12. Morgan #2
“I wasn’t.” I get the feeling that she doesn’t believe me. It’s at this point I realise I have no idea what it means to be a shifter. There are books written about them, and not gonna lie, I’ve read a fair few. But I figured it was all speculation, because they weren’t real .
Can Beth read my mind?
Do shifters have magic?
The information available is contradictory depending on which book you read, so... I have no fucking idea how she knew what I was thinking, but she seems to be pretty much spot on.
“You look a hundred times better than the last time I saw you, that’s for sure,” she says, smiling at me. “Though to be fair, you looked almost dead, so I guess it’s not hard.”
I smile despite myself, because I think I like her. “Thanks.”
“Your bike’s all ready to go, whenever you are.” She glances at Lynx, but he’s behind me still so I can’t see his face. Whatever he conveys to her, though, it’s enough to have her stepping back and giving me a small wave. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Morgan.”
“Maybe.” She goes back inside, and I turn to face Lynx. “Did you bring me all the way out here just to look at my bike? That you won’t let me leave on.”
He stares back at me for so long that I fidget under his gaze. It’s unnerving being the sole focus of it. Before all this I would’ve given anything to have him look at me and see me. Can’t say I’m a fan right now.
“No,” he says eventually, and sighs.
I wait for him to elaborate, but of course he says fuck all else.
Wonderful.
Like it’s not awkward enough, he has to throw in a prolonged silence to make it really fun. “What now?” I know what I want to do. I want to ask him about Nico, about the fights. Something tells me this isn’t the place to bring it up though.
“How are you feeling?” He steps closer, too close, and the effect it has on my traitorous body is instant.
“Fine.” Heat flares in the pit of my stomach, but there’s a healthy dose of simmering anger too, and maybe those two emotions shouldn’t go together, but they do.
They so fucking do.
His lips quirk, eyes darkening as he inhales, slowly. “You sure?”
“Yep.” I deliberately take a huge step back and sweep a hand down the front of me. “Stitches don’t pull anymore.”
“That’s because Corey took them out while you were unconscious.”
“Oh.” No wonder they don’t fucking pull. That was quick. I make a mental note to have a look when I next get a bit of privacy. “Well, nothing hurts.”
“Good.”
Is it? The tense set to his jaw would imply otherwise. Fuck him. “Can I talk about Nico now?”
His only response is a short sharp shake of his head, but before I can moan about it, he’s off walking again. “Come on.”
“Where to now?”
Instead of taking me back the way we came, Lynx leads me round to the front of the house. It’s a lovely day, the heat of the afternoon starting to tail off, so it’s not surprising to find people outside.
Jet’s sat on the picnic table, elbows resting on his knees, with Mal and Flint on the bench seats either side. Beer bottles litter the table, and Jet’s smoking something that smells suspiciously like weed, but sweeter.
And none of them are wearing T-shirts.
It’s unfair on the rest of us to have the three of them sat together, looking like that . Objectively I should be scared—because shifters —but in my defence, there’s a lot of tattooed skin and muscle on show.
They all turn our way as we approach, and that’s when I see it.
Five scars run across the centre of Jet’s chest. They’re a little jagged at the edges and spaced out like... like claw marks . He makes no effort to hide them, but when I glance up, he’s watching me with raised eyebrows. Taunting me to ask or say something, but I’m not a fucking idiot.
Well, not all the time anyway.
I quickly avert my eyes.
Lynx strides past them with a nod of acknowledgement.
“We’re going inside to talk.” None of them react, because of course they already know why.
I wonder what they all said about me in the meeting when they had to decide my fate.
Who voted to let me live? Who wanted to get rid of the problem I represent?
Part of me wants to know, but the rest of me wants to pretend that it never happened. That they’re not watching us walk away, wondering what Lynx will decide to do if I’m not convincing enough.
It’s cool inside the house.
And massive.
Curiosity overtakes my nerves, as I look around. “This used to be a hotel, right?”
“Yes.”
It’s like a country house from a period drama. Except it’s way too modern inside. I follow him down the long hallway, and I’m struck by how quiet it is. “How many people live here?”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes. “I was just curious.”
“A few.”
That’s probably the only answer I’m going to get, so I let it go.
“And they all stay in the house?”
“For now.” He stops abruptly, and I almost run into him as he turns round. “There’s room, and it’s safer for us to stay together.”
I guess that makes sense.
It’s like a commune.
But not a peaceful, live-off-the-land kind of place. Although... “Do you hunt for food in the woods?”
He laughs, like my words caught him off guard, and it’s so unexpected my breath catches. His whole face softens in that moment, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and I can’t look away.
I thought he was hot before, but that was always from a distance. This warm, open, lighter version is captivating. And dangerous.
“What exactly do you think lives in the forest?”
“Er...” It takes a moment for my brain to engage, and that’s all the time he needs to remember what I am and why I’m here. I can see the moment his walls lock back into place.
And it’s a fucking timely reminder that whatever just happened, and despite what my cock might think, Lynx Harper isn’t someone I can trust.
Ever.
I need to remember that.
“Rabbits?” I finally manage, but it’s weak and out of place in the sudden chill that’s settled between us again. All I get is a huff before he turns and starts walking.
I’ve accepted that he’s not going to answer, but as we reach the door at the end of the hallway, he glances back over his shoulder.
“Yes, we hunt.” He flashes his teeth at me. “More for the chase than the eating part.”
Wish I’d never asked.
I try hard to tamp down the images threatening to fill my head.
I’ve seen their shifted form—well, I’ve seen Birch and some of his pack. The idea of being hunted through the forest...? I do my best not to shudder.
The room he leads me into looks out over the side of the house, but it’s the table in the middle of it that captures my attention.
It’s a huge wooden thing with a wolf’s head carved into the middle and the club’s name written underneath it in elaborate script.
I trace a finger over the carving, pulse kicking up as Lynx closes the door behind us.
The silence is immediate, heavy in a way that feels unnatural, even to my human senses.
“It’s soundproofed,” Lynx supplies, leaning against the door, watching me.
Not for the first time, I wonder just how heightened his senses must be to pick up on my discomfort. I know I didn’t say anything out loud, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t outwardly react to him shutting us in here. So how did he know?
Maybe I’m better off not thinking about it.
Or the fact that no one outside of this room can hear us now.
“Keep a lot of secrets, do you?” I follow the outline of the wolf with my fingers, putting more of the table in between me and Lynx, which amuses him greatly if his smirk is any indication.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Not all club business is pack business.”
Oh.
That surprises me. Both that he differentiates between the two things, and that he shares it with me. Well, if he’s feeling chatty... “You talk about them like they’re separate entities.”
“They are.” He hesitates, and I hold my breath. Once again, any fear I should be feeling takes a back seat to the curiosity welling up inside me. I want to know.
About him.
His club.
His pack.
His eyes lock with mine, and something deep inside me unfurls, lazy and warm. I rub my chest, and his gaze snaps to my hand before he frowns and looks away again. “Not all my pack want to be involved with...”
“With the fight ring,” I finish for him, when it looks like he isn’t going to. “You already know Nico told me all about it. No point pretending otherwise.”
He crosses his arms, muscles bunching under his T-shirt and maybe I shouldn’t still find him attractive, all things considered, but of course I do. My bad-boy weakness is alive and kicking, even with the threat of death hanging over me.
“No, I suppose there isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to tell you things that don’t concern you.”
Ouch.
“Fine.” I try not to let it affect me, but it stings anyway. I thought we were having a moment.
Idiot.
“Look.” Lynx rubs his jaw, rough with stubble. “Let’s?—”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“This.” I wave a hand between us. “Giving me the chance to prove myself, or whatever the fuck it is we’re doing here.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Careful.”
Maybe I’m the one lacking self-preservation now, but I’m tired and pissed off, and I just want to go home.
Which I don’t fucking have anymore.
And like someone’s pulled the plug, the ire drains out of me. I slide into one of the chairs around the table, head dropping into my hands.
“Why did you take me to meet Beth?” I ask softly. Hoping he’ll give me an answer this time.
His face gives nothing away as he watches me. Then he sighs, cursing under his breath. “Because despite what you might think, or the rumours you’ve no doubt heard, I wanted to show you that my pack aren’t mindless killers.”
“Aren’t you?”
“ No ,” he growls, and the hairs on my arms stand up.
“But you do kill.” I look up at him and see the answer in his eyes.
“Yes.” He stalks closer and sets his hands on the table, gaze fierce as it locks with mine. “But we would never attack an innocent human and leave them for dead in the middle of a fucking forest.”
Like Birch and the others did.
I flinch, memories hitting me from all sides that I don’t have a chance of stopping.
Hot, rancid breath.
Teeth and claws, sharp and deadly.
And pain.
So much fucking pain, I gasp like I can still feel claws raking across my skin.
“Morgan.”
Darkness edges my vision, my heart hammering deafeningly loud.
“ Morgan .”
I grip the edge of the table, fingers straining with the effort as I try and ground myself in the solidness of the wood.
They can’t get me.
I’m not in the forest.
I’m safe.
I suck in air, each breath harder than the last, and it’s not fucking working.
I’m safe , I repeat.
Over and over, like a mantra.
“ Morgan! ” Lynx growls my name, low and feral, the warning in it unmistakeable and I shatter.
Because I’m not safe.
And I’m not sure I ever will be again.