Freya

She could pretend. She could fake confidence.

But the pounding of her heart, the cold sweat dripping down her spine, and the nausea gripping her stomach told a different story. This was her worst nightmare come to life—alone, in a forest, with him.

Nova tossed his head, his adrenaline mirroring her own, his ears flicking nervously. He sensed her trembling, her spiraling panic, and he was ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

"If you're going to start stalking me, Caleb," she managed, her voice sharper than she felt, "then maybe it's time I involve the police."

Her words sounded strong, but the tremor beneath them was impossible to hide as they approached him and his dapple-grey horse, Ash.

Caleb's lips curled into a slow, mocking grin that didn't reach his dead eyes. "Police? Don't be so dramatic, Freya. I'm just out for a ride. You know everyone uses this trail." His voice dripped with false innocence, but the malice in his tone was unmistakable. "Don't flatter yourself, darling."

Her stomach churned at the way his words lingered.

"But," he continued, his smile shifting into something colder, darker, "since we're here now, I have to ask—how are you holding up?" His voice was poisonous, feigning concern, as his sharp eyes studied her. "You look... tired. Is something on your mind, Freya?"

She didn't answer. Her jaw clenched so tightly it sent pain shooting through her skull.

Her mind raced. She calculated the distance she'd need to gallop to escape, but the odds weren't in her favor. Ash was built for speed—an Arabian, one of the fastest breeds in the world. Nova, her sturdy Friesian, couldn't outrun him.

And what if Caleb caught them? The thought of what he might do to Nova made her throat close up.

She rolled her shoulders, forcing herself to stand her ground. Her nails dug into her palms, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.

"What the hell happened back at the stables?" Caleb asked suddenly, his voice sharp and demanding. His eyes narrowed, and the air seemed to thicken around them. "Answer me."

"It was nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression darkened. "Nothing? To me, it looked like another man—fucking Seth—had his hands on you." His lips twisted, his teeth bared in something between a grimace and a snarl. He bit down hard on his bottom lip.

"You don't need to worry about Seth," Freya forced out. "There's nothing between us."

Caleb's head tilted, his smile returning—but it was sharper now. "Oh, sweetie," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "You don't see it, do you? Seth is dangerous. He'll use you. He'll ruin you."

Freya's throat tightened, but she shook her head faintly. She couldn't move. Her entire body felt locked in place.

"And you," Caleb growled, his voice dropping into a low, menacing tone, "belong to me."

Her breath caught. The words were a knife, cutting through her thin facade of control.

"I've missed you," he continued, his tone softening in a way that made her skin crawl. "I've been miserable without you, Freya. But you've done this to us. You've created this.. distance."

With a sharp press of his heels, Ash stepped closer on the horse.

Freya's hands tightened on Nova's reins as Caleb leaned closer, his eyes boring into hers. They weren't just cold—they were empty. Hell itself lived behind them.

Before she could react, Caleb lunged. His claws dug into her skin. In an instant, the warm, familiar connection to her soulmate—Nova's steady back—was gone. Freya's body slammed into the ground, the impact forcing the air from her lungs in a painful rush.

The thunder of her beloved horse's hooves echoed as he bolted away in fear, and soon after, the other horse followed.

Before she could gather her wits, Caleb's burning touch was on her again. Gravel bit into her skin as he dragged her across the trail, down into the ditch. Her breath came in frantic gasps, sharp and shallow, as if the forest itself had stolen all the air.

Panic tightened its grip on her chest. Her eyes widened in terror as she stared at Caleb towering over her, his expression a mask of cruel determination. Everything moved too fast—she had no time to think, no time to plan—before his weight pressed down on her, pinning her into the dirt.

Freya fought back with everything she had. Her arms flailed, striking at him, clawing at his face, but it wasn't enough. He was stronger. Her legs kicked wildly, desperately trying to throw him off, but he held firm. His hot, rancid breath came closer, so close she could feel it against her cheek. She turned her face away, her body twisting instinctively to escape him.

The pressure on her chest was suffocating. Her arms and legs slowed, her strength fading as the fight drained out of her. The forest grew deathly quiet, save for the rasp of Caleb's breath—loud and invasive. Her mind recoiled, retreating into itself, searching for a place to hide. A place where Caleb's shadow couldn't reach her.

But in the distance, her mind refused to ignore a sound—low, familiar, and growing louder. A growl, deep and resonant, broke through the haze of fear.

And then, suddenly, the weight pressing her down vanished.

Her eyes snapped open to see Seth Harlow, a force of pure fury, tackling Caleb to the ground.

Seth's fist hit Caleb's face, over and over, the sickening crunch of bone and the splatter of blood filling the air. Caleb's groans grew weaker with every blow, his face a mess of red, his body limp beneath Seth's unrelenting assault.

Freya sat up, trembling, her wide eyes locked on the scene before her. Seth was a darkness—unstoppable, merciless. His bloodied hand rose and fell, painting Caleb's face in crimson.

"Seth," she whispered with what felt like her last strength. "I need you."

Even though his focus and his fury were still deeply locked on Caleb's bloodied face, Seth turned his head in response to her faint whisper. His azure eyes froze on hers, and for a brief second, she could almost see into his wounded soul.

He threw himself off Caleb's limp body and reached out his hand. Without hesitation, she stretched out her own, their grip strong and firm. Her legs wavered as she tried to stand, and her breath refused to steady.

"I've got you," he said, wrapping one arm around her back while the other slid beneath her legs. He lifted her up and carried her to the bike. Her limbs hung limply as she sat on the seat, her gaze fixed on the sight of violence—and the shattered pieces of her heart—left behind on the gravel road in front of her.

But as Seth's warmth pressed into her back on the bike, she felt safer than she ever had before. His grip tightened around her, and he rested his face against her shoulder.

"I'm here... you're okay," he whispered into her sweater, and his words reassured her more than she ever thought possible. Seth started the bike but still kept his arms firmly around her before they sped off.

Sped away from the bloody scene, the fear, and the broken fragments of her soul left behind in the silent forest.

The cold air cut against her skin, but she barely noticed it through the numbness that had settled into her body. She let her head—still protected by her riding helmet—fall back against his chest. His support, his warmth, was what kept her upright.

He was the one who kept her breathing.