Chapter 8 - Lara #2
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it, as I make up a plate of eggs and bacon before sitting at the table.
I watch as he turns and washes his own plate at the sink.
The grey t-shirt he’s wearing this morning is tighter on his shoulders than the one he wore yesterday, and his hair is loose at his collar instead of tied back.
I want to ignore the fact he’s handsome, but it’s increasingly difficult as I watch the muscles in his arms flex with every small movement.
I push that thought down and focus on my breakfast. This is fuel I need if I’m going to have the strength to run at some point.
He dries his hands and lifts some large storage tubs onto the counter, taking out some sachets of dried food and more coffee. “Anything I can do to help?” I ask.
He pauses and looks at me for a moment. “I was going to start cooking some of this stew for later, if you want to do it while I bring the wood in?” He says, “I noticed the roof on the store is about to cave in, so I need to reinforce it; otherwise all the dried wood will get wet.”
I look at him. Reinforcing a roof is going to take a while, plus time to bring in the wood. This is probably my best chance; he could be out there all morning.
I keep my face neutral. I know I can’t give myself away, not even a little. So, I shrug and say, “I can do that. It will be good to feel useful.”
"Alright," he replies, seemingly satisfied.
I keep eating as he pulls on a flannel overshirt from the hook by the front door and his boots, lacing them tightly the way you have to when going out into the snow. He glances back at me before opening the door, “Shout if you need anything—the store is right over by the drive, but I’ll hear you.”
Of course, he will with his shifter hearing. “Ok, I’ll get on with the stew; you’ll be ready for it after sorting the roof out.” I smile as he nods and closes the door behind him.
I count to five.
Then I’m on my feet, grabbing a handful of the protein bars from the box on the table and a water bottle before heading to the back door for my coat and boots. I find a hat and some gloves on the shelf; they’re too big, but once I tuck the gloves into my sleeves, they fit well enough.
I rest my hand on the door handle, knowing this is it.
If the alarm is on, then there’s no chance.
But he didn’t set the alarm when he left, and there are no lights on the panel.
I can’t go out the front because he’d see me straight away, so it’s the back door or nothing.
I push the handle down, holding my breath.
The door clicks and opens. I pause, waiting for the blare of an alarm or the sound of his feet rushing toward me, but there’s nothing.
I step out onto the back porch and begin moving toward the back of the cabin, careful to keep my footing light.
The snow is deep, and leaving footprints is going to be inevitable, though there are ways to disguise them once I get going.
I just need to get out onto one of the trails, or better still, cut through the treeline and find the road.
I clear the building and drop down into the deeper snow that leads down into the valley below.
I make it about one hundred yards.
I don’t even see or hear him coming until he’s on me. His arm closes around my upper body, his hand over my mouth as I scream, and he pushes me roughly against the nearest tree.
“Lara.” He says, very quietly, not out of breath at all.
I try to twist, but his hand drops from my mouth to my throat, and I still. Annoyingly, I have the brief register that his body is entirely flush with mine, and my body does something it has no business doing at a time like this—it responds.
I shove that down at the same time as I shove against his chest, not that he moves even slightly.
“Inside.” He tells me.
“Let me go,” I demand, knowing how petulant I sound.
“Inside, Lara, or I will carry you.” He half-snarls.
"I won’t let you take me to your town," I tell him.
He pauses. His hand doesn’t move from my neck, but it loosens slightly. He looks down at me, and the height difference is something that I hadn’t fully appreciated until this moment.
“You heard the call,” he says, realization flashing across his features.
“I heard the call,” I confirm.
“I was going to talk to you about it today.” He sighs, and I find myself rolling my eyes, which may not be the smartest reaction.
He sighs, his hand still at my throat. “Believe it or not, I am trying to help you.” He says, “You wouldn’t last five minutes out here. What the fuck are you thinking, trying to run through the snow?”
“I don’t want your help,” I say, knowing that’s a stupid thing to say when I nearly died.
He grimaces, “That may be true, but I’m not letting you run off and die in a snowdrift or get captured by those rogues. If you can help us figure out what the rogues want, is that too much to ask?”
“I’m not going to your town.” I snap. “A town full of shifters. I would rather take my chances out here.”
He sighs. “You’d never make it on that ankle. My pack isn’t racing up the mountain in this snow, and you’re safer in there than out here. You’re already shaking. Let’s head inside and get you warm. Ok?”
I am shaking, even if I’d rather he didn’t point it out.
I feel my frustration building as I realize this was my one chance to escape, and I’ve blown it.
He’ll be watching me like a damn hawk now.
He suddenly moves to pull me toward him, and I feel panic surge through me at the thought I’ve blown it.
“No.” I push back, and what happens next reminds me of when the rogues tried to attack me in that hut.
The pressure and strange sense of power that followed.
I see it land in the way his forearm jerks, his eyes shifting from green to gold as the monster rises to the surface. He rocks backward but doesn’t let go.
For one brief moment, I think, surely this is going to work again, but then his golden eyes refocus, and he tilts his head, standing firm. How can this work and yet not work at the same time? What has changed?
I panic and twist in his arms, but he holds me firm.
“Ok, enough with the games,” He says quietly. “Tell me what the fuck you’re doing and how?”
“It’s not…” I start, but trail off.
“Bullshit,” He says. “That’s twice now; don’t even try to tell me I’m imagining things. I can see it written all over your face, Lara, you know what you’re doing.”
I shake my head, well aware that a pissed-off shifter is a dangerous shifter. “I don’t know what it is, ok. It started after they took me, but I don’t know what it is or how I’m doing it. But that’s why they didn’t kill me, they couldn’t.”
He releases my throat and steps back from me. Stupidly, I almost miss his warmth.
“Alright,” he says. “We’re not doing this out here in the snow. Inside.”
He walks me back up toward the cabin, not commenting when my ankle gives way and I stumble. Instead, he just grabs my elbow and stabilizes me until we reach solid ground on the cabin's back porch.
I stand in the hall, shake off my coat, and take off my boots as my ankle protests. I bite my lip, determined he’s not going to see me struggle. I can’t quite bring myself to look at him as the tension simmers between us.
“I’ll go make us a coffee. Go sit by the fire.” He says, and I watch as he makes a point of setting the security system before walking back to the kitchen.
I stand for a moment at the porch door and watch as fresh snow begins to fall.