Glancing over my shoulder, I see the same man that I punched, along with another that has longer black hair, obscuring one of his bright blue eyes. Standing on the porch, they make no attempt to pick up the groceries at their feet, nervously watching us like they know their crazy friend is going to send me running for the hills.
A hand falls on my hip and I startle, attention snapping back down to the man beneath me. “That’s right. And since we’re doing everything out of order, I should probably introduce myself, too. Stryker.”
Questioning my sanity, I get to my feet and glance around. There are several houses, all spaced out with a good bit of distance between them. A heavy forest surrounds the massive clearing, like we’re in a secret haven nestled deep in the woods. If I were to run, I’d likely end up eaten by wolves long before I found my way home. Somethingis going on, but I don’t feel like I’m about to be murdered or worse.
That’s why serial killers get away with it for so long. They’re charming, so no one suspects them until they find the skin coats and trophy case full of eyeballs in their basements.
Still, even if the shifter stuff is a load of bullshit, I’m walking around unscathed with supercharged senses. That alone warrants sticking around to try and understand, because really... where would I even go if I left?
Extending a hand to help him up, every warning I’ve heard about stranger danger echoes through my mind, combated by the devil on my shoulder whispering they’re the answer to my prayers. “Risa.”
Taking my hand, he rises, but doesn’t immediately let go. “Risa,” he murmurs to himself before bringing the back of my hand to his lips. “I’m sorry Bane scared you. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to leave you alone since you weren’t waking up, and it’s had us all on edge.”
Bane calls from the porch, “Right hook like that? Shit, not sure what we were even worried about.”
Exhaling a slow breath, I extract my hand from Stryker’s, suddenly feeling incredibly tired despite apparently sleeping for a week. “You said something about lunch? Maybe we hold off on the information dump until after, if that’s okay? I need some time to process before diving deeper into this nonsense if I want to have a hope of absorbing anything.”
Gesturing for me to go ahead of him, I start climbing up the porch stairs. As my foot hits a can and sends it rolling, I cringe, crouching down to pick up the mess, stuffing things back into one of the bags.
Mason gently takes an apple from my hand. “I’ve got this. You go get settled, okay?”
Torn between the ridiculous impulse to please him, the thought of him being mad at me like a lead weight in my stomach, and the fact that I’m seriously entertaining the idea that their claims might have some validity, I shift my attention back to grabbing a box of pasta. Everything’s a chaotic mess that I’m struggling to wade through. Logic is pulling me in one direction, and my instincts the other, screaming to be heard over rational thought.
“It was my fault. Least I can do is help clean up.”
“Risa.” A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of his voice, and I lock on his pleading gaze instantly. “Humor me? It’s been a hell of a long week, and it’s kind of killing me to watch you crawl around apologizing. Fuck, you should take a swing at me and Stryker instead. We might have kept you from dying, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t steal your life away from you at the same time.”
He’s right. They might have had better intentions, but they technically kidnapped me too. I don’t even know anything about them besides names and that they’re supposedly some type of weird snakes. But as his heartbeat quickens along with his nerves, I don’t have the same knee jerk reaction as when I woke up, wanting to flee. It’s clear he’s beating himself up, worried about my response, and that helps alleviate some of my immediate concerns.
Pushing through the chaos to latch on to his scent, I let it ground me in the present. My fingers trace over the smooth skin of my stomach where I was stabbed, the only proof that anything happened in my memories. Even if I’d been unconscious for several months, there would have still been a mark. This is the only tangible proof that I can work with, proving that they might be crazy, but so am I.
Or they’re not, and I need to look at this as an unexpected gift, the way out that I couldn’t find before.
I give him a sad smile. “Bold of you to assume I want to go back to it.”
Chapter 5
