A section of rushes near the back wall that didn’t quite match the others caught his eye. The weaving was looser, the color different.
He moved closer, running his fingers along the edge. The rushes shifted under pressure, revealing a gap behind them. He pulled the section free, exposing a small alcove carved into the wall.
Inside was a trunk.
The wood was rough but functional, sealed with tree sap to keep out moisture. Crude hinges held the lid in place. When he lifted it, the smell of dried herbs and old fur filled the air.
Clothes. Small enough to fit Michelle.
The garments were primitive but well-made... a leather tunic and leggings, fur-lined boots, a heavy cloak with bone toggles. Everything a female would need to survive in the wilderness.
His blood chilled.
“Zeke?” Michelle’s voice was cautious. “What is it?”
He lifted the tunic, holding it up to catch the light. The leather was supple, well-maintained. Recently used.
“Someone else has been here,” he said quietly. “Recently.”
Michelle stared at the clothes Zeke had pulled from the hidden trunk. The leather tunic felt supple between her fingers, worn soft from use. The stitching was crude but functional, made with sinew and bone needles.
“They look about your size,” Zeke said quietly.
She held the tunic up against her body. The sleeves would hit her wrists perfectly, the hem falling to mid-thigh.
“Where is she?” Michelle’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “The woman who wore these?”
“What makes you think it was a female?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
She pointed to the garments in her hands. “Look at the size. The cut. These weren’t made for a man.”
His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped beneath sun-bronzed skin as he stared at the garments. “There are no Izaean women.”
“What do you mean?”
“The mutation only affects Latharian males.” His voice went flat. “There have never been female Izaean.”
The words echoed in her mind, each one a hammer blow. If there were no Izaean women, then who had made these clothes? Who had lived in this cabin?
A bead of sweat rolled down his chest, hijacking her attention like she was a damned teen girl faced with her first crush. The morning light streamed through the window, highlighting every ridge and valley of muscle. Dark hair dusted the center of his pectorals, trailing down in a line that disappeared beneath his belt. Her mouth went dry and all she could think about was the feel of that chest pressed against her back all night. The weight of his arm around her waist and the thick length of his cock pressed against her spine.
Focus. She needed to focus.
“I should try them on,” she said, clutching the garments against her chest. “In case we need to leave quickly.”
He nodded and his gaze darkened as it swept over her, his pupils dilating. The intensity made her skin prickle with awareness.
“Turn around,” she whispered.
His broad shoulders tensed as he faced the wall, hands clenched at his sides. The simple act of giving her privacy sent warmth through her, intimate and charged.
She peeled off his shirt, the fabric carrying his scent… something wild and masculine that made her head spin. Cool air kissed her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. Behind her, his breathing changed, growing rougher.
The leather tunic slipped over her head like it was made for her. Soft fur caressed her skin as she worked the bone toggles, the garment molding to her curves. The leggings came next, buttery leather that hugged her legs. Even the boots fit perfectly, fur lining warm against her feet.
“Okay,” she said softly.
When he turned, fire blazed in his eyes as they traced every line of her body in the primitive clothing. His nostrils flared, and she caught a flash of raw possession in his gaze that made her pulse spike.
