Page 62 of Rescued

Every now and then he’d stop and raise his head, listening, and sniff the air.

He didn’t speak, and she didn’t either. She didn’t have the breath.

It felt like hours before her flashlight caught a small cabin—more like a shed, really—tucked almost out of sight under some pines. There was no light in the window.

“He’s in there,” Sanchez said.

“How can you tell?”

“I can smell his furry ass.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. Well…” She stopped awkwardly. She guessed she was on her own from here. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

He waved negligently. “If he starts to tear you limb from limb, give a yell. I’ll be around.”

“Um… thanks?”

“Good luck, cookie babe.” He’d already melted into the darkness under the trees by the time she heard him say, “You’re gonna need it.”

Chapter 26

Switch was in the darkest corner of the cabin, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against a set of storage shelves, his arms wrapped around his knees to stop the shaking.

Damn, he wished he had a drink. He should get a little barrel of bourbon to fasten around his wolf’s neck, like those olden-days St. Bernard dogs hunting lost skiers through the Alps, with little casks of brandy around their necks.

Instant mobile bar.

The door creaked open and his head snapped up, but the scent hit him even before his eyes registered who it was.

Bree.

Jesus. He didn’t want her to see him like this. How had she even found him?

He put his head down on his knees again. “Don’t you ever fucking know when to give up?”

“Obviously not,” she said. “If I did, I would have run away from Quentin a lot sooner.”

“Just go back to the cabin.”

“Yeah, no.” He heard her walking across to him. “I’ve walked about a hundred miles, my feet hurt, and I didn’t bring any water so I’m about to die of thirst. You’re stuck with me until I get my second wind.”

She plunked herself down on the floor next to him, so close that their shoulders were touching.

He sighed. He’d never known anyone so sweet, who was so damn good at getting her own way. She just wore people down like water torture.

He reached up above him, ripped a bottle of water out of the shrink-wrapped batch on the shelf, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said.

His head was down again, but his body was alert to everything she did. He heard her twist open the bottle top, felt her swallow gratefully and lean her head back against the shelf.

Her warmth spread through him, sneaking into the middle of his chest where everything felt like broken glass. The shaking began to subside. Her scent enveloped him, and filled him with longing.

Longing for things he could never have.

He couldn’t give her a life. Keeping her in his life would ruin hers.

The warmth turned to a hot anger. It wasn’t fair—none of this was fair. Hell, being a shifter wasn’t fucking fair. All it had done, all his life, was keep him isolated and mess him up. And now even his wolf couldn’t save him.