Chapter Three
FRANKIE
Iwant to kick myself for getting involved with the kerfuffle on the sidewalk, but my wolf refused to allow the poor guy to be beaten when we could stop it from happening.
I’ve been on the opposite side of bullies most of my life for just being born a female, and I refuse to allow the cute redhead to suffer when I can do something to stop it.
When I grabbed his arm and hauled him toward my car, lean muscles flexed under my hand, and I barely resisted the urge to explore him further. Something about his nearness, something about his touch, sets my whole system alight in a way that puts me on edge.
Of course it could be that I’m touch starved. For most of my life, I’ve avoided contact with anyone for obvious reasons. I couldn’t risk my secret being discovered. Unfortunately, the only way for a kismet to find their mate is by touch, and a lifetime of loneliness stretches out before me.
I don’t trust people at the best of times, and I refuse to be matched with some random mate not of my choosing, especially since I would only bring death and destruction to their life in return.
Even after leaving Kyperian, I’ve kept my distance from others.
It’s just not worth the risk. While I might crave physical contact, it also sends a shaft of revulsion through me.
The thought of touching anyone usually makes my skin crawl.
I can handle a casual brush of fingers, maybe a handshake, but anything more is too much and triggers me.
Touching Foxy is different.
It’s almost…pleasant.
Addicting.
It freaks me the fuck out.
I shove my hands into my pockets to resist the temptation to touch him again, immediately dismissing the stray thought that we could possibly be mates.
Sorry, but I’m not in the market.
Finding love isn’t in the cards for me.
To take my mind off my troubling thoughts, I focus on the man. Even from my light touch, I could tell his body is jacked enough to defend himself from the wolves, but he held back.
Gramps always said the same thing, warning me that fists aren’t always the answer. More often than not, it only draws attention from the wrong people. I’ve been holding back my whole life, living under the radar, doing my best not to stir up trouble, and yet it still finds me anyway.
I’m done sitting on the sidelines, especially with the Orion after me.
If I only have a few months left until I’m either captured or killed, I’m determined to enjoy my freedom to the fullest. The last three months have been eye-opening. A lot of what the lore preached about in Kyperian has been a straight-up fucking lie.
Sure, the shifters here are different from back in Kyperian, their customs a little odd, but most of them are free of the suffocating laws that make weaker shifters virtually slaves.
Although some alphas are corrupt here as well, douchebags who rule with an iron fist, most people still retain their basic human rights.
Once Foxy is settled in the car, I turn over the engine and pull out of the gas station. Before turning onto the road, I glance at him, only to find him staring at me like I’m the strangest creature he’s ever encountered.
Great…I’m a freak wherever I go.
I barely bite back a grimace and mentally sigh. I should be used to it. Everywhere I’ve traveled in the last three months, I received the same reaction—I’m an oddity that draws attention. I don’t allow myself to stay in any place too long, not wanting to stir up trouble.
Not to mention that I can practically feel the Orion breathing down my neck.
While I haven’t seen a sign of them yet, I have no doubt they’re tracking me. They won’t let me go easily, not with my abilities and not when the council wants to make an example out of me. I challenged their power, and that can’t be allowed to stand.
When the guy in the passenger seat continues to stare, amusement tickles through me, and I raise a questioning brow. “If I’m going to take you somewhere safe, I’ll need directions.”
He blinks repeatedly, as if coming out of a spell. He drags his hands through his messy red hair, the shaggy curls immediately springing back into place, and he glances outside the windshield as if trying to gain his bearings. “Oh, um…take a left.”
I remain quiet and do as instructed. I refuse to be drawn any deeper into his life.
I refuse to be curious…even if that curiosity is eating away at my insides.
With one last look in my rearview mirror, a pleased rumble comes from my wolf when we see the bullies are still passed out on the ground.
While part of me would’ve loved to strip them of their beasts, bind their wolves until they learned their lesson—something I learned from an appreciative witch two states over—I can’t afford to draw more trouble for myself or Foxy.
I have no doubt he would be blamed for my actions after I left.
Something inside me twinges at the thought of leaving, but I quickly shove away the silly fantasy of being allowed to stay in one place, put down roots, and just enjoy life.
That is not my fate.
Kismet are catalysts, often born in troubling times to right the wrongs in the world.
It’s a big responsibility, one that I don’t feel worthy of fulfilling.
My kind are often killed before we can accomplish our destiny.
I don’t have much hope of being any different.
I sniff the air delicately, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure out of my life.
My mouth immediately waters at his scent—warm whiskey on a cold night.
It’s a little tangy, a little smooth, and a whole lot addicting.
I don’t say anything as he gives me directions to his place, the silence almost comfortable.
Twenty minutes later, my boat of a car crawls along a rutted back road, trees standing like sentinels on either side of the driveway.
The vegetation crowds so close, it’s like they’re trying to peer inside the vehicle to see who is approaching.
Then the road opens up to a small clearing, revealing a couple of acres with questionable maintenance. The house is an old, two-story farmhouse that has seen better days. It’s…big. That’s all I can say about the creaky structure that looks like a good wind could blow it down.
“Uhhh…” The fox rubs the back of his head, a red tinge creeping up his neck. “It’s a rental. We’re still in the process of making it livable.”
“Mm-hmm.” I don’t comment further as we pull up front. Parked nearby is a worn car, a beat-up truck, and an older bike. I eye them dubiously, but despite their shabby appearance, they at least look well maintained. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here, Foxy?”
I glance down at the blood staining his shirt, noting the cuts and tears in the material, where claws nicked him.
While the bruises on his face have faded somewhat, I’m left wondering what injuries I can’t see.
My conscience won’t let me abandon him without having anyone to look after him, not after I went through the trouble of saving him.
I’m not sure why I’m so worried. I’ve taken worse beatings from Gramps during training. Nothing appears broken. He’s conscious. He’s a shifter, for fuck’s sake, but I still can’t get rid of my wolf’s insistence that we need to stay and take care of him.
Not going to lie, it low-key freaks me the fuck out, and my feet twitch with the need to run.
Danger, Will Robinson.
Abort!
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to it,” he murmurs, his sad gaze lowering.
He reaches for the door, wincing as he pushes it open, and I tighten my hands around the steering wheel until the strangled plastic creaks in warning.
Just before he climbs out, he pauses and peers at me with pleading green eyes that spark with hope.
“Unless you want to stay for supper? A way to say thank you for rescuing me.”
Indecision wars inside of me. Logic is telling me to slam my foot on the gas, uncaring of the open door, but my stomach turns traitor and rumbles at the mention of food. I was supposed to pick something up at the gas station, but I was distracted.
He flashes his sharp, very white teeth my way in a flirty look, and his whole face lights up when he smiles. “Sounds like it’s settled.”
He hops out of the vehicle a little too quickly, slamming the door shut behind him, and I narrow my eyes suspiciously, wondering if I’ve been bamboozled. As if sensing me watching, he slows his steps…and limps dramatically.
The big faker.
Instead of being annoyed, I bite my lip to contain my amusement.
When was the last time I smiled so much?
Never.
The answer is never.
What can one meal hurt? My stomach gurgles in agreement.
Greasy fast-food joints and cheap, day-old gas station food leave much to be desired, and I’ve skipped more meals than is wise in my need to keep moving.
Being free from Kyperian is amazing, but the outside realm might as well be an alien world.
The fox pauses on the porch, blinking his big green eyes almost pleadingly at me, and I reluctantly turn off the car. Leaving the keys in the ignition, I slip out and grab my go bag from the back seat, cursing myself for being a fool.
And yet I don’t dive back into my car and leave.
I shoulder my bag and trudge after him, my stomach churning with reservations…and excitement.
Foxy glances at my bag, but I refuse to leave it behind. If I’ve learned anything in the last few months, it’s to keep a pack with me at all times in case I need to run.
Much to my disappointment, assholes and corruption are everywhere.
I’m not sure if it’s my heritage, but trouble seeks me out wherever I go.
Over the last three months, I’ve taken up rescuing paranormal beings left and right.
Jobs are both easier and harder to find than in Kyperian.
Anyone can apply for a job without seeking permission.
Unfortunately, I quickly learned you need all types of documentation.
It’s a pain in the ass.