Lucy

I leave through the back gate of the Haven. The high, camouflage-patterned metal wall disappears behind me as I walk into the woods. The trees here in Idaho are huge, towering above me, creating a cool moist passage even though it’s a bright, sunny spring day.

My brother’s dog, Pinocchio, touches his nose to my hip. He’s a Catahoula with grey, black and white patches of thick fur. He’s smiling, his tongue lolling, as he walks next to me.

The rifle in my hands is a familiar weight. I’m a damn good shot and have brought home my fair share of dinner. I’d always planned on bringing home the bacon, but I didn’t expect it to be actual meat!

I never used to like hunting—not the bringing home dinner or chasing men kind. Before the Scorching, I was the girl at the bar sipping her appletini with guys coming up to me, buying me drinks, trying to take me home.

But none of those guys were right for me. None of them lit me up the way Roan does. Being near him is like standing outside as a summer storm approaches: hot, electric anticipation.

Roan is a survivor, a victor. He’s awesome at everything.

Not that he talks about himself. He’s quiet, which I love and hate.

Pinocchio stops and I pause, taking shallow sips of breath just like Roan taught me, practicing silence. Pinocchio points with his nose in the direction of a nearby bush, his tail extended and paw lifted.

Probably quail.

I give a slight nod, letting Pinocchio know to go, and I raise the rifle to my shoulder.

The rifle’s a gift from Roan—a small, perfectly balanced piece just right for me. He said he found it somewhere, but I know it wasn’t that easy; guns aren’t just lying around. The Scorch Flu isn’t the only danger in this new world. Without the constraints of law, the worst of humanity has flourished and now everyone who can carries a weapon.

Pinocchio dashes into the bush and three quail give cry, flapping their wings and climbing into the sky. I track one, its white belly bright in the afternoon sun. I brace for the noise and pull the trigger. The quail stutters in its upward flight, plummeting to the ground, its lifeless body thumping onto the soft forest floor.

Pinocchio grabs it for me and I truss the bird’s feet before hanging it on the metal hook attached to my belt, another gift from Roan.

I’ve made it clear I want him. Roan’s a good man, a wounded man, a fascinating, sexy man…the only man for me. But when I try to say things out loud to him about us, my throat just closes and the words won’t come. There’s some lock on me that has never happened before.

The fact that he makes me speechless just makes me want him more.

I want to know every detail about him, and yet I can’t ask him anything, afraid to scare him away even more. And yet, some part of me knows, just knows, he wants me too.

“Nobody around but us chickens,” I sing a bar of the old song to Pinocchio. My mom loves that stuff. She had a real love story. My parents fell for each other when they were sixteen and got married a few years later, had all of us kids and lived happily ever after…until he was murdered.

Dad worked as an undercover cop trying to expose the organized crime networks of Philadelphia. I don’t remember him but I’m sure I would have loved him, because I can see him in all my brothers, who I adore. Each one is more lovable than the next, even if they still treat me like I’m a little kid.

Pinocchio leads the way through the forest at a happy trot. He likes it when we hunt. Right now, Pinocchio’s the best friend I’ve got, the only friend who hasn’t told me to stop chasing Roan. Even Roan’s told me to stop.

But I just can’t, because we belong together!

I kick at a rock in my path. Damn that man.

I spot a porcupine quill on the ground. Roan has a shirt with a pattern of them sewn down the front in chevron shapes. I pick it up and take a long hard look at the forest floor. I’m staring at a path—not well travelled, but definitely there.

Maybe this is where Roan’s always disappearing off to these days.

I follow the path with Pinocchio leading the way, tail wagging. He’s following Roan’s familiar scent! How crazy is it that I already know it’s him—I’m that obsessed!

Scraping sounds pull me forward to the edge of a clearing. I move slowly and quietly, touching my leg so that Pinocchio will stay close.

Roan stands in the middle of a grassy space in front of a cabin. I freeze, watching, like some freaking stalker.

He’s shirtless, all of those ripped brown muscles exposed and glossy in the sunshine, his shoulders bunching as he works. His chest glistens with sweat as he uses a metal tool to scrape an animal hide, draped over a hitching post. His jet hair is held back with a leather thong, accentuating his strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. His abs are tight and chiseled, supporting the tension of his arms.

He’s so beautiful.

Maybe it’s enough just to be near him. Maybe I don’t need anything more.

Oh bullshit! This isn’t nearly enough. I need to make him mine. I want him. And what Lucy Luciano wants, she gets.