I rode for days, traveling across multiple state lines, only stopping to refuel and sleep beside my bike in pockets of forest.
Six days into my journey I crossed into New Mexico and pure exhaustion had me deciding to find a hotel. None of the larger pack towns were nearby, so it should be safe to rest for a few days. I reached Santa Fe by mid-day and parked my bike in a street lined with shops and market stalls.
After dismounting, I stretched my legs and eased the ache in my back, desperate for a proper shower and bed. I’d never been here before, but I was captivated by the city’s colorful buildings and unique architecture. Santa Fe held on to its history, and it echoed in the street until I could scent it in the cobbled stone paths and crumbling bricks.
No one paid attention to me as I explored, and I worked hard not to let my tourist show. Everyone noticed tourists, and I needed to blend. Eventually I headed back to my bike, thankful that I hadn’t encountered any sign or scent of another shifter in the area.
For the first time in almost a week I was relaxed as I munched on the meatball sub I’d purchased from a nearby café, which was the freshest, tastiest meal I’d eaten in days.
Even better, the owners directed me to a reasonably priced hotel for the night.
With the sun setting and the air cooling, I rode a couple of blocks to park beside the hotel. It wasn’t the best spot to stash my bike, but it’d do for a night. I planned on being gone early tomorrow.
Slinging my duffle bag over my shoulder, I procured a room easily enough and headed for “twenty-four,” the number drawn on the weathered green door with a sharpie. It was an old building with a square, low-set design. Ugly as heck, but I didn’t care. My only hope was for no roaches or rats. After days of sleeping on the hard ground, the rest I could deal with.
Inside, I was pleasantly surprised to find a dated but immaculate space. Cream walls highlighted simple furniture: two queen beds, a table with a lamp between them, and a desk in the corner. When I slid open the bathroom door, I discovered a shower-bath combo, and almost let loose my shriek of excitement.
I was going to soak my aching bones for an hour. Refusing to shift except when necessary had cost me over the years, but a good bath could fill some of the gaps left from my weaker healing abilities.
I locked the door and slid the deadbolt across—not that it’d stop a shifter, but it would give me a few seconds’ notice. Leaving my bag on the bed, I entered the bathroom and crankedthe water full blast. While it was heating, I retrieved my bag of toiletries. I only had a toothbrush and paste, facewash and moisturizer, along with mascara and lip gloss. Everything else was back in Florida.
My financial situation was tenuous, but I’d managed to stash a few grand over the last two years. Thank the moon goddess I had it on me when I’d run. It would hurt to dig into those funds to replace everything I left behind, but it was better than being dragged to the pack cities.
Ditching my clothes on the floor with plans to wash them in the sink later, I stepped into the shower and quickly scrubbed myself down using one of those complimentary soap packets. It smelled grossly of roses and chemicals. Usually shifters avoided anything lab-made, but for the last few years they’d come in handy to hide my natural scent.
It was my bad luck that I’d run into that alpha after finishing my shift at the diner, when I’d already sweated through the synthetic scent. He’d scented me as a shifter from across the street, and when his alpha growl hit me, I’d taken off. I wasn’t about to wait around for him to ask for my pack affiliation.
Not if I wanted to live to see my twenty-sixth birthday.
Chapter
Two
After the best bath in the history of baths, I crawled into bed naked. I didn’t have enough clothes to waste on sleeping in them, especially when I was down to three shirts, a pair of denim shorts, and two pairs of jeans. I’d be living light until I could hit some thrift stores.
By the time my head hit the pillow, I was crashing so hard that I was out for almost twenty-four hours. Once or twice a month exhaustion forced me into a deep sleep. As a rogue, it wasn’t safe to leave myself so vulnerable, but I hoped my wolf would alert me to any true danger.
When she piped up, just as I opened my eyes, screamingdanger danger dangerat me, I thought she was commenting on my trust in her, until I heard the scrape of shoes on the pavement.
I jumped off the bed and was hit with the earthy scent of shifters. Holding desperately to my panic, which would debilitate me, I yanked on athletic shorts and a tank with an inbuilt bra. With my duffle bag in hand, I raced on light feet toward the window, thanking the goddess when the flimsy screen lifted easily. On the breeze the musky scent grew stronger, indicating there was more than one shifter outside.
Fear and annoyance hit simultaneously as I cursed my rookie error in parking my bike beside the hotel and not out the back. Now I had no other option except to run and hope I found a bike to hijack on the way.
As I threw myself out of the window, my wolf stirred.Stay with the pack.
No!I cried in a panic.Pack is not for us.
After everything I’d done to remain out of the pack cities, my one encounter with that alpha in Florida had fucked it all up. I’d known he was a tracker, and he’d clearly followed my path, even as I fled across multiple state lines.
The hotel door was kicked open as I rolled across the loose gravel outside. I felt a few cuts and nicks from the fall, but even my weaker shifter healing would kick in soon, and I was no stranger to pain. It wouldn’t slow me down.
Sprinting like my life depended on it, I took as many side roads as possible, while keeping an eye out for a bike. I managed to make it almost back to the street I’d first parked in, when a rumble echoed from behind me, growing in intensity until it filled my chest.
They’d sent a powerful alpha after me, but his dominance wouldn’t stop me—provided I remained out of reach. Rough ground bit into my feet, which spurred me on harder.
It wasn’t enough, though, as strong arms wrapped around me.
I was fighting before we hit the ground, but the much larger shifter didn’t pull any punches, slamming the full force of his weight into me. I was tall for a woman, standing five-eleven in bare feet, but his frame completely engulfed mine as we went down together. “Stay the fuck down, rogue,” he growled, slamming me against the ground again.
