Chapter 2
Macy yanked open the back door of her car and pointed. “Get in the backseat and lie across it.”
Golden eyes burned into hers, wild and unblinking, like he was deciding whether to trust her or not. A harsh caw of a Crow cut through the trees.
“Not only is your ass on the line, but my ass is also right there with yours.” Macy hissed, her eyes narrowing. “Now move, dammit.”
With a guttural exhale, he folded himself into the backseat, the frame of the car groaning under his weight.
Once he was in, Macy slammed the door and then ran around, diving into the driver’s seat.
Glancing in the mirror, she frowned. “Duck down, dammit.” She started the engine, breathing a sigh of relief when it roared to life.
“You’re in the backseat for a reason. A Werewolf riding shotgun will most definitely get us noticed. ”
The low rumble from the back wasn’t a growl this time. It was a chuckle. A deep, dangerous one that sent a surge of attraction through her veins. Her grip on the wheel tightened. What the hell? Not happening, she warned herself. Absolutely not happening.
Gravel spat out behind them as she floored it down the dirt road, headlights cutting through the dark. Wings beat overhead as sharp, black shadows crossed the beam of the headlights. The Crows circled, crying out like sirens as they summoned the others.
Her stomach knotted when she saw two trucks, parked sideways across the road ahead. The Crow Shifters were already waiting. Griffin stood outside of one of the trucks, glaring at her as he started to move forward.
“Shit.” Macy slammed on the brake, tires squealing, her heart hammering like a jackhammer. The Werewolf moved behind her, the car springs creaking under the tension in his body.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, shoving the gearshift hard into reverse.
The tires spun in gravel, spitting stones, before finally catching.
She whipped the wheel, spinning the car sideways as headlights from another vehicle flickered through the trees behind them.
They were chasing them and closing in fast.
“Think, Macy, think, dammit,” she cursed, sweat prickling her temple. She cut the wheel sharply to the right and floored it, aiming for the narrow hunting trail that split off the road. The path was overgrown, barely wide enough for her car, but it was the only shot they had.
Branches clawed at the doors and windshield as she tore down the trail, ducking instinctively when one cracked against the roof. Above, the Crows followed, black wings slicing the air, their cries sharp and furious.
“Hold on,” she hissed through gritted teeth, as much to herself as to him.
From the backseat came another sound, low, rough, and surprisingly approving. The kind of sound that sent heat racing through her blood even as fear chewed at her insides.
For one insane moment, Macy thought: He’s enjoying this.
And maybe, deep down, so was she. That thought brought a half-grin to her face. Besting Griffin at anything definitely made their escape worth it.
Branches continued to claw at the car as Macy tore down the trail, every bump rattling her teeth. Her mind screamed to head for her cabin, the one place that had ever felt remotely safe, but she knew better. The Crows would expect that. They’d be waiting.
She slammed the brakes, the car skidding to a rough stop in the narrow path. Her chest heaved as she cut the engine. The sudden silence pressing in was broken only by the frantic beat of wings overhead.
“Let’s go,” she hissed, throwing her door open. “We can’t stay with the car. They’ll track it straight to my place.”
The Werewolf slid out of the backseat, unfolding to his full, terrifying height as the shadows of the trees caught on the rough lines of his inhuman body. His golden eyes met hers for a single, electric heartbeat before he jerked his head, urging her forward.
Macy took off running, her boots pounding the dirt as she cut through the woods, aiming for one of Davey’s old shacks a half mile away. Her lungs burned, her legs screaming, but fear kept her moving. Branches whipped her arms and face, yet she still ran.
Behind her, the heavy thud of the Werewolf’s strides matched her pace, closer than a shadow. In the distance, she could still hear the Crows scream, furious and hunting. They were thankfully hidden by both the darkness and the thick trees.
She didn’t see the root until her toe caught on it. Macy pitched forward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her chest. “Damn it!” she gasped, scrambling to push herself up.
But she didn’t have to.
A powerful arm hooked around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. In the next breath, she was against his chest, the world a blur as he surged forward at a speed no human could match.
Wind tore at her hair, branches snapping against his shoulders as he ran. His body was solid heat, every stride carrying them farther and faster away from the circling cries of the Crows above.
Macy clung to him, heart pounding against his.
Terror should have owned her completely, but all she could think about was the way he held her.
She never could have imagined, not even in her wildest dreams, that a Werewolf would be carrying her through the dark woods.
And yet, in his arms, she had never felt safer… never felt so completely protected.
The shack came into view at the edge of a small clearing, half-hidden by vines and thick, overgrown bushes. He slowed only enough to kick the door in before carrying her inside, his chest still heaving from the run, golden eyes blazing as he finally set her down.
Macy’s legs barely held her upright. Her hand pressed against his chest before she could stop herself, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat under her palm. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away. Hurrying to the door, she tried to close it, but it had come off the hinge when he had kicked it open.
Moving her out of the way as he walked over, he picked up the door and looked at it. He then placed it before grabbing an old wooden chair, wedging it under the doorknob. Turning, he stared down at her.
“Who are you?” Macy finally asked, the question blurting out before she could stop it.
Maybe she should’ve figured that out before stuffing him into her car and dragging him into a cabin in the middle of nowhere.
Now she was standing alone with a Werewolf.
A real, breathing, big-ass Werewolf. Brilliant move, Macy, she thought as she eyed him cautiously.
He tilted his head, golden eyes still glowing faintly. “I need to shift.” His tone was clipped, harsh even, but his gaze softened when it met hers.
“Oh.” Her mind instantly jumped to the moment in the rope trap and the very naked man she’d gotten way too much of a look at. “Uh… okay. Wait right here.” She held up a finger and then darted into one of the rooms.
When she came back, she had a shirt and pants clutched in her arms. “These might fit,” she said, holding them out like a peace offering.
“Davey used to keep extras here.” She then shook them out, causing a cloud of dust to rise.
Sneezing, she clutched them to herself again, not really knowing what to do.
He gave her a slow, knowing look before his body began to ripple and crack, fur retreating as skin stretched, muscles shifting. Bones popped, reshaping until the Werewolf was gone, and in his place stood—yep—naked man again.
Macy squeaked and slapped a hand over her eyes, shoving the clothes at him blindly. “Sweet crow feathers!” She whispered with a gasp.
A deep laugh rumbled from him, warm and amused. “Never seen a naked man before?”
“What?” she shot back, peeking through her fingers even though she knew she shouldn’t. “Ah, yes, I have. I’m just being polite by not staring at a naked stranger.” Of course, she realized too late that her fingers had parted just enough to let her stare anyway. She slammed them shut with a groan.
He chuckled, low and amused.
She peeked again, curious to see what he looked like when he laughed, but froze when she caught sight of him tugging the pants up.
Relief hit first, thank God he was covering up, but then came the second, more dangerous wave.
Davey’s old jeans clung to him indecently, the seams straining against thighs made of pure muscle.
And hell, she wasn’t blind. The bulge in front wasn’t exactly ignorable.
Heat scorched her face as she yanked her gaze up, only to find him watching her with a wicked curve to his mouth.
Well, she had wanted to see him smile, and damn, it made him even more handsome. She snapped her gaze away.
“Is Davey your husband?” he asked, tugging the button closed.
“What?” she sputtered, dragging her eyes anywhere but there on him.
“Husband,” he repeated smoothly, his smirk deepening. “Davey?”
“No,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes, furious at herself for blushing like a schoolgirl. “Just a good friend.”
“Mm.” He slid into the shirt like he had all the time in the world, stretching the fabric across broad shoulders. “Well, tell him thanks for the clothes.”
Her stomach twisted. The sharp ache of grief rose before she could shove it back down. “I can’t,” she blurted, voice rough, sharper than she intended. “He’s dead.”
The humor vanished from his face instantly. His eyes, gold even in human form, softened, the smirk dying as if cut off mid-breath. He studied her, silent, and something in his gaze felt heavier than pity. It was both recognition and understanding.
Finally, his voice came quiet but steady. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll tell him myself someday. But until then…” He took a step closer, the weight of his presence stealing the air from the room. “…you should at least know my name. I’m—”