I look at him, properly now. The man is huge, well over six feet, and better looking than any man has a right to be. Where Lucky is impishly beautiful, with those long lashes, devilish smile and glorious hair, Beau is golden tanned and clean shaven, all hard planes and angles. And Dom . . . Dom is dark and dangerous. Stubbled and broad and deadly.
Keep their hands off me? Sweet raspberry popsicles. I feel faint.
“There are five of us at Bristlebrook, darlin’。 We’ve had women there before and it . . . Well, it don’t work too well. Not when there’s the chance she’s the last woman we’ll ever see, you understand? Too much jealousy. Whole heap of drama.
Whether you can pull your weight or not, well, that isn’t really the problem.” Beau’s voice has taken on that slow, coaxing tone again, like he’s worried I’m going to bolt. I’m not altogether sure I won’t. “We decided after the last time that if we had a woman under our roof again, she’d belong to all of us. Equally. Or she couldn’t stay.”
My mouth forms a small o, mind racing.
Belong? What an unattractive word. And unfortunately, not an unfamiliar concept for me.
Except . . . they want me to belong to all of them?
That part is new.
Dom cuts in, a grim, knowing expression on his face. “You ever even been under a man? Well, how about five? Not that we’d all take you at once—” He tilts his head as if considering that, then shrugs. “Probably not, anyway. But none of us have been with a woman for nearly three years now. You think you’re ready to keep up with that kind of demand?”
Dom leans in close enough that I can smell his warm, earthy scent. His voice is full of delicious threat. “You think you’re ready to keep up with me?”
An image pops into my mind, of Dom shoving between my thighs, that same dangerous look in his eyes. Of him punishing my mouth with his tongue and teeth. Of our bodies slick with sweat, fighting, aching, until I whimper and writhe beneath him.
Heat pools low in my stomach with a vicious suddenness I’ve never felt before.
Dom pulls back, a frown flickering across his face as he studies me.
I avert my eyes and take a shuddering breath. He’s right. There’s no way I can do that. I’ve only ever slept with one man— my husband, Henry—and he was always less than impressed with his frigid wife. Quite simply, I don’t enjoy sex. To even think of sleeping with five different men is . . . well, it’s . . .
My heart is racing again.
“It has to be your choice, darlin’，” Beau drawls. “We won’t take anyone who isn’t willing.”
I stare at him. For some odd reason, my feet won’t move.
The silence stretches a little too long, then Dom shrugs. “All settled then. We’ll walk you back to the river and see you off.”
His relief is insulting, but he also reminds me of my burning thirst. I nod once, mind racing, and hear Beau let out a hard, disappointed breath. Cheeks hot, I don’t look at him.
It’s just because they haven’t had a woman in months, I remind myself as we make our slow way around the clearing and back into the woods toward the river. Nearly three years, they said. It’s a supply and demand issue, that’s all. It’s rude, really.
My only value isn’t in my body. I kept myself alive all this time, didn’t I? So many others haven’t.
Again, I avoid looking at the putrid corpses. They won’t take long to sour in this heat and birds are already starting to flock to the fresh meat. I tuck the remaining cheese into my pocket for now. I don’t think they’d ask for it back, but I’m not taking any chances.
Beau is close behind me, raising the hairs on my skin like static electricity. Lucky walks to my left, shooting me glances clearly designed to catch my eye. I study our feet instead. He has a musical walk, as though he’s just a step away from dancing.
My foot throbs against each brush of grass, and I wonder if I’m in any position to ask for that strip of iodine-soaked cloth Beau had earlier. Sweat dampens my back and arms, stinging my bullet wound. Should I be worried by how little I can feel in that arm now? Beau said he was a doctor, didn’t he? I can’t possibly ask for more help, though. Not now.
I think of the remaining hunters, out in the woods somewhere. Are they still around? Have they scattered? I’m in no state to keep running, and my little knife seems more pathetic than ever.
By the time we reach the clearing, I’m trembling from head to toe. The days of fear and running and scrounging crash in on me, and I have to lean on Lucky’s muscled arm for support. He helps me to the riverbank, and I sit with a grateful sigh, moving my toes through the cool, silky liquid.
Edging forward, I wash the dirt from my hands, then cup them to catch some water. It trickles from the creases in my palms too quickly, but I lick every drop I can. If I didn’t have company, I’d be tempted to stick my head in.
A hand touches my shoulder. Lucky offers me an empty tin bottle with a small, sad smile. He looks like a Viking with that long, tied-back blond hair, albeit a very clean one. I take the bottle with a grateful nod and fill it to the brim.
When I finish drinking, Beau sits beside me and opens his bag.
“You don’t have to—” I protest, but I’m cut off as he grasps my elbow, gently pulling the injured arm closer.
“I didn’t finish,” he says gruffly, “and this arm needs to be looked at.”
I close my mouth as he tends to me and decide to let him work. Truthfully, I’m glad for the help.
I made a few sneaky trips to the library in the last few years—for some reason, no one ever thinks to raid a library—and I picked up some books on herbology to try to cover the medicinal basics I need. I know better than to attempt to find drugs these days; the places they might have been found are either long since hollowed out, or they’re war zones. The books were sufficient, and I learned enough to get by, but nothing replaced modern medicine.
Or, at least, what used to be known as modern medicine.
I grit my teeth as he cleans and disinfects the wound.
“This needs stitches.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t have anything to numb the pain.”
I grimace. “Just do it. I’d rather have them.”
Beau’s eyes flick to mine, gauging my reaction. Then he pulls out what looks like a small sewing kit, though the needle is wickedly curved and unlike any I use on my clothes. He tugs me closer, and his other arm holds me steady. Small flecks of golden brown warm his green eyes. His hair is tousled and small beads of sweat cling to his hairline from the soupy heat of the day.
The first suture drives all thoughts of his face from my head, and I cry out in pain despite myself. His lips compress and eyebrows lower, but he keeps going.
“Beau, you can’t torture her for not coming with us,” Lucky calls. “You know that, right?”
My gaze catches on Dom. I could have sworn he was watching me, but he’s so absorbed on re-loading his gun, I must have been mistaken.
I try to breathe through my nose until Beau pulls back to examine the tight, even stitches. When he’s finished, I let my pent-up breath out in a rush, and he quickly wraps a clean bandage around the area. He doesn’t leave, seeming to fight with something in himself.