“We didn’t know he was coming back here. We thought he’d gone.”
I’m lifted off the cold steps like I weigh nothing, and then glorious heat surrounds me.
Awareness comes with each step.
Warm bare skin under my face, my hands.
The faint trace of sweat and . . . outside.
He smells like the forest. Soil and grass and wind.
Lynx.
I don’t open my eyes, but I know it’s him.
They’re still arguing, whoever’s with him, but I’m too tired or out of it to care. I tune them out, too focused on the way he’s holding me so fucking tight.
I’ve got a nagging feeling that I should be scared right now, but I can’t remember why. And honestly, I don’t want to because this feels too good, and avoidance is my friend. Always has been.
The brush of lips against my forehead is so faint I wonder if I imagine that too. The soft sigh I let out is real though because I feel safe in a way I can’t put my finger on.
The very last thing he should make me feel issafe.
But for now, I can ignore the fact that he doesn’t seem to give a shit whether I live or die. That he pisses me off every time he opens his mouth. For now, I’m going to rest my head against that solid chest and pretend that the incredibly hot guy carrying me up the stairs is someone other than a monster from my nightmares.
Because the alternative is too frightening to deal with.
The next time I wake,my head is unfortunately clear.
I know without opening my eyes that I’m back in that pretend hospital bed. Still in the Wild Wolves’ compound.
Still in a heap of fucking trouble.
I keep my eyes closed, letting my other senses do the work as I try to ascertain if I’m alone. It takes effort to make my breathing stay the same, to take long slow breaths instead of the sharp quick ones I so badly want to. Doesn’t stop my pulse taking off though, my heart beating so hard I’m surprised the sheets aren’t moving.
“I know you’re awake.”
My eyes fly open at the sound of his voice, all pretence of sleeping gone out the window, and now my breathing matches the frantic beat of my heart.
Lynx is sat next to my bed, muscled forearms resting on his thighs as he watches me. He’s alone, I think. It’s hard to tear my eyes away from him to look around. I’m hit with so many conflicting emotions I can’t grab hold of one long enough toknow how to feel, how to act. So I ignore them all. “How long was I out?”
“A while. It’s Wednesday morning,” he says, carefully.
Wow, almost a whole day then.
It takes a moment for the events of yesterday to hit me, but when they do, it’s with the force of a fucking train. My hands grip the bed sheets of their own accord, my mind suddenly offline.
Lynx cocks his head, watching me. I force myself to breathe, to find some calm before I have a heart attack.
“Are you scared of me?” His voice is soft, but his gaze is anything but.
It’s a loaded question.
We both know it.
I could pretend I don’t know exactly what he’s asking, probablyshouldpretend, but I clearly have no sense of self-preservation, because I don’t want to. “You’re the same as Birch.”
There’s a moment of silence.
