I limped my way across the mossy-covered rocks to the left, keeping the cabin in my sight at all times. If I looked away, I feared it might disappear.
Stumbling from tree to tree, using the trunks to keep me upright, it took me longer to circle the lake than I would have thought. By the time I could make out each brown log and the four-paned windows, the sky had turned a lighter shade of blue, the underside of thin clouds painted pink.
My legs shook as I stumbled my way across an open area to the rustic porch. The angled awning kept one wicker-style chair safe from the elements. Light leaked from the windows, welcoming and warm. Teeth chattering in my skull, my arms wrapped around my ribs, I stepped up onto the landing and knocked.
“Hello?” My voice croaked out of me. No answer came and no one moved around inside that I could hear. It was early. Maybe they were asleep, but the lights were on. I knocked again, then tried the doorknob.
It turned easily and I pushed it open.
“Hello?” This time I said it louder. “Is anyone here?”
Smells wrapped around me, familiar scents that made me gasp in relief. Lemon cleaner, the hint of a meal recently cooked, wood, and something else I knew I should recognize.
I stepped farther inside the warmth. It was a kitchen, living room, and bedroom altogether. The walls were the same on the inside as they looked on the outside, stacked logs. A black potbelly stove took up the space between the kitchen and a stone fireplace which was flanked by two windows shrouded with thin, white curtains. The bed was large, the quilt thrown back like someone had just gotten up. At its foot, a desk was wedged in between a wardrobe and a window. Sitting on it was a computer monitor next to some sort of workstation, small pieces of metal inside a low, wooden box.
I scanned back toward the kitchen. A plate with three apples sat in the middle of the small dining table lined up parallel to the one row of kitchen cupboards.Food.My empty stomach clenched in pain. I stumbled toward the table, overturning a chair in my haste to reach an apple. I bit into it, ravenous, barely swallowing before I took the next bite. My legs gave way under me. Pain shot through my ankle as I crumpled to the floor, exhausted. I devoured the fruit while leaning against the table leg for support.
My limbs wouldn’t stop shaking. After everything, the heat inside the house made me shiver and tremble. I swallowed, my stomach unhappy with how fast I’d eaten. I pressed a hand to my abdomen.Please stay down. I didn’t want to throw up again.
Thud.I froze, my eyes flying to the door I’d left open. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My heart raced.They found me.The thought trigged my shifting instinct, and a slice of pain cut through to my stomach before I could stop it. My eyes went to the swing-bar lock on the door but there was no way I’d make it there in time. Frantic, I struggled to my feet, searching the room for a weapon.
The countertops were bare. I dashed to the closest drawer and opened it. Cutlery. I grabbed a butter knife and held it in front of me.
A white man with a full, scruffy beard stepped through the door, a big guy with sun-bronzed skin, wearing jeans and a red flannel jacket. He held a shotgun casually over his shoulder, and even though he looked rough around the edges, his features were striking, making me aware in a surprising way.
Not one of the kidnappers. Relief made my knees weak and I clutched at the counter to stay upright.
He blinked at me, shaking his head slightly. A distinct scent wafted toward me, making every fine hair on my body stand on alert. I realized what I should have known as soon as I’d stepped into the cabin. My numb brain hadn’t been able to place the familiar scent. He was a shifter. His scent was everywhere. And I’d crossed into his territory.
My instincts told me to shift, to fight or flee. As soon as I had the thought, pain spiked through my head to my stomach. I screamed. The apple I’d devoured came right back up.
The knife slipped from my fingers. I clutched at the collar around my neck, then collapsed.
3
KANE
“Help me.”The words whispered through her lips a second before she passed out on the floor.
I blinked, trying to comprehend the scene in front of me. There was a woman in my cabin. She’d just puked and fainted. The need to help her tugged at my chest.
But where the hell did she come from?
About an hour ago, my perimeter alarms signaled something had crossed onto my land. I thought it might be a black bear even though they’d stayed well away from me since I’d moved here five years ago. I’d been prepared to scare it off with a warning shot.
Not in a million years would I have guessed I’d find a woman.
She looked so fragile, broken, there on my floor. I took a step forward, then stopped. Her scent wove its way through the cabin, putting me on alert.A shifter.I hadn’t met another since living here, and for a moment, the unlikeliness of it paralyzed me. A feline fragrance filled my nostrils. She was a cat of some sort, mildly familiar, intoxicating, but also different than anything I’d scented before.
And what was that around her neck? An icy sensation spread through my chest. I placed the shotgun in the rack between the door and the whiteboard I used for my grocery lists and moved closer.
Crouching beside her, I brushed long, blonde hair out of the way to have a better look. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. The scratches on her arms, smeared makeup, and dark circles under her eyes did nothing to distract from her beauty. Attractive as she was, none of that drew my attention like the collar around her neck. The design was so shockingly familiar I could only stare. The width of it was different, the digital locking system was different, the frequency gauge, a red light moving up and down on the side, was different. But from the way she lay, I could see how it attached to her neck at the bottom of her skull, two spikes into the base of her brain—that’s exactly how I’d designed it.
If I could have sworn out loud, I would have.
Her features were now relaxed into the easy expression of sleep, but when she’d fallen, she’d been in pain. It was like the collar had shocked her unconsciousness. Someone had been hurt because of one of my designs. Queasy tension squeezed my stomach.
My eyes slid to the bottom drawer of my desk where I’d stashed a very similar collar, then back to the woman in front of me.
