Despite the stench, the air was crisp and cool.
How in the hell did I get from a parking lot to a pasture?
She stumbled again, still a bit woozy from the descent through the wormhole washing machine, and kicked something at her feet.
She peered down.
Her duffle bag.
Sighing, strangely relieved to find something familiar, she dropped her hand from her face and slowly bent to grab the bag.
Careful to not speak too loudly, she rasped, “I hope to God this is just some dream.”
Deep down, she knew it wasn’t.
This isn’t real. This can't be real. I didn’t just fly through a black hole and land face down in Oz! Oh, God. Please let this all be a dream.
She felt like a ripe tomato someone threw against the side of a brick building. Her knees and hands were sore from the landing, and her head ached from the earsplitting noise.
Before she could gather herself to even think about investigating wherever the hell she’d ended up, a deliberate and rhythmic pounding pierced the silence, quickly approaching.
She glanced over her shoulder and gasped at the sight of a large black form advancing from over the crest of a hill.
It was coming straight at her.
Fast.
Panicking, she turned toward a line of trees and sprinted for cover.
She didn’t dare look as she quickened her steps, her heart beating out of her chest. The pounding intensified, and the ground vibrated with the speed and force of her pursuer.
Once she reached the tree line, she peered back and nearly staggered in shock. The great black beast was on top of her.
“Halt,” a man roared.
She blinked. The great beast was a large man riding a large black horse.
Fuck this shit!
Turning, she ran for deeper cover.
Behind her, the dark man grumbled a curse.
Something heavy and solid crashed against her back. At the mercy of inertia and velocity, she flew forward, hitting her forehead against a rock.
Hard.
As blackness engulfed her, only two words penetrated the encroaching fog.
“Bloody hell.”
Chapter Eight
Groaning, Logan massaged his bruised muscles. He wanted to question the woman, presently unconscious, in the bed upstairs, but he had to wait until she woke.
So, he paced.
The door to his study flew open, and he stopped in his tracks when Harry scrambled in, his clothes and hair in disarray.
