Angel's POV
I had barely caught my breath when the voice came—sharp, clipped, leaving no room for debate.
"Angel."
I froze. My heart hammered, chest tightening in equal parts anticipation and dread.
He stood at the edge of the camp, shadowed by the trees, the firelight from the other tents painting gold across his features.
His jaw was tight, posture rigid, yet magnetic—every inch of him demanding attention.
"Yes?" I whispered, my voice smaller than I intended.
"Come out. Now," he said, tone clipped but not cruel. One word, commanding, final. No room for debate.
I hesitated, glancing back at the tents. Lisa and Kelly were settling in with their partners, whispering and casting sly glances my way.
Kelly's teasing smirk made my cheeks heat. I didn't want to leave—wanted to pretend I could brave the outdoors alone. But then I remembered my bruised wrist, the lingering intensity in his eyes, and the magnetic pull that refused to let go.
I rose, moving toward him reluctantly, each step measured, uncertain.
"Follow me," he said as soon as I reached him, voice gruff, almost impatient. He turned toward the path leading away from the camp.
"I… I'm trying to fix myself a place to sleep," I said, trying to assert control, to keep some shred of independence.
He didn't look back. His stride didn't slow. "You're not going to sleep there," he said, a dark chuckle underlining the statement. "Not tonight. We both know you're not thrilled to be here and can't really handle the outdoors."
I froze, cheeks burning. "I… I can manage," I mumbled more to myself than to him.
"Manage?" he said, low, amused, and terrifying all at once. "You're terrified, Angel.
I know it. Besides," he said, pointing ahead with a single, sure gesture, "your luggage isn't even there. I had someone place it in your chalet."
My heart skipped a beat. Chalet?
He glanced at me briefly, just enough for me to catch a flicker of restrained emotion in his dark eyes. "Come on. Now."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the intensity in his stare shut me down. My limbs moved as if under a magnetic pull.
The walk was silent, except for the soft crunch of gravel under our feet. My thoughts raced—a chaotic storm of curiosity, embarrassment, and something dangerously close to longing.
I stole glances at him. He didn't speak, not much. He simply let his presence dominate the space around us. Broad, unyielding, effortless, yet coiled with tension.
We reached the chalet. A soft glow spilled from its windows, the faint scent of polished wood and fresh linen drifting toward me. My mouth went dry. It was beautiful—warm, elegant, inviting.
He paused, letting me take it in, then casually set my suitcase on the ground as if it weighed nothing. His eyes scanned me slowly, deliberately, committing every inch to memory.
"Inside," he said, voice firm, gruff, leaving no room for debate.
I stepped in, mind racing. The interior surpassed my imagination—plush sofa, thick rugs, a crackling fireplace, kitchenette stocked with snacks. I couldn't stop my eyes from widening.
"You… you rented this for me?" I whispered.
He shrugged lightly, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I made sure you wouldn't have to suffer outdoors. That's all."
"I… didn't think you'd—"
"I know," he interrupted softly, almost to himself. "But you're stubborn. And reckless. You'd have insisted on the tent, and I can't allow that."
My pulse quickened. The possessiveness in his words, the intensity in his eyes, left me simultaneously flustered and thrilled.
"I… I appreciate it," I said finally, unsure if I meant the chalet, his concern, or simply that he was here.
He pushed off the frame, walking to the sofa, gesturing toward it. "Sit. Make yourself comfortable. You'll be fine."
I hesitated. "You… you're sure I should… sleep here? I mean, it's… you didn't have to…"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "I know. But I did. End of discussion."
I wanted to argue, to assert myself, but his gaze pinned me in place. I sank into the sofa, letting the warmth seep into me, trying to calm the storm of nerves and adrenaline surging through my body.
King didn't move immediately. He stood near the window, looking out at the darkened campgrounds. But I could feel him observing me. Every twitch of my fingers, every nervous glance, every breath measured, noted, judged.
"Angel," he said finally, voice low, cutting through the silence. "I'll be back to check in. Don't do anything reckless."
I nodded mutely, words failing under the weight of his presence.
"Relax," he added, softer this time, a hint of tenderness slipping through the brooding mask. "You'll be fine."
My chest ached. My heart thudded erratically. My mind refused to focus. He stepped back toward the door, paused, and gave one last glance. That dark, broody gaze, mixed with undeniable protective intent, made my pulse spike.
"Try to enjoy the night. That's an order," he said, smirking faintly, then disappeared, the door clicking softly behind him.
I sank back against the sofa, thoughts in chaotic jumble. The chalet was luxurious, warm, inviting…safe. All because of him. Because he had watched over me. Because he had cared enough to make this comfortable.
I couldn't help the flush spreading across my chest. The nervous flutter in my stomach. My heart refusing to calm down. I was hopelessly flustered.
And yet, deep down, I realized I had no idea how to navigate this…whatever this was. King always had the upper hand. And for some reason, I didn't want to resist anymore.
I might have hated the outdoors. I might have been terrified. I might have been embarrassed that he knew my weakness… But I couldn't deny the thrill that came from knowing he had gone out of his way.
I had no idea how far he would go—or how far I wanted him to.
A soft laugh drifted from the camp outside. Kelly and Lisa had returned from whatever mischief they were up to, whispering about me, no doubt teasing over my encounter with King. I groaned, covering my face.
But through the embarrassment, a small, undeniable warmth spread in my chest.
King had thought of me. King had acted. King had cared.
And I knew, deep down, this was just the beginning.