Even though she’s a city girl, she’s resourceful out here. Following the river is the smartest way to find civilization and not get lost in the process. Unfortunately, it’s that cunning wit of hers that makes her easier to track.

As I gain ground, I quickly snatch the syringe from my boot and pick up speed. I hear her trip ahead, a fervent curse rebounds off the rock crags, and then I catch sight of her.

She splashes into the river, looking back once to gauge my distance.

“We can stop now,” I shout. “It doesn’t have to go this far, Blakely.”

She continues to wade into the river up to her knees, committed to her quest. She has nothing to lose. I have everything to lose, however, and that fear—that I feel down deep in my core—propels me forward.

The icy water bites into my body as I enter the river. I hold the syringe aloft as I come up on her, my free hand snagging the soaked hem of her shirt.

Blakely groans, her voice cracking, breath fogging the air around us, as she lodges a strike to my face. Her nails claw my cheek, and I quickly maneuver out of her reach before wrapping an arm around her waist.

I pull her back to my chest and secure her arms, syringe gripped tightly in my fist, as I cradle her body against mine. The frigid water rushes around us—and I should be shivering the way Blakely is shivering in my arms, but I’m on fire.

The freezing water prickles my skin like a million needle punctures, but soon the searing burn of her flesh touches mine. I admit, it gives me a thrill that she chose to fight—an excuse to finally hold her the way I’ve only dared to fantasize.

Suppressing my urges, I tow Blakely to the river’s edge. She’s strong, I know she is, but whatever fight she had has been drained by the river. I lay her along the flat earth to catch my breath, and she rebounds with a second wind, struggling against my hold.

“We’re done,” I say, as I clasp her wrists in one hand and use my forearm to pin her arms to the ground.

Her eyes burn with malice. Her breaths come hard, her chest rising with each strained inhale.

I bring the syringe to her neck in warning, the tip of the needle pressed to the pulse in her vein. Our eyes stay locked as the threat hangs between us.

She takes a ragged breath. “Do it,” she dares. “This is how you want me…”

The challenge in her fiery gaze ignites my soul—and it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. There’s no passion behind that heated gaze, yet she imitates it so perfectly, testing my resolve.

It’s a flaw in the design.