Chapter 4: Blood on the Docks
The mist off Havenwood Lake clung to everything in a cold, grey veil, muffling the world and turning the pre-dawn light into something diffuse and ghostly. Silas moved through it like a part of the landscape itself, his boots making soft, sure thuds on the weathered planks of the dock. Elle was a slight weight in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. The world was a blur of grey water and darker trees, the adrenaline that had kept her upright after the frantic struggle in the woods now completely spent, leaving only a hollow, trembling exhaustion.
“Almost there,” Silas murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear. The heat of his body was the only real thing in the chill.
A shape detached itself from the gloom ahead, leaning against the peeling doorframe of the old boathouse. Jasper Thorne, usually a creature of effortless motion and easy smiles, was unnaturally still. He pushed off the doorframe as they approached, his eyes, usually crinkled with laughter, now sharp and intent, scanning them in one swift, comprehensive glance.
He took in Silas’s grim expression, the possessive way he held Elle. Then his gaze dropped to her—her clothes torn at the shoulder from scrambling through underbrush, the dirt smudging her jeans, the utter limpness of her form. Finally, it fixed on Silas’s right hand, where the knuckles were raw and bleeding, a stark, violent red against his skin.
“What the hell, Silas?” Jasper’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the mist like a blade. All the playful charm was gone, stripped away to reveal something harder underneath.
“Not now, Jasper,” Silas growled, attempting to move past him toward the boathouse door.
Jasper shifted, blocking his path. He didn’t touch Silas, but the challenge was clear in his stance. “I said, what the hell? Where was she? What happened to her?” His eyes flicked to Elle again, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through the anger. “Elle? You with us, sweetheart?”
She managed a weak nod, her throat too tight to form words. The two men facing off over her felt like a repeat of the night before with Rowan, but this was different. This was raw, undiluted, without the shield of professional pretext.
“She’s fine,” Silas bit out, the words tight. “I’ve got her.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Jasper’s gaze returned to Silas’s bloody knuckles. “Who did you have to hit to ‘get her’? Or did she just fall on your fist?”
A low rumble started in Silas’s chest. “You think this is a joke?”
“I don’t see anything funny here,” Jasper shot back, his voice dropping into a register Elle had never heard from him. It was flat, dangerous. “I see you carrying a woman who looks like she’s been through a woodchipper, with your hand looking like you used it to punch a tree. So, I’m asking you, man. What did you do?”
“I found her,” Silas snarled, taking a half-step forward, forcing Jasper to hold his ground or be moved. “I found her because she was stupid enough to go walking in the woods after dark, after what happened last night. She heard something, went looking for it, and found it. A guy, camping out in the old Miller Creek gully. He grabbed her.”
The words, spoken aloud in Silas’s blunt tone, made the event real in a way it hadn’t been before. The shape in the darkness had hands. It had intent.
Jasper’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in them shifting, refocusing outward. “Who was it?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t stick around for introductions. He ran when he saw me. I caught him.” Silas’s jaw worked. “He won’t be bothering anyone for a while.”
The image was clear and brutal. Silas, plowing through the undergrowth, the violence of the encounter contained in those broken knuckles. Elle felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
Jasper was silent for a long moment, processing. The mist swirled around them, a silent audience. When he spoke again, his voice was still low, but the menace was now directed squarely at Silas. “You don’t get to be her only protector.”
Silas went utterly still. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. You’re not the only one who cares what happens to her. You charging in like a raging bull, handling everything yourself… it’s not the only way. You don’t get to decide that you’re the only wall between her and the world.” Jasper took a step forward, into Silas’s space, his own easy-going physique suddenly looking taut and capable. “You don’t get to be the only claim she has.”
The air crackled. Elle could feel the tension coiling in Silas’s arms, the way his grip on her subtly tightened. This was about more than her safety now. This was about territory. About a right that both men seemed to believe was theirs.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Silas said, his voice dangerously soft.
“Don’t I?” Jasper’s smile was a cold, sharp thing. “I’m the one who found her locket, Silas. Washed up on the shore months before she ever got here. I’ve been holding onto a piece of her without even knowing it. That has to mean something.”
The words landed like a physical blow. Elle’s breath hitched. Her locket. The silver one with the tiny sapphire chip. The one she’d thought was lost forever, melted into the ashes of her old life. Jasper had it?
Before Silas could form a reply, Jasper’s attention shifted fully to Elle, his expression softening into something more familiar, laced with a new, fierce protectiveness. “Let me take her, Silas. You’ve done your part. You’re shaking, and you’re scaring her.”
It was only then that Elle realized Silas was, in fact, trembling with suppressed rage, a fine, constant vibration that ran through his entire body and into hers. She was caught between them, a silent prize in a battle she didn’t understand.
For a heart-stopping second, she thought Silas would refuse, would turn and carry her away into the mist, declaring his dominance with a final, physical act.
But he didn’t.
With a grunt that sounded like it was torn from deep within him, Silas carefully, almost reluctantly, transferred her weight into Jasper’s waiting arms. The shift was immediate. Jasper’s hold was secure, but lighter, his body a different kind of solid against hers. He smelled of lake water and sunscreen, a stark contrast to Silas’s scent of pine and sweat and iron.
Silas stood there, his arms now empty, his hands curling into fists. The blood on his knuckles looked black in the grey light. He looked at Jasper holding her, and something profound and unreadable passed behind his eyes.
“Get her inside,” he said, his voice rough. “Keep her safe.”
Then he turned and melted back into the mist, becoming a shadow, then a ghost, then nothing at all.
Jasper adjusted his grip, looking down at her. The anger was gone from his face, replaced by a quiet intensity. “Okay,” he breathed, more to himself than to her. “Okay, let’s get you sorted.”
He carried her into the boathouse, away from the chilling damp and the lingering echo of the confrontation, leaving the silent, mist-shrouded dock and the unsettling truth of her found locket hanging in the air between them.