The Edge of the World

Chapter Twelve

"Brisk brave brigadiers brandished broad bright blades, blunderbusses, and bludgeons balancing them badly."

Ian grumbled those words on repeat as he laid in the darkness of the cabin days later, after the wax doll incident. That tumultuous moment was something he and Tatum refused to discuss. Nor did they talk about the strange language he uttered to her as if possessed, and the need growing between them. Those murky, taboo subjects were always present, even as they avoided thinking too hard on them.

Another aspect of his internal struggle was the vexatious aroma of ginger lingering all around him. From her hair and flesh to the clothes they wore, everything smelled of her. Although the soap came with the cabin, he distinctly remembered her entering the tiny confines of the plane, bringing that clean, spicy fragrance with her and he would forever associate ginger with the icy eyed woman who tempted him more each day.

Now, as he lay in that bed, listening to her rhythmic breaths, he was aware of the pain in his sex, and how hypersensitive his skin was. Craving someone was something which never plagued him before, and he was trying so damn hard to stay faithful to Eva. However, the longer he was around Tatum, the more he was aware of her curves, the huskiness of her low voice, and the sensuousness of her every movement. She was seducing him without trying, and it was maddening, because he knew she wasn't aware of the effect she had on him.

How could he scorn her for something she was ignorant of doing?

But he wanted to lash her with his words, rip into her with his thumbs, breaking her psyche in half like it was a head of lettuce. He needed her to vanish, remove herself from his memories, and leave him in peace so he wouldn't become the same monster he always despised.

Like his stepfather had been.

A liar, cheater, emotional terrorist... every sick trait he loathed threatened to consume him all because of his thickening need for her. Even as he lay in the darkness, surrounded by shadow and mystery, he observed erotic images dance behind his eyelids. He watched himself fuck her as if it had already happened a thousand times before. He felt the inner walls of her pussy clench around his cock, heard the cries of her pleasure, and taste the salty sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He was obsessed with these visions of her, every muscle group in his body tensing as his very soul seemed to pay homage to their sometimes violent coupling.

His mind became lost in those craggy memories, hazy from time passed, and too far away to fully comprehend when an echo, faint but persistent, pushed through his thoughts. Soft, quiet sobs sounded like tormented whispers from a distant place, drawing him away from the divine sins he was reliving, to the present where everything seemed wrong.

The second he opened his eyes and peered through the darkness, seeking an answer to the heavy atmosphere, the sobs silenced. He frowned as he searched the room, his focus locating a shadow hunched on the other side of the wood stove.

It was there, a genuine blemish of darkness etched into the night. It didn't move, didn't make a sound, and reflected no signs of life, but he sensed it peeking around the stove, staring at him, its gaze burning through his flesh and blood, seeking his soul.

To look away from the shadow would leave him vulnerable, so he watched it, watching him as he pulled back the blankets, and slowly placed his feet on the cold floor, to stand on unsteady legs. His heart pounded in his ears, his chest going tight from fear, but he moved despite his brain screaming at him to run instead.

The shadow released a shuddering breath, as if emotions were drowning it, and he longed to ease its suffering. He didn't grasp why, but there was a connection between them.