Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Hunter Warner doesn’t do people—he does solitude, survival, and silence. As the quietest of the nine brothers, he’s built a life deep in the rugged wilds of Devil’s Peak, training people to endure nature’s harshest tests. But when he stumbles upon Lark—terrified, gathering wild berries, and being held captive by a crazed off-gridder—his instincts kick protect, rescue, and claim.
Lark’s been a prisoner for as long as she can remember, stolen from her city life by a man obsessed with controlling her every move. But the day she meets Hunter, everything changes. He’s an ex-military survivalist with a burning intensity, one who’s willing to break every rule to save her. Desperate and drawn to his over-the-top protective presence, she’s willing to put her life—and her heart—in his hands.
Hunter’s raw masculinity and lethal skills captivate Lark, while her vulnerability and inner strength awaken a primal desire in him to possess her completely. As danger closes in and the wilderness strips them bare, he knows one thing for she’s his, and he’ll kill to keep her safe.
Will Lark escape one captor just to surrender to another? Or will Hunter’s touch be the one she’s been waiting for all along?
The Rugged Hearts series is full of rugged, ex-military, mountain men brothers, steamy tension, seductive banter, and love worth fighting for.
Get ready for a steamy adventure where a reclusive mountain man risks everything for a woman who’s only ever known captivity in this age gap, touch-her-and-die, over-protective insta-love romance that will leave you craving a mountain man of your own!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Hunter
The late afternoon sun filters through the thick pines, casting long shadows across the clearing. The air smells like damp moss and pine sap—familiar, grounding, a reminder that this is my territory. My boots crunch on dried leaves as I bend to collect firewood, the rough bark scraping my hands. I should be focused on the basics: shelter, warmth, survival. But something feels off, a prickle at the back of my neck.
Then I see her.
She’s crouched by a berry bush, her hair tangled and clothes too loose, like they barely belong to her. She’s picking berries with shaky fingers, her eyes darting around, wild and wary. There’s a desperation in the way she works, as if this small act is the only control she has left. My chest tightens with a sudden, primal need to protect. She can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen and she looks like a scared animal.
I lower myself behind a cluster of ferns, keeping my movements slow. I watch her, taking in every detail. My time in the Army taught me well–I can smell fear and the fear in this woman’s eyes isn’t the ordinary kind. It’s deep-rooted, ingrained, the kind of fear that’s had time to settle. Just like the women and children living under terrorizing regimes in Afghanistan, I recognize it—and I’ve seen it enough times to know what it means.
“Hey,” I call out, deliberately making noise as I straighten. My voice is low but clear, carrying a calm authority.
She freezes, her head snapping up. The makeshift berry pouch falls from her hands, spilling its contents onto the forest floor. Her eyes—big, wide, and terrified—lock onto mine. For a second, I think she might bolt, but she stays, trembling like a cornered deer.
I raise my hands, palms open, trying to project as much calm as possible. “Easy,” I say, my tone softer now. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
She stares at me, her eyes full of questions, mistrust. I don’t move closer, just let the silence hang between us. I need her to make the next move, to decide whether I’m a threat or not.
“You’re lost, aren’t you?” I ask, taking a careful step forward. “Or hiding from something.”
She doesn’t answer, just swallows hard, her throat working as if she’s trying to find the words. Her gaze flickers to the trees behind me, then back, as if expecting someone else to appear. I keep my stance relaxed, even though everything inside me is on high alert.
“What’s your name?” I ask gently, trying to coax her to talk.
“Lark,” she finally whispers, her voice raw, like it hasn’t been used in a while.
“Lark,” I repeat slowly, letting the name roll off my tongue. It suits her somehow—wild, untamed, and fragile all at once. “That’s a pretty name.”
She doesn’t respond, just hugs her makeshift berry pouch tighter, like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at something deep inside me. I force myself to keep my voice steady.
“You don’t look like you belong out here,” I say, keeping my tone casual even though my mind is racing. “Where are you staying?”
“A cabin,” comes her simple answer.
“Where’s the cabin?” I push for more details.
Her eyes dart away, hesitation written all over her face. But then she nods faintly to the west. “It’s…back that way,” she murmurs.
My jaw tightens. The pieces are starting to fall into place, and none of them are good. Her clothes are worn, her face pale, and there’s a bruise peeking out from under her collar. It’s not fresh, but it’s enough to make my blood simmer with anger.
“Who’s with you?” I ask, my voice dropping lower, taking on an edge I can’t hide.
She hesitates again, and for a moment I think she might shut down. But then she whispers, “Cyrus. He…he took me.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Cyrus. I’ve heard stories about him—an old man who’s gone off-grid, known for doing things his own way. Rumors of a criminal record follow his name, but that’s the case for most anti-social men living up in these mountains. No one’s seen Cyrus in town for years. He’s bad news, but hearing that he’s got this young woman in his clutches makes my protective instincts flare, hard and fast. I keep my expression neutral, though. The last thing she needs is for me to scare her more.
“How long have you been with him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible.
“Months,” she says, her chin trembling. Her voice is barely audible, like she’s confessing a sin.
The rage inside me simmers hotter, but I keep it under control. I can’t lose it now. I need her to trust me. “And you want to leave, right?” I ask, the question more of a vow than a request.