we are not ready for. I know this is transactional, Nate. I have been passed around enough by men like Piercer and Kaelen to know that if I don't bring something to the table, I can be kicked to the kerb."
The sizzle of the rabbit abruptly stopped. Nate slowly moved his hand off the hotplate and let the stew cook and simmer on its own heat for a moment. He turned, his eyes flat and cold, staring down at her with an intensity that burned through the thin layer of her bravado.
"I am perfectly aware of the situation, Skylar," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. The tone wiped the air clean of any lingering sexual tension, leaving only sheer, terrifying control.
"In fact," he added, leaning in slightly, his proximity suddenly threatening, "I know exactly what you are thinking."
He took a step back, gesturing vaguely around the safe, well-stocked room. "When you saw this place yesterday, when you saw the running water and the books and the fridge, that there was power. I saw the change in your behavior, throwing yourself at me, offering me everything for the keys to this fortress." His lip curled in faint disgust. "I know you decided right then, yesterday, that you would choose and use me like that idiot Piercer, only this time with better benefits, because at the moment I am more useful than those idiots, Kaelen and them."
His gaze locked onto hers, dissecting her soul. "So I know you're thinking: if you can't give me your most precious commodity because of the pregnancy risk, then I will rethink our agreement. I know you fear being thrown back into the muck."
Nate paused, letting the severity of his awareness sink in.
"But I am telling you this, Skylar: I know everything. I know your game. And I have not survived this long by being foolish enough to risk a weak link in my chain."
He reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist, not aggressively, but with undeniable authority and pulled her back toward the counter where the ritual objects sat.
"Now sit back down and slap the water," he commanded, releasing her wrist and instantly turning back to the stove to resume stirring.
"And think about why I asked you to do it."