The boy's voice is threatening. Deep and hoarse and so quiet that it somehow sounds more menacing. But I am not scared.

"Are you one of them?" he asks, pressing the blade of his dagger farther into my throat. "Are you one of them, sent here to kill me? To keep an eye on me? Well I won't play your stupid games. I will kill you, I swear to God I will kill you if you are one of them."

I think of what I could do. He is behind me so I could try to kick him where the sun doesn't shine. I could lean down just a bit and bite his hand that is holding the knife. I could beg him not to hurt me.

The last option is less than ideal, but the other two are sound. I am not sure I could maneuver my leg backwards to hit him in the groin, but biting his hand seems simple enough.

So I lean a bit to the side and bite down as hard as I can, letting my teeth sink in deep into the bone.

His hands are huge, and though it is nighttime and dark outside, I can just make out the outline of his long fingers.

The boy barely winces as my teeth sink into him. "Shouldn't have done that," he growls into my ear. He lifts his knife away from my throat and for a second I think he is letting me go, but instead he raises the dagger into the air and brings the butt of the grip down onto my head, immediately knocking me unconscious.

***

My eyes flutter open and the first thing that I register is the wretched smell of smoke.

It is bright outside, dawn. I motion for my hands to raise, trying at a yawn, but my hands don't raise. I tug at them again, but something is holding them down. At this point my tired eyes fly open, and glance down at my hands.

I am leaning against a broad tree, seated, and my hands are tied down with some sort of strange looking rope. The bark of the tree is rough against my skin, and through my jacket. The sun is barely visible, but the luminous light shines through the branches of the many trees. Some birds fly around, and a pair of squirrels hops between the branches. It is beautiful and intimidating all at the same time. Moss covers every square inch of every visible tree, making the whole place seem like some green wonderland. The sweet chirps of some of the above birds bring this sort of serenity over the place where I am being held captive.

I hear a sizzle ahead of me and glance in that direction, where I see a small fire overtop a couple of charred logs. Behind the fire sits the boy who I assume is the one that threatened me last night and tied me to this tree.

Although boy is the wrong word. His tall muscular composure, suggests a man, not a boy. His tan skin is smooth and clean, except for on his face, where a small stubble is beginning to show. Grey eyes stare back at me, although his attention is clearly devoted to the knife in his hand, which he is sharpening against a small rock. His brown hair is short on the sides, but a bit longer on the top. A black tank top clings to his skin, revealing biceps underneath it, and showing off his toned arms. The top of grey cargo pants is visible above the fire, which he sits behind, leaning forward, sitting on, from what I can see, a log. His long fingers curl around the knife and the rock, and his right hand, holding the dagger, has some clear marks from where I bit him.

He stares at me for a while, never stopping the sharpening of his knife, and I stare at him, wide eyed, unsure of what to do.

Then he shifts a bit and looks down. "Axel," he announces in a deep, low, and masculine voice.

"I'm sorry?" I question.

"Axel. That's my name. Axel Finnegan." He sounds annoyed, but his grey eyes don't meet mine, staring down at his knife, which is glistening in the light.

"Interesting," I answer, "where did you get the rope?" I motion to the thick brown thing he has used to tie me up, with my head.

"You know," he says, stopping the repeated motion of his knife against the rock and looking up at me, "it is typical to introduce yourself when someone tells you their name."

I think about this for a second. "You didn't answer my question," I manage.

"You didn't answer mine," he responds simply.

"You didn't ask one," I respond quickly and grin.

He looks at me for a second, then a grin plays at the tips of his lips, which are slightly full. "It's twine, not rope, and it was in my pack," he motions to a backpack lying a few feet away from him.

It is now that I notice my knife, lying about a foot away from me, begging for me to take it. If only I could reach it somehow.

I look over at the man, Axel, and see that he is cutting something, not paying me any attention. So I swing my foot towards the knife.

I can't quite reach it, but after several attempts, the very tips of my toes are touching the dagger. I press down on it with the tops of my sneakers, and shift my foot closer to me by a few inches. Then I take the heel of my foot and nudge the knife closer and closer. Axel doesn't notice.

Now the knife is just a few inches away from my hand, and my fingertips can feel it, if they reach out. Once more, I look at Axel, who is still cutting something, and grab the dagger in my hand. I stare at Axel as I saw at the thick twine laced around me. And then I feel the twine drop, and know that I am free. I can run, now.

But is that the smartest choice? Axel is a lot bigger than I am, and I wouldn't get much of a start. He might be able to catch me, and most likely will. I could fight him with my knife, but staring at his muscular arms, I nearly laugh out loud at how ridiculous that thought is. If I fight him, even with my knife, and assuming he fights just with his bare hands, I would lose in seconds, and I can't afford that.

Maybe I can run only a bit and then climb a tree. I am much smaller than him, and although I have never climbed a tree in my life, it could come to my advantage. But then what? I climb the tree and I am stuck up there. It isn't as if I am as agile as a squirrel, I couldn't leap from tree to tree. If I tried I would probably fall and die. Axel doesn't seem like the type of person who would just leave me alone, if I was only a few branches above him.

"Instead of contemplating how to get away from me," his low voice startles me, but he doesn't even look in my direction, "you may as well join me for breakfast, since you've already managed to cut yourself free." He motions to the log next to him with his head.

Before I can get up to run, my stomach growls in response. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday? Two days ago? And whatever he is eating smells good, as a soft breeze wafts the tasty smell of some sort of meat in my direction.

Slowly, I stand up, and reluctantly walk over to where he sits. But I don't sit down. I just stand there looking at the strange blob of charred meat in his hand.

"Here," he hands me one on a thin stick. I bite into it. It doesn't taste too awful.

I chew it down and swallow the savory meat, small and thin, but doesn't taste too different from a mix of duck meat and chicken. "What is it?" I mumble through the bites.

He looks up at me for a second, raising his dark eyebrows, then looks back down at his own meat. "Squirrel," he says simply, and takes another bite.

I nearly throw up at the thought, and instantly gag out all my food. "Squirrel?" I groan, and plop down on the ground, a few feet from him.

I meet his piercing gaze and see that his jaw is set. "What's wrong? Is your taste too sophisticated to eat squirrel meat? Would you rather I sprint through the woods into the town, find a chicken that is still alive, bring it back here and wait for it to lay an egg? Should I go hunt down a wild boar for you, Your Highness," he says it sarcastically and with malice, "and should I strip it of its parts and cook up some bacon for you to go with your eggs?"

That was the most I have heard him talk since I met him yesterday, or a few days ago.

I grumble underneath my breath and force down the rest of the squirrel meat. When I finish, I throw the stick the meat was on into the fire, in frustration, shove my hands in my pockets and walk over to lean against a tree.

"This yours?" I see him lift up a small wooden box that I recognize as my mother's radio. I nod.

He sets it down and glances back at me. We stare at each other for a while. His piercing dark grey eyes on my brown ones, each of us trying to figure out what to do next. Unsure. Uncertain. Like a wolf and a deer, each knowing the other's presence, waiting to see who will back down first.

"You never told me your name," he clears his throat.

"I know," I shrug.

He saunters over to me and leans against the broad tree, right next to me. He is taller than me. By several inches. The top of my head reaches the crook of his nose. He stares straight ahead and I do the same, sneaking a glance at him through my peripheral vision. "So are you going to tell me what to call you?" he asks.

I shove my hands in my pockets and feel the thin paper of my mother's copy of Moby Dick. I grin. "Call me Ishmael," I say and stare up at him.

He looks down at me and smirks. "How about instead of quoting classic english literature in my face, you tell me your name," he pauses, "Ishmael."

I turn to face him. "How about you tell me why you were trying to kill me?"

"I thought you were one of them," he says simply, "but I can see you aren't."

"One of who?" I ask.

"The people behind all this."

"What?" I am confused.

"The fires."

"The fires?"

"Think about it. Have you seen any smoke coming from any of the fires except for the one at our campfire today? Have you ever seen fire that catches on everything except for wood? And where did you get that knife, because I have a feeling it was dropped on your doorstep just like mine."

I take it all in for a minute. He is right. I haven't seen any smoke from any fire. It did seem strange to me that the woods didn't burst into flames. And all the stuff he says, about people being behind this, makes so much sense. That woman that showed up at my house. The shoes. The knife.

"What are you saying," I ask, "that people are controlling all this horrid stuff that has happened to me in the past few days?"

He stares ahead. Then he bends down to pick up a rock. He tosses the rock a few times, then throws it against a tree. Instantly a flourish of movement, arises, and a bunch of rabbits start to run. Without a second thought, he flings his knife at them and manages to stab one. I groan and look away as he walks over to the rabbit, whispers something under his breath, and takes the knife out of it. I see the rabbits feet twitch and know that the poor creature is still alive. He then proceeds to stab it again, and this time the rabbit goes still.

"We're having rabbit for lunch," he says without looking at me. "And to answer your question, yes. Someone is controlling all of this."

I stare at him in shock. How could a person be behind all these inhumane things that are happening to us? "Did you have to kill that rabbit?" I ask.

"Do you want to starve to death? For all we know, the berries and fruit are laced with poison."

"When we get out of this, I am going to be a vegetarian," I announce. Axel just laughs it off, a deep laugh, that instantly feels warm and welcoming. It draws me in.

As I walk closer to him I notice something peeking up over the side of his shirt. Some sort of dark thing that wraps around his collar and goes on down his back, disappearing under the black fabric of his tank top.

I inch forward and, completely without thinking touch the thing that seems like it could choke him.

Instantly he grabs my hand, spins me around, and points a knife at my chest. Then he sees that it is me, exhales and lowers the dagger. "Don't sneak up on me," he growls.

I ignore him and point at his collar, "What is that?"

He looks up at me as if I am the dumbest person that is known to mankind. "A tattoo," He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I realize, but what is it of?"

He pauses and looks at me sideways. "It's a chain."

That startles me, but I don't understand why. "Why do you have a tattoo of a chain?" I ask.

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" He asks menacingly.

"Do you ever answer them when I ask?" I retaliate.

"How about you tell me your name, Ishmael, then maybe I will tell you about the tattoo."

I think about it for a second, then shake my head. "Have it your way, Ishmael." He says, and walks away.

"Where are you going?" I shout after him.

"What is your name?" He asks back. I don't answer him. I am not sure why yet, but I don't feel very inclined to trust him.

He keeps walking further into the woods, and further from me.

I sigh, "Beatrix Dixie!" I shout after him, "My name is Beatrix Dixie!"

He turns around to look at me. Then he nods, "Beatrix, I like that." Then he turns and keeps walking.

"Wait! Tell me where you're going! And what's with the chains?"

"I'm going to get some wood for a fire, you can come if you'd like," he pauses and turns to glance at me, "and as for the chains," he smirks, "all in good time Beatrix."

So what did yall think?

I loved writing this chapter, especially the banter between Axel and Beatrix! I hope you guys enjoyed it!♡

Why do you think Axel has that chain tattoo? And if this book is finished when you read this and you are an #rr, please don't ruin it for others!♡

Okay bye yall! Love you! I will update the next one on Thursday!