She sniffed the air around them and her whole body stiffened. Her gaze turned hard. “Eric Buchanan.”
He huffed. The jig was up. She’d probably do something stupid now like refuse to go into the cabin or make him freeze outside. He didn’t care what she wanted to do, she needed to step inside the cabin and fast. If she’d been in a car accident, she could’ve sustained a concussion. She might have internal bleeding. She didn’t have accelerated healing like him. They needed to assess her wounds and prevent hypothermia from setting in.
Brenna’s back straightened and she got that stubborn look to her face, the one where she pressed her full lips into a straight thin line.
Get her safe!Brutus growled.Protect.
Knocking her out and hauling her over his shoulder to get her to the cabin seemed a bit barbaric, even if it was for her own safety.
Guess that left the other option. This wouldn’t go down well.
The wind picked up, threatening to lacerate them as they had an eye-gazing stand-off. Forcing the tension from his limbs, Eric willed the change.
Brenna threw her hands up and stomped off the patio, probably retrieving the cabin’s key from the not so secret hiding place below. She moved less stiffly, but her injuries probably pained her more than she let on.
Pain stabbed at his skin and the tissue beneath. He condensed and elongated. Bones cracked and organs shifted as his human form spread out and wiped away the wolf. By the time Brenna retrieved the key, he stood in his human skin on the patio.
Naked.
Brenna’s glare intensified. The backpack slid from her shoulder and fell into the snow.
“Get inside!” he yelled over the wind. He hopped down the steps into the knee-deep snow to help her up the stairs.
Brenna ignored him and bent to retrieve her backpack.
“Let me take that.” He reached for the bag.
Brenna flinched, ducking her head and shying away.
“I’d never hurt you,” he said.
Well, he had hurt her, but not physically. He’d never raise a hand to a woman. With a grunt, he snatched the backpack’s strap and pulled the bag from her. With the backpack clutched in one hand, he grabbed Brenna’s hand and hauled her toward the cabin’s door before she could protest or flinch again.
Luckily, she didn’t put up a fight. Either too tired, too hurt or too cold, she let him pull her the last few steps to the entrance. She shuffled through the snow, unlocked the door, and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge. Brenna went flying back, ass-first in the snow. She yelped.
“Uh…” He leaned down to help her up, extending his hand.
She snarled at him.
Okay, then.
He snatched his hand back and turned to the entrance. He ripped the door open and tried to ignore Brenna scrambling to her feet. Without a word, she walked past him into the safety of the cabin. Finally, she was safe. Brutus stopped pacing in his mind and settled while Eric followed her in and shut the door on the blizzard.
Flicking on the lights, the lodgepole pine cabin looked and smelled exactly as he remembered. Basic two-floor layout with bedrooms upstairs, and living room, kitchen and bathroom downstairs. The inside glowed a warm orange as the lights reflected off the interior wood and illuminated the minimal furnishings.
Pine, slightly infused with must, flooded his senses, but the stagnant air contained more warmth than outside.
Brenna fumbled for something in the corner table and turned to face him. He spotted a flash of metal.
The hunting knife.
Seriously?
Not exactly a warm welcome, not that he expected one. After a decade, though, he’d hoped the next time they met, he’d make a better impression. Or at least say something more profound. Anything to make up for what happened.
Now enclosed in the safety of the cabin, her scent washed over him. The aroma of coffee and candy flooded his senses, along with something else, something more subtle. Roses. As if soft flower petals lifted off the warmth of Brenna’s skin, the floral scent caressed his face. He moved closer, wanting to nuzzle into the heat of her body.
He glanced back at her face. Her gaze matched the coldness blowing around them, but her pouty lips, partially open, spoke of wanting something else. Those lips. So close.
