My wolf whines as my eyes drop lower.
Holy shit!
The man’s hung like a horse. Long, thick… semi-erect. Heat floods through me. Not subtle. Not ignorable. A full-body response that makes my knees weak and my breath catch.
Stop.
I turn completely around. Face the trees. The hills. Anything except him standing there like some ancient god stepped out of the heavens.
Pull yourself together, Nadia. Focus.
I breathe in slowly and take in our surroundings. We’re at the edge of the small town. Logging community. One main street. Gas station. Diner. General store. Motel with a vacancy sign flickering. Civilization. Communication. A way out.
“We should go into the town,” I manage, my voice huskier than it should be. “We need clothes. Supplies.”
“Agreed.”
Professional. Calm. Like he’s not naked in the snow with a woman whose biology is screaming at her to turn around and—
No.
I pull the ruined coat tighter. Pain flares in my shoulder. Good. Pain, I understand. Pain makes sense.
This doesn’t. None of this does.
“My bag,” he says from behind me. I nod quickly, suddenly remembering that I’m still clutching it. I drop it somewhere in the vicinity of where I think he’s standing. There’s the hiss of a zip as he opens it, and then the rustle of clothing.
Breathe. Just breathe.
“I have a pair of sweats if you need them,” he says.
“What?” I can’t get my wits to function.
“Pants,” he says.
“Oh. Right. Yes,” I say stupidly. I’ve been bare-legged for so long I’ve stopped noticing it. I reach a hand back, still keeping my eyes fixed ahead, and feel the fabric pressed into my palm. Ifumble as I pull them on. They’re way too big, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Are you… um… decent?” I ask, feeling like a fool. What self-respecting shifter would even ask such a thing?
“Depends on your definition of it,” he says, humor in his voice for the first time since I laid eyes on him. I turn around cautiously, just in time to see a flash of amusement in his eyes. It makes him look… softer?
Stop thinking about how he looks, dammit!
“I need to contact Aurora,” I say.
“All right.” Again. Agreement without question.
I start walking before I can examine why this unsettles me more than resistance would.
The gas station has a payphone mounted to the wall outside. I dig for coins. Blood loss makes my fingers clumsy. I breathe a silent prayer when I find some loose change in the inside coat pocket.
He stands ten feet away. Not hovering. Not crowding. Just present. Watching the street. The parking lot. Scanning for threats.
Being useful without being asked.
I hate that I notice. Hate that even bleeding and exhausted, I’m aware of exactly where he is. How far. That if I turned around, I’d see—
Stop.
