Salvation (Wild Heat)

Chapter 22 – M E M P H I S

The forest looksbeautiful after the rain. Raindrops cluster on spiderwebs, shining prettily in the pale sunlight. The emerald green of the moss and trees looks more vibrant, the soil under our feet darker and richer. Birds chatter around us, swooping from branch to branch.

But Brooklyn has never looked so miserable.

Her expression is completely defeated, the corners of her plush mouth turned downward. She plods on behind Denver, one foot in front of the other. Before, she was graceful and light on her feet as she walked. Her eyes were everywhere, alert and calculating. Now, the only thing she seems interested in is the ground right in front of her.

I’m not sure what’s going on with her. She seemed happy at breakfast. The worst of her heat symptoms were over, the rain finally ended, and it seemed like she’d started to trust us a little—or, at least, to endure our company. But she’s been downcast since I woke up from my much-needed nap.

For a second, I wonder whether Denver said anything to her to make her sad. He’s the only one who was awake to talk to her. I quickly dismiss the idea. He’s the one who lectured us about keeping our distance from her, about staying professional, despite what we did to her during her heat. We need to deliver her, as unharmed as possible, or nobody gets paid, and encouraging any kind of feelings was just going to get in the way of that. He was dead serious about it, too. I doubt he tried to start a conversation with her, positive or negative.

No, I have a feeling her mood is entirely about where we’re going. Home. Denver said there was a reason she didn’t want to go back. Whatever it is, every step we take toward the edge of the woods is bringing her closer to it.

Yet she keeps on walking. Denver said he made some kind of deal with her, and she’s keeping up her end. Sure, I don’t miss chasing her after she runs away from us. But I miss her spirit and her sarcasm. She doesn’t feel like her.

As we walk downhill, I spot a cluster of little white starflowers, and have the insane urge to pick one and tuck it behind Brooklyn’s ear. Maybe that would make her smile. The whole idea is weird. Sure, I like nature as much as the next guy, but I’ve never had the urge to start picking fucking flowers. I just can’t stand seeing her so beaten up.

So yeah, fuck Denver’s warnings about distance. I respect him, and I get he’s our leader, but he’s dead wrong about Brooklyn. Icing her out isn’t going to make letting her go any easier. She’s the job, sure, but I care about the girl. If there’s a reason she doesn’t want to go home, then I’m not going to force her. I abandoned professional a long fucking time ago when it came to her. If Roger Castle doesn’t want to pay me, I don’t give a shit. I came here for the challenge—I don’t need the money. I’m ready to tell him to go fuck himself, it that’s what Brooklyn wants me to do.

Besides, she’s an unbonded Omega. I have no idea if she likes any of us, or if she only let us knot her because her heat was driving her crazy. But there’s a possibility that maybe, she feels more for me, or Camden or Denver, than just biological lust. I know on my end, I’d jump at the chance to bond with her. I have a feeling that at least Cam feels the same way. Who’s to say she wouldn’t want to bond with us? Her dad might not approve, but Brooklyn’s a big girl. She can decide for herself if she’s interested.

When I see another patch of starflowers, I don’t stop myself. I step off the path to pick one and hand it to her. She practically jumps when I get close, startled that I’m in her field of vision. I extend my hand, offering her the little white flower.

“What is this?” she asks.

“It’s a flower,” I say. I wonder for a second if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe a little gesture of affection like this isn’t welcomed. I could just be making her uncomfortable. Too late to back down now, though. I put the flower in the hair above her ear, where it contrasts with her gorgeous dark hair.

Then, she smiles. It’s small, not warm like the ones I saw at breakfast this morning. I’m still glad to see it, though, breaking her tough mood.

“Where’s my flower?” Camden jokes, catching up with us. It makes her smile widen, and Cam catches my gaze.

He feels the same way I do—I’m sure of it. We want to find out why Brooklyn’s avoiding going home, not because we’re worried about the job, but because he cares as much as I do.

“You built a solid shelter,” Camden says. Trying to get her to open up. “Pine boughs make good insulation.”

Brooklyn shrugs. “I did the best I could. Log walls would have been better.”

“Hard to get up without a saw, though,” he says. “More trouble than they’re worth, a lot of the time.”

“You didn’t bother with logs on Extreme Alone,” I say.

Cam’s face brightens, and he grins at me. “You saw it?”

I grunt an affirmative. Camden’s shelter on the survival show was pretty damn impressive, if you ask me, but I’m not gonna spout off about it. He doesn’t need a bigger head from me.

Brooklyn cocks her head, looking curious. “What was it like?”

“Well, it was definitely an experience,” he answers, downplaying it. He looks almost embarrassed to talk about it, which makes me roll my eyes.

He ducks his head, but I see his cheeks turn red. Holy shit, he’s blushing. “I only did it for fun,” he says.

“Enough with the modesty,” I say. “This guy beat out 15 survivalists in the middle of winter in Alaska. Blizzards, sub-zero temps. They were competing with wolves for prey. Cam outlasted ’em all and got five hundred thousand as the prize.”

“That’s amazing!” Brooklyn beams at him, and she looks so gorgeous it’s like goddamn sunshine. I should be jealous of the way she’s looking at him. Surprisingly, I’m not. Most guys who achieved what Camden did would brag about it all the time and generally be insufferable. Hell, I’d be using it to get free drinks on the rare occasion I go out to the bar. He deserves a little attention for it, and I don’t mind teeing him up to get some.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize Memphis was such an Extreme Alone superfan,” Camden ribs me. “Did you even come here for the money? Or was this just some excuse to get close to your idol?”

I shrug. “It’s a good show. Sue me. Besides, there’s not a lot to do at night at my place. Extreme Alone marathons beat regrouting the bathroom tile in terms of entertainment value.”

“Where is your place?” Brooklyn asks.

“Outside Memphis,” I tell her and she gives me a lifted brow. It was Denver’s idea for us all to go by our city names and I think Brooklyn here just caught on, but she doesn’t ask about it, just seems to file the information away for later scrutiny. Not for the first time, I wonder what it might be like to hear my real name from her lips. Preferably while my cock is buried eight inches deep in her slick pussy.

I clear my throat, shaking the imagery from my mind, and swallow. “I, uh, got some land and a house out there, actually. It’s pretty rural.”

Too far from society for most women. How would Brooklyn feel about it?

I try to picture her in my home. There’s plenty of room—four bedrooms, a good sized kitchen and living room. I’ve got a big family, even if I don’t see them much. My oldest brother convinced me I could use the guest rooms for the nieces and nephews. So far, I’ve been able to hold off my growing army of siblings and kids, but there’s been some talk about doing Thanksgiving at my place this year. I’m already exhausted from just anticipating all the noise.

Hands down, the best part of my house is the wraparound porch. There’s not much light pollution out there, so you can sit on the porch with a beer and stargaze. I imagine sitting in a rocking chair, Brooklyn in my lap, a blanket over us both. Just sitting and staring at the sky.

I shake my head. It’s too soon to start picturing her in my space, my life. I have no idea if she even likes me, or just tolerated me during the worst of her heat.

“What about you, Sunshine? You must be excited to be going home?”

All the blood seems to drain from her face. My muscles tense, ready to catch her, because she looks like she’s about to collapse. Even at the depths of her heat, she didn’t look this unwell.

I watch her carefully. I didn’t want to bait her, but I’ve sensed that something is off about this whole mission from the start and I need her to confirm it. It’s the only way I might be able to do anything to help her.

“I’ll be glad to be home,” she says. Her tone is flat, like she’s reading words off a page.

Camden and I exchange looks. Clearly, he thinks this is just as weird as I do.

“Your dad looked in good shape when I met him,” Cam offers. “You excited to see him?”

“I love Papa. I know he’s been looking hard for me.”

The same robotic tone. She doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Maybe she and her father aren’t that close, but I sense there’s something else going on.

“We met Grayson, too,” I say, as casually as I can.

Brooklyn doesn’t waver. “He’s still living at home, then. Is…is he doing well, too?”

That’s it. I’m convinced—something’s happening with her family that we don’t know about. If she wanted to get home, she knows these woods well enough that she could have done it.

Camden takes her elbow in his hand, turning her to look at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low so Denver can’t hear us.

She blinks those big eyes, and for a second I think she might actually tell him. Instead, she shakes him off, her expression shuttered again.

“Just tired,” she says. Cam and I watch her stride ahead of us, headed toward Denver. Putting as much distance between herself and this conversation as possible.

“Denver was right,” Camden muses. “She’s hiding something. Pretty obvious, there’s something going on with her family.”

I’ve got my suspicions about what it is. I pray I’m wrong. That Camden will laugh it off and tell me the whole idea is crazy.

“Did you see the scar on her neck?” I ask.

“Yeah. I was hoping I was wrong about what it was.”

“A bonding scar, right? That’s what I thought, too.”

Camden’s blue eyes narrow. “But I didn’t sense a bond, did you?”

“We wouldn’t feel it, not if the bond’s gone or weak. Say, like if she was away from the Alpha for a year or so.”

Neither of us speaks, and I know that we’re in agreement. It all adds up—if Roger or Grayson Castle or maybe someone close to them forced a bond on Brooklyn, of course she’d run away. She knew she had the skills to survive out here. It explains why she never went home, why she’s been running from us. Because the men she should be able to trust betrayed her.

“Should I ask her again?” Camden suggests. “See if I can get her to tell us what happened?”

I shake my head. “Seems like the more we pry, the harder she pulls away.”

Brooklyn is a wild creature, ready to flee at the slightest provocation. Whatever’s going on, the only way she’ll share it with us is on her own terms—when she’s ready.

“All I know is, if they hurt her, there’s no fucking way we’re giving her back.” Camden’s voice is low and raw. All his easy-going nature’s gone, leaving an Alpha who looks fucking dangerous.

“No,” I agree. “If they forced a bond, I’d kill them before I’d hand her over.”

“What about Denver?” he asks.

I consider. On the one hand, Denver’s military—how’s he going to feel about disobeying orders, especially from someone who hired us? On the other hand, he’s not a complete asshole. I can’t picture him handing Brooklyn back to her abusers.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” I say.