No, I’m completely aware of how outgunned I am. That’s why I lock the bedroom door and slide a nearby chair under the knob. It probably won’t hold them for long, but I can’t get the heavy armoire to budge. At the least, I hope my preparations will buy me enough time to defend myself.
Rifling through my ratty assortment of things, I find what I'm looking for and slide into a worn, oversized t-shirt and shorts. Whether I need to fight or flee, I’d rather not do either in tattered, blood-soaked clothes.
Maybe I won’t have to.
It’s nothing but wishful thinking. I’d be better off banning thoughts like that.
Sinking into the soft down of the pillow top mattress, I breathe deeply for the first time in more than a day. It’s like resting on a cloud. The duvet cover is even giving me a false sense of security with how it wraps around me, cocooning me away from the rest of the world. This bed is literally to die for. I can only hope fate doesn’t actually expect me to pay up.
I fall into a sleep that’s free of nightmares but filled with sexy men staring at me.
It’s disturbing, even in my dreams.
CHAPTER
FOUR
GIDEON
The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and I couldn’t ask for a better day to run. Too bad my mind is a million miles away. I finish stretching and take off anyway.
Each morning, I wind my way up and down the mountain trail, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. The altitude was a bitch at first, but I’m used to it now. The exercise is great for burning off my energy and keeping my animal in check.
Cal and I picked this spot for our cabin because it feels wild. We're in Colorado; it doesn't take long to get to the mountains no matter where you live here, but this section of the Rockies is literally our backyard.
My arms pump as I dig deeper. Faster. Harder. If I push hard enough maybe I’ll be able to outrun all the shit in my head.
Despite the breeze, I’m working up a sweat today. I should be enjoying myself, but instead I feel like I’m about to miss a step and swan dive off the side off the cliff. Seriously, my brain is more twisted than a corn maze right now, and I’ve never been great with puzzles.
I up my pace, feeling the burn from my calves to my quads. I trip over a loose rock. It’s easy to regain my balance, but the rock isn’t so lucky. It disappears over the edge, swallowed up by the morning mist.
If I’d ever stopped to consider what I wanted from the gods before maybe it would be her. But it’s literally never crossed my mind. I picture the waitress, my mate, in my head. Dark hair, dark circles under her eyes, and a level of exhaustion that goes a hell of a lot deeper than a few sleepless nights. She’s beautiful and tough, but something about her seems fragile, like I could break her with one wrong move.
I don’t do well around fragile things. My mom has always joked about needing to tie things down to keep me from knocking them over. While I’ve grown into my size now, it’s not like I’ve had much practice with breakable people.
She’s not what I need, not even a little bit. My brain knows this, but my body and soul don’t care. Even now, there’s a tug in my chest, pushing me to turn around and go back to her. The longer I spend scrambling up this trail, the more frustrated it gets.
How can my body know we’re made for each other when I have absolutely no idea what she is?
She doesn't smell like a shifter, but she doesn't feel like a demon or fae. I guess she could be a witch, but magic leaves a residue behind that's almost impossible to mask—even for the most powerful magic users.
Part of me wants to just throw all my cards on the table. If I tell her what she is to me, we could decide what to do together. Except that would send her running. I know that in my gut.
She might actually be the least trusting person I’ve ever met. That's saying something, considering the dodgy nature of most supernaturals. If I come right out and tell her everything, I'll never see her again.
I’m not ready to face that, so I can’t risk complete honesty yet. But I also don’t want to lie to her. Everything in me rebels against the idea of keeping secrets from my mate. That's why I've let Callum do the talking. He's better with words anyway, and I'm likely to give something away or scare her into running again if I take over.
After she went to bed, Callum and I hammered out a game plan with three simple objectives. Number one: don’t scare her off. Number two: figure out what she is. Number three: find out who is hunting her and rip them into tiny pieces.
This approach requires patience. Based on how well I slept last night knowing she was safe under my roof, it will be worth it in the long run. A sharp pinch hits my chest, so I give in and turn around.
Making my way down the mountain, I feel a little more confident. We may not even know her name, but I trust Callum with my life. If he thinks baby steps are the key to earning her trust, I’ll tiptoe around for as long as it takes. Fated mates are practically a myth. I’m not about to be the first one in history to spit on a gift from the gods.
The house comes into view, and I slow down to let my body cool off.
I toe my trail shoes off and kick them out of the porch walkway, pulling my shirt off and using it to wipe away my sweat. Walking into the kitchen, I see her standing at the coffee pot.
Despite the cooldown, my heart damn near beats itself out of my chest when she looks me over from head to toe. The feeling of her eyes running over my skin makes me want to do something incredibly stupid like snatch her up and nibble on her neck.
