Sophia didn't have much experience with violence.

She'd seen television shows, of course. Video games where characters throttled or punched or brawled. Once, in Toronto, she'd watched as a woman slammed a man against the brick wall of a tube station. She remembered the way her heart sped up, how grateful she was that there was a crowd of people around.

But Sophia had never been part of the violence before; it was an entirely different feeling. She rinsed the washcloth in the sink, watching the water turn the colour of children's Motrin. Finn was watching her with steady blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She twisted the cloth. Finn shifted in the chair.

"I wasn't thinking," Finn continued. "When he did that to you, I just—" He broke off, his jaw working. "I lost it. Completely."

Sophia turned off the tap, looking pointedly at Finn's swollen eye, his cut-up lip, and the purplish bruise blooming on his left cheek. "That's going to hurt."

She hoped that it did. Honestly, what the hell had he been thinking? He looked like a scene out of Southpaw. She dabbed the washcloth at his lip, and Finn winced. "You're mad at me. Just admit it."

"Fine." Sophia leaned closer, sponging a bit of dried blood. "I'm mad at you."

Finn's eyes snapped up to her face. Standing this close, Sophia could see the fine dusting of freckles along his nose, the sweep of his blond lashes. Blood caked his eyebrow, and he smelled of metal and hay, iron and earth. She swallowed.

"You scared me," Sophia said softly. "Watching that guy hit you... It was horrible, Finn. I thought he was going to kill you." She rubbed at her arm. "I never want to feel that way again. Ever."

His blue eyes were bright. "Would you have cared? If I was seriously hurt?"

"It was my fault."

"That doesn't answer my question," Finn murmured.

They were standing so close, now, Sophia thought; she was leaning over his chair, one hand braced against his shoulder. She could feel hard muscles flexing under her hand, feel his warm breath on her neck. A knot of heat gathered in her stomach.

She drew back. "We should have just left."

"I know," Finn said stiffly.

"And you should have listened to me," Sophia added.

"I know."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't!" He held his hands up. "I told you, I just reacted—"

"You should have waited—"

"And I wanted to defend you—"

"I didn't ask you—"

"You didn't have to!" Finn exploded. "Christ, Sophia, you didn't have to ask me to defend you. I wanted to. Don't you get that?" His chest was pumping up and down. "I will always want to protect you. Not because you're pretending to be my girlfriend, or because I pity you, but because I— I..."

He glanced away, his jaw working. Something bright and terrible filled her, the same impulse to pick at a scab.

"Because what?" Sophia pressed.

Finn shook his head.

Irritation filled her. Irritation, and something that felt worryingly like disappointment. She crossed to the sink, wringing out the cloth.

"You don't get it," Sophia said tightly. "Don't you remember what I said the other day? These things happen all the time. Men feel entitled to touch me, or flirt with me, and I have to put up with it." It was easier to talk to him this way, facing the sink, her back to him. "You get used to men behaving badly. You have to; the only other choice is to spend your whole life scared to leave your house."

Her hands were shaking. She gripped the washcloth, trying to steady her racing heart. A necessary evil. That's what Jenna Huntington — who'd once been Miss Canada — had described it as.

"Be careful, Sophia," her mother had said. "Beauty always comes at a price. You can't expect nice flowers without a bit of rain, can you?"

She was lucky. Logically, Sophia knew that. The genetic lottery had given her a lot of things: Instagram followers, a career as a beauty influencer, access to the best clubs and networking events... And she was grateful. Not everyone got that, and Sophia knew that it was only through a random assortment of nucleotides that she did.

But Jenna was right; it came at a price.

And this was it.

She turned. Finn was watching her with a stricken expression, his face very pale against the crusted blood. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"That's disgusting," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"That's disgusting," Finn repeated, his voice low. "I can't believe you actually think that about yourself. That people should be entitled to—" He broke off, his knuckles white on the chair. "Can you even hear yourself?"

"You don't get it," Sophia repeated.

"Obviously not," Finn snapped. "But I'm trying to understand, only I can't wrap my head around it because it's so monumentally fucked-up. You're a person, Sophia. Not a walking Instagram post." He blew out a breath, leaning back in his seat. "Christ, it's like you don't even care what happens to you. That kills me."

Her throat felt thick. Sophia could feel hot tears pricking at her eyes, and she turned back to the sink. Finn was right, in a sense; she never stood up to men like that. She made herself small so that they wouldn't take notice of her.

"I do care," Sophia said quietly.

"Pardon?"

"I care about how people treat me. Of course I do." Sophia met his gaze, softening slightly as she drank in his purpling bruise. "Thank-you, for what you did tonight. It was incredibly stupid," she added quickly, seeing his lips quirk, "but it was also kind of sweet."

"Anytime, Toronto."

Finn rose. Her heart sped up as he closed the space between them, and for a bizarre moment, Sophia thought he was going to kiss her. But, no; he reached past her, plucking a box of band-aids off the shelf.

She cleared her throat. "Is Gemma in tonight?"

Finn's eyebrows flew up. "You can't seriously want to discuss business with her at—" He consulted his watch. "—eleven-fifty at night?"

"No. I just want to make sure she didn't hear us yelling."

"She's out," Finn said, plucking a bandage from the box. "Romantic getaway to Banff with Cam." He unpeeled the wrapper. "Well, as romantic as their getaways can be, anyway; I suspect Gemma's glued to her laptop and Cam is too busy taking photos of mountains and mushrooms to notice."

Sophia blew out a breath. Thank God. She'd never be able to show her face again if Gemma was sitting upstairs, politely pretending to read as she and Finn hurled obscenities at one another. She hopped up on the counter.

"And your parents?"

"They live in a separate house." Finn stuck the bandage on his bloodied knuckles, wincing slightly. "About five hundred meters down the road, actually."

"Hmm."

His blue eyes were mischievous. "Why?"

Sophia flushed. Too late, she realized what this must sound like to Finn: a proposition. She threw the cloth into the sink, slipping out beneath his arm.

"I'm cold," she said. "Can we start a fire?"

Finn looked incredulous. "You're cold?"

"Yes." She was boiling, actually; the thermostat was set somewhere between volcanic lava and the sixth circle of Hell. But it was the first thing that came to mind. "Alberta is freezing in the winters."

"Funny. I'm pretty warm."

"Well, I'm not." She scratched her nose. "Can we start a fire? Please?"

Finn's lips quirked. Mercifully, he didn't press the issue any further, and he crouched down in front of the grate, shifting logs with an iron poker. Sophia crossed to the living room window. Outside, the rain was relentless, gnawing at the earth with sharp teeth. A crack of lightning split the sky. Sophia let the curtain drop, shivering as she stepped toward the fire. Finn stabbed at a log with an iron poker.

"You want a sweater?" he asked.

Sophia shook her head. "Can you drive me home soon?"

"In this?"

"It's only a little rain."

Finn gave her an odd look. "Clearly, you've never driven on a dirt road in the middle of a hurricane."

"Fine." Sophia shrugged. "I'll call Tabby then."

She punched in the number, chewing her lip. The call went straight to voicemail, and Sophia swore softly. Tabby's phone must still be dead. And it was past midnight, which meant that John and Grace would already be asleep.

"Look," Finn began, "you can take my bed, and I'll—"

"I'm not staying," Sophia said quickly.

Oh, god. That was the last thing she needed. She was already shaken from today's events, and being here with Finn — objectively handsome, muscled, his cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the fire — was hard enough. But introducing a bed into the mix?

No.

Her self-control only stretched so far.

"You don't have a choice," Finn said.

"Don't be silly," Sophia said. "It's not that bad." She yanked open the curtain again. "If we stick to the main roads, we can..."

Sophia froze, staring out into the storm. There was an odd, dark shape just beyond the fence. Almost as if someone had parked a tractor in the middle of the field. But that didn't make any sense; Finn said that the harvest season ended weeks ago.

And then she heard it. The whinny.

"What?" Finn stood. "What is it?"

Sophia twisted around, fumbling for her shoes. Finn stared at her, the poker hanging forgotten in his hand. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Out!"

"Don't be stupid," Finn said. "You're not walking home in this." The fire cast odd shadows on his face, hollowing his cheekbones. "You'll freeze to death."

Sophia ignored him, yanking open the door. Finn's face drained of blood.

"Toronto," he warned.

She sprinted into the rain.

"Sophia!" Finn roared.

She didn't turn around. She ran harder, her head bent against the rain, making for the large shadow in the center of the field.