Damon's POV

THE BACK DOOR OF THE cabin flies open as the slippery knob escapes my grasp, a gust of wind pinning it against the wall. I close it behind me as quickly as I can, shoving most of the snow back out. As soon as I do, another gust of wind comes knocking while another rattles the windowpane. The storm has turned nasty now, its temper at its fiercest.

Thank goodness.

I hear Seraphina's thought along with her sigh of relief. I turn around, finding her standing a few feet away in one of my sweaters, a spoon in her hand, and an uncertain smile on her face.

At least, her temper seems to have waned. Her thoughts are no longer a murky sea but a stream, still flowing rapidly, but finally back on course.

"For a moment there, I thought you were not coming back," she says out loud, her thoughts practically singing with relief. "The storm has really picked up."

I brush the snow off my arms. "It has, but you should not have worried."

"To think you do not even have a shirt on you. You must be freezing cold." She puts down the spoon and grabs the lantern from the kitchen table. "I will go get the quilt."

"You do not..."

But she is gone, her footsteps and the light from the lantern fading down the corridor.

In the darkness, I walk up to the stove and take the lid off the pot. Immediately, the fragrance of the rabbit stew assaults my nostrils, making my mouth water.

"I hope you do not mind," Seraphina says as she comes back to the room, draping the quilt over my shoulders. "I cooked a meal. Got hungry."

I step away from the stove, a little wary of her change in attitude. "It smells good."

She smiles. "Glad you think so. Well, I do know a bit about cooking. Now, you go into the living room and warm yourself by the fire. I will bring the stew."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Are you ordering me around?"

Seraphina places her hands on her hips. "And if I am?"

The alpha in me gives a low growl. The hungry man silently complies.

I walk to the living room, and sit on the rug in front of the fire. But not too close. The warmth seeps into my skin in seconds.

"Here you go."

Seraphina hands me a bowl of stew then sits beside me with her own.

As she does, my eyes are drawn to her, feeling like I am seeing her for the first time. Her light brown hair basks in the firelight, transforming into a sea of gold. Her bluish gray eyes remind me of a winter morning, the kind where you do not know if the sun will finally shine or if more snow will pour down from the heavens. Her upturned nose sits atop a pair of lips that are neither too full nor too thin, the lower lip fuller than the upper.

Conscious of my gaze, she runs her hand through her hair. "I washed all the blood off, did not I?"

I nod. There is no trace of a head injury at all, the skin as unblemished as the day she was born.

I think about asking her what made her change her mind. Why she had come out of her room when nothing I could say or do had made a difference. But questions of that sort are a danger. I start asking things, then she will start asking about me. The tradeoff is not worth it. I tear my gaze away, and stare at my stew instead, picking my way carefully around the carrots, eating the rest.

Seraphina blows on her stew and tastes it cautiously. I can almost feel her reaction, it is too hot for her. We are too closely attuned. She tilts her head, listening to the wind. "I am not really an indoor person. I have never been. I need to tell you I am a bit of a claustrophobic. Though, strangely enough, I also like cozy spaces and long, tight hugs."

I shake my head. "I do not like hugs," I say without thinking. Why I am volunteering this, I do not know.

She chuckles. "Well, it does not take a mind reader to know that." She mixes her stew around. "Your guestroom is not cozy at all, though," she says, answering my unspoken question from before. "It is stifling. How long has it been empty?"

"You are its very first occupant," I confess, realizing that whether I voice what is on my mind or not, she is going to insist on making conversation.

"Well, that explains it, though I should have guessed. Now that I think about it, it is surprising you even have a spare bedroom, being antisocial and all."

I frown, only just biting back the growl that would warn anyone else to back off. "I am not antisocial. I just have not found the right company. There is a difference."

She shrugs it off, like it is not important. "No need to explain. I know it well."

She does?

She sighs. "Well, once I could think straight, I could not stand staying in that little room another minute. I just had to get out of there. Then like I said, I got hungry." She lifts her bowl. "And you know what? I still am. Enough talk. Let us eat."

She picks up her spoon and starts eating, stuffing the bits of rabbit meat and vegetables into her mouth and slurping the rich soup. Some of it trickles down her chin and she hastily wipes it off. "What?" she asks me, with an amused grin. "Never seen a hungry woman before?"

I do not answer, digging into my own bowl of stew. She is not the only one who is ravenous.

In minutes, my bowl is empty, not a drop of the stew remaining, my stomach fuller than before. I had even eaten the damned carrots after all.

"Good?" Seraphina sets her own empty bowl in front of her.

I set mine down as well, nodding. "You are right. You can cook. And it is good to share a meal with someone again."

My thoughts fly back to the last time I did, back at Volkovgrad. Back when evenings meant sitting around the fire with several members of my pack. I lost myself in the image for a moment, savoring what I could no longer have.

"Wow." Seraphina's eyes grow wide. "You sure have a big family."

Damon's POV

I snap the image down, fighting the urge to snap at her as well. "I have let her into my mind again. I am out of practice keeping my guard up. It is my own damn fault she got in. I need to work on that."

"Work on what?" she asks me.

"Nothing," I tell her, my words terse, letting her know in tone and body language that she needs to drop this. "You are right. I did have a big family. End of story."

Of course she is not about to let that lie. "What happened?"

"We had our differences."

"I see." She leans back against the edge of the couch, her arms folded behind her like a cushion. "Well, a lot of families fail to get along at some point."

I turn my head to look at her. "What about your family?" I ask to distract her, to get her off my past and somewhere else. I feel almost guilty about it when I sense a pang of sadness from her, but it lasts only a moment.

"I was raised on a farm," she says, and it is her who is choosing her words carefully this time. "No siblings."

I see the farm, acres of fields and meadows stretching out from every direction, a large house against the horizon and a few trees dotting the landscape.

"It looks nice."

Seraphina nudges my shoulder. "Hey. Do not read my mind without my permission."

"You did it first," I remind her, maybe a little harsher than necessary.

She sticks out her lower lip. "It is not like I can control it. I am new to all this, remember?"

"Neither can I."

We are at an impasse. She lets out a sigh as she rests her head on the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "This is so awkward."

I have to agree. The way I have experienced it, the bond comes first, the telepathy a natural consequence of it. This time, however, there is no bond, just the telepathy. It is like having a musical instrument in an orchestra but not knowing what part of the piece you have to play.

Seraphina turns her head toward me. "How do you do it? I mean, what if you are on a date and you find out your date does not like you? Do you just walk away? Or what if you find out your date likes you, but you do not like her? What if you realize she is lying?"

I scratch my chin. "Actually, I have never been on a date before."

She gasps, sitting up. "No way."

I raise my eyebrows at her.

"I mean, I am just..." She shakes her head as she lifts her hands then clasps them on her lap. "Surprised, that is all. I mean, look at you. You are... not that bad."

That was not her first choice of words, but I let it go.

"Really? The first time you saw me, you thought I looked like a homeless beggar."

She gapes. "You..."

I shrug, the quilt falling off one of my shoulders. "Cannot control it."

She frowns. "Well, yeah, that was my first impression, but that was before..."

She stops, her gaze falling on my chest. I tense, catching a whiff of that scent of desire off her again, but it is faint and fleeting.

Seraphina stands up. "You know, you really should put on a shirt. Why do not you go and do that while I bring these bowls to the kitchen?"

Before I can say anything, she picks up the bowls and walks out of the room.

I do not need a shirt, but I do not argue, grabbing the white one off a chair and slipping it on.

"Well, that looks better," she says, nodding in approval when she comes back.

I pull on the hem. "Does it?"

She holds a finger up in the air. "Now, just one more thing."

She walks around behind me. I cannot figure out what she is up to. My eyes narrow. "What are you doing?"

"I am just going to comb your hair," she answers. "I realize you do not do that, since I did not see a comb around when I was looking for one. I know finger combing is a little awkward, but I will be careful. I promise."

I shake my head. This is too intimate. "No."

"What?" Seraphina walks around to where I can see her. "Are you scared of having your hair combed or something?"

"It is not that. It is..."

"Shh." She takes a lock of my hair, twirling it around her fingers. "It is fine."

She starts combing my hair with her fingers.

Like bolts of lightning, the buzz from her fingertips travels to the root of each hair and spreads through my scalp. The tingling sensation travels down to my toes.

Fuck.

"Am I hurting you?" she asks. "Just tell me if I am, okay?"

I do not answer, gritting my teeth as I try to get my thoughts under control. That is easier to do than my body, my hairs standing on end as heat rages throughout my veins, the mad rush of adrenaline with it.

This is why I do not like having my hair combed.

"Damon?" Seraphina appears in front of me, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Are you...?"

She stops, her eyes holding mine. Without releasing them, she brushes a tangle of hair out of my forehead, her touch sending a jolt of heat through me.

"Now, that is better."

Her soft voice, paired with that gaze and that scent of desire I now pick up from her in waves, makes my nostrils flare.

I swallow as she purses her lips. My gaze is drawn to them, watching each lip as they unfurl like petals coming into bloom and then part.

My cock throbs.

This is dangerous. Very dangerous.

Suddenly, Seraphina steps back, unsure.

The scent is gone, the moment lost. And I am left torn between relief and frustration.

"Now I know why you do not comb your hair," she mutters. "It is hard."

"It is," I answer through my clenched jaw.

"By the way..." She taps her fingers on the mantel. "I have decided that as soon as the storm dies down, I will go to wherever the nearest phone is and make a few phone calls. Someone still has to know what happened."

I take a deep breath. "Are you sure?"

She nods.

"Because I was thinking that maybe you should stay," I tell her, stretching my neck from side to side to relieve some tension. I cannot believe I am suggesting this.

"Stay? I cannot..."

"Just until I can get some answers." I sit down, putting some distance between us, while I lay things out. "While I was out earlier, I thought that since you do not know what is going on with you, and neither do I, but I know someone who might."

Seraphina walks toward me. "Then I will come with you."

Damon's POV

I shake my head. "No, Seraphina. If you come with me, he might not see us. He is not exactly friendly."

"But I cannot stay here. I have to go and let someone know I am alive."

I get on my feet. Maybe I am being unreasonable, but this is a puzzle that needs an answer. "Do not you want to know what is happening to you?"

"I do. But..." She scratches the back of her head on her way to the couch. "Maybe not yet. Anyway, let me do this first and then..."

"But..."

"Damon, I have to go," Seraphina says firmly.

"I cannot let you go." My response is automatic. I cannot even explain it to myself. I am not sure I want to.

"Please?"

Please? I am supposed to do what now, nod and roll over and beg for a belly rub? But she looks at me with those big eyes of hers, and I start to wonder what is so bad about belly rubs. Against my better judgement, I nod.

"Alright. I will take you in the morning."

"Thank you." She smiles then yawns. "I think I will go to sleep now. You do not think I can still sleep on this couch, can you? Because I do not think I can sleep on that bed. Who knows how many bed bugs are permanently residing there?"

I force a grin. None. I would know. But I leave it all the same. If she feels safer here, out in the open, I will not argue the matter. "No worries."

She climbs on the couch, pulling the quilt on top of her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I leave the room, heading to the kitchen. After a few minutes, I hear Seraphina's soft breathing from the next room. She is already asleep.

I pull out a chair and sit down in the darkness, waiting for the storm to die down. When it does, I check to make sure she is still asleep, then leave the cabin, securing both the back door and the front, and then all the windows from the outside.

I have turned the cabin into a cage, I know, just as surely as I know she will not like it. But I cannot let her leave, not without knowing what she is first. Something tells me it is important, and not just for her or me. And my instinct is never wrong.

Standing outside the living room, I look in through the window and see her brown hair peeking from under the quilt on the couch. I exhale, letting the tinge of remorse that has crept up my spine evaporate.

I have to know.

I cannot be sorry about that.

---

Seraphina's POV

DAMON IS GONE.

I know it the moment I wake up, even before I search the house, though I do so anyway just to make sure.

"Damon?"

As expected, I get no answer, the silence throughout the house is deafening. Even outside, no breeze blows. No snowflake parachutes to the ground. The storm is gone as if it had never come at all.

I walk to the window, smiling as I glimpse a patch of blue sky.

Good. Now, I can leave. Maybe Damon has just gone to get some food for breakfast or more wood for the fire, and when he comes back, he will take me to...

I pause, my hand on the knob of the front door. The brass piece rattles but does not turn, the door stays glued in place.

No way.

I give the knob another try. More frantic this time.

All right, maybe the door just got jammed during the storm. Or it is warped from not being used often. A lot of people do not use their front doors. I head to the kitchen, trying the back door. I know this one opens, I had seen him come through it last night.

No go.

I frown, not liking the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. One locked door is an accident. Two? A crime.

I try a window, lifting the frame. It, too, will not budge, and after a few more futile attempts, I find out why. It is nailed. On the outside.

This is definitely a crime. And I know exactly who the culprit is. I am no longer scared, I am furious.

"Why, that primitive, flea ridden psycho!"

I grab a chair, hurling it at the door. Then I grab another chair to sit on, burying my face in my hands, though I do not cry. I am too angry for tears.

I cannot believe Damon left me, even though he told me he would not with a straight face. Worse, he locked me up like a pet in a cage.

What kind of mind reader am I that I could not even read his real intentions? Unless, of course, he had his mind made up at that time and then deliberately changed it?

Bastard. And to think I cooked for him. To think I almost kissed him.

Closing my eyes, I run my finger over my trembling lower lip, a blush coating my cheeks as I remember the heat burning in the coals of Damon's eyes. I could have sworn he was just about to kiss me when I turned away, not trusting myself not to kiss him back if he did.

I pound my fist on the table.

Well, whatever that was, it is gone now. When he comes back, he will not have rabbit stew or any sort of warm welcome. Definitely not a kiss. In fact, I am more likely to bury my fist in the perfect jaw of his when he comes back.

That is if I were waiting around. I am not. I am so out of here.

I gather whatever food I can find in the kitchen, a few bottles of water, a flashlight, a map, some first aid supplies, and the knife for a weapon, packing them all into an empty bag. Then I change into the thickest, warmest clothes I can find, even if everything of his absolutely bags on me.

I roll of sleeves and cuffs, feeling like a child playing dress up in her parent's clothes.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tucking some wayward strands of hair under my purple ski hat, thankful I had not lost it in the plane crash.

Now, I am ready to go.

The question is: How do I get out?

I head to the spare bedroom, checking the window. It is locked, too.

I look around, trying to see what I can use to break the window open.

The set of drawers, maybe? Not the whole piece of furniture. One drawer should do. I am only trying to break glass, not put a hole through the wall.