What started as dusting off a spot for my bedroll turns into a deep-cleanse of the little house. After finding a sponge and broom in a small closet, I decide I have nothing better to do. In a way, it gives me a semblance of control over being stuck in such an unfamiliar place. The table and counters now stand shining, where previously there had been a thick layer of dust. The little basin resembling a sink is now glistening, freshly scrubbed. The floors are no longer grimy after months of dirt resting undisturbed and I lose track of time that has passed since Luke left.

Whack!

I swear my soul is scared out of my body when the door slams open with ample force. Dusk arrives just as Luke makes his entrance. It's a good thing the walls are made of stone. Any other material, and there would be a fist-sized hole where the door knob is.

"Check the windows," Luke barks as he rushes to secure the door and locks it. He drags one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen and wedges it under the knob for good measure.

I stare at him, my brain slowly stitching his words together with his actions. "Wait, what? Why?"

Luke turns his eyes on me, and there's a fierce, impatient glimmer reflecting back into mine. "The windows. Make sure they're locked, and the bars are intact." His long legs carry him across the room to the table. Slinging his quiver over and off his shoulder, he adjusts his grip on the bow's riser before placing it down gently, muscles in his forearm rippling. I swallow. Something about the scene before me is wrong, his tone calm, but his movements mechanically swift.

"Are you deaf?" he snaps, wiping sweat off his tanned brow. "I did not spend three hours securing the perimeter for you to just let a Skinwalker crawl in through the window."

My neurons finally get the message, and I gasp, just the mention of Skinwalkers enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. I need to test the windows. Now.

I stumble over my own feet in my haste to the nearest window. It's barely visible outside, the darkness quickly covering the dense forest. Still, I can make out the trees and their leaves, bushes and undergrowth undisturbed. My heart pounds, searching for anyone that might be out there.

Calm down. It's just a precaution.

I check and double-check the locks on all four windows in the building. I even pull on the bars with all my weight to ensure their sturdiness. Only when I finish with the last pane of glass does my heartbeat slow.

Luke is leaning against the kitchen table, his arms assuming their usual crossed position. He nods at me, non-verbal approval that makes me feel like I did something good. Something important. I smile inwardly, more tension easing off of me by the minute.

"I'm sorry," Luke breathes softly. "I know this can't be easy for you. I didn't mean to shout. I'm just..." He combs a hand through his hair, leaving dirty blond clumps to stick up in every direction. "I'm just stressed out and I know it's not your fault. I apologize for taking it out on you."

I'm not really sure what spurred him to open up to me, but I'm not upset at this development.

"Thank you," I stutter. "For apologizing. I understand that this isn't a vacation for you, and you're not doing this of your own choice, but I'm thankful nonetheless." He bobs his head in acceptance, eyes roaming the cleaned floor. The only indicator of him noticing the shining floorboards are his sculpted eyebrows creeping toward his scalp.

Nervous, I sit at the table, taking the one remaining chair. Luke doesn't seem to mind, clearly content with lounging on the side adjacent to me. He pulls his dinner ration out of his satchel and begins to eat. Although I ate half of a loaf of bread and a few nuts while he was gone, my stomach is not satisfied.

Watching him is undoubtedly fascinating. His right shoulder is to me, so I get a perfect profile of his face as he rips off a piece of the flatbread loaf with his teeth. The way his jaw muscle contracts when he chews incites in me the strangest urge to rub my finger along the tendon, its undulating rhythm entrancing.

His throat bobs as he swallows, inciting me to do the same. He takes a small sip of water from his canteen before taking another bite. My blood is racing through my veins for an entirely different reason now.

Tall and toned, he exudes confidence and talent. Skilled. Deadly. A survivor. He exudes confidence, but that's only on the surface.

Though his company may be moody and quarrelsome, he's displayed profound acts of kindness. Thoughtfulness. Caring. He's not the fire-eating savage I've been cautious about this whole time. I am sure of these little things, yet the whole of him is still an enigma.

Casting my eyes to the fire steadily burning, I imagine this day behind his eyes. Being commanded to take a stranger across the perilous countryside, especially against my will, I can understand where some of his disagreeable nature stems from.

As embers dance upward and into the chimney, I feel as if the fear and uncertainty gripping my heart is unraveling, one thread at a time. Gently, a contented amity between us is sewn in its place.

Turning back to Luke, I am caught in his attentive gaze. He curiously assesses me, and for once, I don't back down. I don't look away. I offer the smallest of smiles, testing the flavor of this new atmosphere. I savor the way his lips quirk to the left, unable to hold back his own simper.

Out of the darkness sounds a low howl.

My head whips around to the door, and I take comfort in the locks securely in place. Still, the lamenting outcry strikes a chord of fear, sharp and resounding through my bones. I am in the Outlands, subject to wild animals and wild people.

But I'm safe. Luke will keep us safe.

The melancholy baying continues, and I picture a wolf singing a ballad to the rising moon. The image does well to take the edge off my fear.

"You can relax, they won't come within twenty meters of here," Luke pipes up, trying to ease my mind.

"How can you be so sure?" I ask. It's not like he built a wall in three hours.

He smirks. "I spread Aunt Sol's pepper mixture around. With the noses on those things, they'll stay away." He pushes off the table, striding over to the fireplace to stoke the fire. The warmth it emits drives away the house's damp draft. I draw closer, the flames beckoning me with promises of cozy comfort.

Crouched beside me, Luke and I listen to the firewood crackling. He feeds the fire another log, and it spits embers in a blazing flurry. The only sound in the room is the whistle of the moisture being burned from the new addition, and my own heartbeat in my ears. This is the most peaceful moment I've had in days. When he plops down, lying back on my bedroll I set out earlier, I get the feeling he feels the same way.

"Where am I supposed to sleep now?" I joke. He gazes up at me from the floor. Seeing him in such a vulnerable position sends nervous tingles down my spine.

"Outside, I guess," he shrugs. I kick him in the foot and he chuckles. "There's room for two." Why does everything he says feel like a challenge? My pulse quickens at the thought of sleeping next to him.

"I think I'll just take yours, thanks for offering," I reply sweetly-sour. After rolling out his bedroll on the opposite side of the fireplace, I stretch out and close my eyes, the warmth lulling me to sleep.

◊ ◊ ◊

I sit up, alarmed. My eyes whip around the room in search of the noise that jolted me awake.

My eyes settle on Luke, crouched on one knee. His form is silhouetted, backlit by the fireplace.

He turns to me, placing a finger to his lips, signaling me to refrain from asking all the questions currently racing through my head. We listen for it to happen again, but it doesn't.

A loud noise woke me from my slumber, but I can't place where I've heard it before. Luke clutches his bow and stalks toward the window. I realize he must have slept with it by his side. I've never seen him unarmed.

Peering out, Luke slowly reaches behind him and slides an arrow out of his quiver. His long arms are seeping tension as he nocks the arrow, but doesn't pull the string back. I curl up, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, apprehension rolling off of me in waves. I'm one step short of trembling as I watch Luke check each window.

After a few tense moments, he replaces his arrow and returns to the pallet beside me.

"It's gone now," Luke states. His voice is deep and rough as gravel from slumber. I picture waves crashing on a rocky cliff bottom.

I nod, but there's something in the back of my mind preventing me from relaxing.

The Outlands never cease to amaze and terrify me alternatively. One moment, my heart is racing in fear, and the next, I'm rapt in the people and culture of my surroundings. The emotional whiplash is exhausting. Add that to the hours of walking in the heat, and here I am, wide awake and miserable. I hug my knees close and peer at my companion.

The fire is low in the hearth, casting a bronze glow on his features. He has a far-away look on his face, one that I've witnessed countless times in the past few hours. We both could use a distraction.

"Tell me about your favorite place," I offer. I want to smooth the crease that seems to permanently reside between his eyebrows. I hope taking him on a mental journey to a place he enjoys can do just that.

He turns to me, blinking, then his gaze seems to go through me as he sifts through memory.

"The forest," he breathes. "In Autumn, when the air gets cooler and the leaves change. It's like the trees are shedding their old selves." Luke focuses once more, and his eyes meet mine. "The aspen leaves, they turn the color of your hair in the firelight."

I can't stop my breath from hitching, and I'm sure he hears it. My eyes are drawn to his throat as his adam's apple dips.

"Aspen trees?" I cover quickly.

He nods. "It's where our family name comes from. My ancestors settled among the aspen forests near Keir." Luke shifts his attention from me to the dying fire. "And you? Your favorite place?"

I open my mouth, sure of my answer, but I pause. My favorite place is at home, in Herald. In Miles' backyard with he, Rhett, and Markee. Anywhere but here. So why can't I admit that?

Why does it feel like a lie?