He felt a thump against the back of his leg and glanced down at Sam’s expectant stare and impatiently wagging tail.
Asher grunted. “Sure, now you’re my buddy, eh, old boy? So long as our pretty visitor isn’t in the room or if I’ve got your food in my hands.”
Sam led him eagerly to his empty bowl, nudging his big head down to start eating even before Asher finished pouring the kibble. As the hound munched enthusiastically, Asher patted his short golden fur and the thicker hair at the back of the dog’s neck.
Unbidden, a memory swept over him—one of his own—from around the time that he had first arrived at Ned’s place after drifting aimlessly across the States following his release from Dragos’s control.
They’d been sitting in this very kitchen, Ned eating a bowl of beef stew at the small table that still sat in front of the window overlooking the back of the property. It was dark and Sam was in need of a run.
“I’ll take him,” Asher had offered. “You sit and finish your meal.”
Ned had given him a nod of thanks and continued eating. “Put his collar and leash on him before you let him out. That damn coyote’s been prowling around again and I don’t want Sam thinking he oughta go after it and try to drive it off. That pup’s got more attitude than sense sometimes. Kinda like a couple other people around here.”
Asher remembered smiling at the quip as he’d turned to grab the dog’s woven nylon collar with its jangling tags. As soon as his fingers had closed around the cool, unbreakable material, his whole body had gone cold.
As if he were rooted in ice, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear anything but the rush of his own blood pounding in his head. He’d been unable to breathe, feeling the ghost of another collar clamped tight around his own neck.
It was the sensation of Ned’s leathery brown hand on his arm that shook Asher out of his stupor. It grounded him, pulled him back from a dark ledge. But in that moment, Asher had seen insanity just over the horizon. So close, he could almost touch it.
“No collar,” he’d ground out, his voice wooden and distant.
Ned had squeezed his arm gently and nodded.“All right, son. No collar, then.”
They never spoke of it again, and while Ned knew the basics of Asher’s past—a consideration he felt he owed the old man in exchange for his willingness to share his home with someone so different from him—Ned didn’t know about Asher’s origins as a Hunter. He didn’t know any of the hideous things Asher had been made to do while his neck was ringed with the collar he never dreamed he’d escape.
Ned never pried, never judged. Instead, he’d tried to convince Asher—unsuccessfully—that sooner or later he would need to leave the ranch and go find a family of his own. He didn’t realize Asher’s freedom only stretched as far as his legs could carry him. He would never be free of his memories. Nor of his sins.
A soft sound jolted him back to the here and now.
Naomi cleared her throat behind him, bringing with her the fresh scent of warm, clean skin and damp, shampooed hair. Her pink cheeks and shiny black hair sent an ache through him that he could hardly curb.
But no more than the long white T-shirt she wore.His shirt.
He scowled, all he could do to bite back the sudden surge of his fangs and the heat that prickled his skin from head to toe. His erection was instant, and he knew he had to be glowering at her just from the agony of his arousal.
“I, um, hope you don’t mind. My clothes smelled like smoke from the casino and I couldn’t stand to put them on once I was clean. I found this T-shirt on top of the dresser with some other folded laundry.”
His blood rushed out of his head and went south as he realized she was practically naked beneath it. Her breasts were small and high, with little need for a bra, not that she seemed to be wearing one. The cotton held no real shape on her small frame, but it was so thin he could just make out the dusky peaks of her nipples and the hint of her lavender-colored panties beneath it.
Holy fuck.
“It’s fine,” he snarled, pivoting if only to keep her from seeing the hot coals of his eyes. Hisglyphswere writhing with dark colors, all in response to the desire he felt for this female. When he spoke again, his voice was like gravel and thick from the crowding presence of his fangs. “We can head out tomorrow night to get you some clothes. We’ll need groceries, too. I hope you’re not hungry, since anything I have here is left over from when Ned was alive. Which means it’s somewhere between inedible and radioactive.”
She laughed. “I’m not hungry, but if I get there I’m sure I can figure something out.”
“You’ll have to, because I don’t cook, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. As I recall, you make a mean can of chicken noodle.”
He felt her warmth behind him as she stepped further into the kitchen and went over to pet Sam, who was licking his newly emptied bowl. Her feet were bare, and he found himself staring, fixated on the peachy polish and the delicate silver band that circled one of her perfect little toes.
“Michael texted me while I was in the shower,” she said, sounding more than relieved. “He says everything went off without a hitch. He’s home, and he’s got the check. He’s going to bring it to the bank on Monday morning. It should clear in a few days, and it looks like Slater has no idea what hit him.”
Asher hoped she was right about that, but his gut told him she and Michael were far from in the clear with Slater. They might never be safe again. Not if he ever got wise to their scam.
Dread over that eventuality cooled some of the heat he was feeling for the Breedmate who’d not only upended his solitary existence but lit it on fire. He wanted her, no question about that, but what he wanted most was her safety.
“What did you tell Michael? You didn’t mention that you were out here with me, did you?”
