The silence pressed down like a heavy force as we walked side by side toward the woods behind my estate.
If she feared, she refused to show it. Her steps were sure, certain. There was no trepidation in her stride as she walked beside me, letting me lead the way.
Every time I was graced with a glimpse of her, her face was a mask of cold neutrality that chilled me more than ice ever could.
Her mouth set in a hard line—too out of place on her soft features—and I knew I was to blame.
Sleep had evaded me since I'd last heard her voice. Food offered no warmth or savor.
The rut had quieted to a dull roar, but only because my body had redirected all its resources toward simply functioning in her proximity without shattering completely.
She didn't look at me.
Hadn't looked at me—really looked—since that morning in the kitchen.
I was losing my mind, clawing at my slipping sanity and knowing that there was only one thing—one person that could alleviate my suffering.
Only her.
