Set Me Free

Run

Sofia

Elated, I run into the deepness of the night just before the dawn. I don't feel the bite of gravel against my tender feet, or the chill leftover from the spring storm, or the way the mud I splash through sticks to the backs of my thighs. I wish I had more clothing; no underwear and just one big t-shirt isn't enough, but I can't bring myself to care as I sprint down the gravel road with abandon, a bubble of laughter bursting from my chest through my lips.

I feel my hair whip out behind me, and for the first time since these freaks started taking over our planet, I feel truly free; I used to hate the outdoors, nature, the way it smelled, the dirt and grime and bugs. Even Josh couldn't get me to appreciate what he saw as beautiful in a brutal, unforgiving way. But I see it, now. In the fading moonlight shifting through the trees. In the quiet hush of the land before dawn. I even feel it, in the ache of my burning lungs and sore thighs.

I still feel the sting of Brax's reprimand on my butt, and the tingles it sends through me spur me to run faster, daring the behemoth to catch me and claim me like a dragon would conquer a princess. I don't understand the thrill of excitement that thought sends through me, the challenge a man like him presents. I shouldn't want to be near him, to provoke him, but I do, despite his strength, despite what he is.

For the first time in my life, I'm not a chicken.

And for the first time in my life, a deep, dark part of me is praying he cares enough to follow.

My thoughts are asinine, and I chide myself, sprinting down the winding gravel drive as it slopes lower and lower, trees thick on both sides. I veer off the path, needing to make my trajectory more difficult to follow. The hoot of an owl and the beat of its great wings startles me as I race through the trees, and I turn my head and shoulders for just a moment to see if it is somehow chasing me.

When I turn back around, I crash right into a solid, warm body, and I can hear the distinct crunch of my nose, taste the immediate metallic tang of my blood on my tongue and down the back of my throat. I cry out, but arms catch me, steadying me, pinning me as I thrash and growl and kick and even try to snap my teeth at whoever has me.

"Shit, chickadee, no wonder my pops likes ya," the gruff voice says. I still, blinking up at him, at his perfectly carved face, a younger version of his father with skin a few shades lighter and eyes that are a smidgen more golden than green. He smirks, his mouth wide and his lips a lush shade of pink, blond hair dotting his jaw and chin, marking him as a man—but not quite a full man, yet.

Either way, as his fingers curl around my biceps and blood flows over my chin from my aching nose, I know I am fucked. I let out a whimper, but it turns into a choked sob when I hear his voice.

"Got 'er?"

He eyes me for a moment longer before he calls back to his father through the lightening darkness.

"Yeah, old man, over here."

I can hear him stomping through the underbrush like a bull, brazen and pissed. I know I am in for it now. I can't help but wonder how broken my nose is, and how crooked it will be. The thought has me bawling and choking.

"Fuck, Girly, never be able to sire kids again," Brax grunts. Logan passes me off to his father with surprising gentleness. I feel his heavy, familiar hands clamp around my waist.

"Fuck that. Don't give me anymore siblings," Logan grunts. Brax ignores his son, turning me to face him, his fingers gripping my chin through the slipperiness of my tangy blood. He raises my eyes to his, and in the cool grey of the dawn, his eyes glint like pale silver, spiked through with darker charcoal. His hair is wild, hanging around to frame his face, his bulbous shoulders rounded and tense, but his hands are gentle. My blood doesn't deter him in the slightest.