Chapter 14 - Ryder
Oh, crap.
Sanity washed over Ryder like a bucket of ice water to the face the moment he came down from his orgasmic high. Elena was lying on top of him, nuzzled up close and peaceful, one bare leg draped lazily over his hip. His wolf was quiet, satisfied, and happy. His human brain, the rational side responsible for being an adult, had alarm bells firing on all cylinders and sirens screeching at maximum volume. Years of walls built up to avoid getting tangled up with this specific woman had been utterly demolished with one single kiss. Now, she lay there gazing lovingly at him with those bright green eyes like nothing else in the universe mattered except for the two of them.
Oh, no. This was bad.
Panic stirred in his gut. Within moments, it spread to every inch of his body. His breathing quickened as he sat up sharply and untangled himself from her arms, ignoring the look of dazed confusion on her face. His vision swam, and his mind was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. There was longing, yes, the deep-seated need he'd kept repressed for years finally set loose, but it was fighting against fear and anger and shame and losing. How could he let himself lose control like that? If he didn't put space between them fast, it would happen again. It couldn't happen again. Wild terror and guilt at the reality of what he’d just done overwhelmed all other senses. He had to get himself under control. Figure out how to handle this. He had to get away from her.
“You are not seriously going to run away right now,” Elena protested weakly, slowly sitting up as it started to dawn on her what he intended to do.
Before she could say anything else, Ryder hurriedly turned and fled the room, slamming the door shut and locking it from outside. The banging began almost immediately. He breathed heavily, leaning his head against the thick wooden barrier separating them. However, her shouts and pleas carried through it clearly enough, despite his efforts to block them out.
“Ryder, don't do this. Come back and talk to me,” she cried out insistently. It tugged at his heartstrings and threatened to break open all the emotional dams he'd spent years carefully constructing, his wolf howling mournfully at the sound of her anguish. Stupid animal. Foolish, thoughtless beast.
“Sorry, Ellie,” he breathed hoarsely in response. “I have to. I can't. We can't. I don't want to put you in danger.”
“We're already in danger!” came the exasperated reply, a loud, angry shout followed by a sharp rap on the wood near where his ear rested. “And that's bullshit anyway. It's not about my safety. You're just scared of your own feelings, you—”
He didn't stick around long enough to listen to the rest. Nothing good could come of it. With a pained wince, he stood straight and left her there alone as she pounded and yelled, the ringing in his ears drowning out whatever further protests she made. He grabbed his old clothes from the bathroom and quickly got dressed, then darted out the front door. He needed air. Needed to clear his head and sort out what the hell he was going to do now. How had he let this happen again?
Outside, the cool night breeze hit him like a punch to the chest. The wind howled through the trees, and the only light was a sliver of moon peering out from behind a bank of clouds. Perfect. Darkness suited him fine right now. His footfalls crunched loudly on the dead leaves and dirt as he sprinted through the forest, shifting into his wolf form to cover ground more quickly. He wasn't thinking clearly enough to decide on a specific direction. Anywhere was good, as long as it was far away from her.
His steps thundered over the earth, his breath coming in gasps, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He leaped over a fallen log and landed with a skid, nearly falling as his claws dug into the soft soil. Shaking his head, he resumed his full speed and bolted forward, bounding through the shadows and brambles. The smells and sounds of the woods around him assaulted his senses, and he inhaled sharply, relishing the distraction from the turmoil raging inside him. Every step helped clear his thoughts of images of her, of the sounds of her moans and cries of pleasure, the taste of her lips, and the way it felt to be—
A low whine escaped his muzzle. He doubled his pace. Get rid of all the emotions, and there would be nothing to deal with but logic. He had let himself fall prey to his instincts, lost control of his impulses, and made an awful mistake. This time, he didn't even have alcohol to blame. This was all him and his idiotic weakness. There was nothing he could do about it now except move on. Find a way to fix it before things go even more awry. And the first step toward that would be finding somewhere peaceful and solitary for a few hours to compose himself.
Without direction or purpose, the golden-brown shifter raced madly through the wilderness as if he could outrun his own thoughts. Though the scenery changed around him constantly, it was still mostly the same unending rows of thick green firs rising up into black nothingness that surrounded him. Eventually, he stopped to catch his breath by a brook deep within the woods. Panting heavily, he lapped up some icy water from the shallows, the cold liquid soothing his parched throat and cooling him slightly. Okay. This was better. He could breathe again. All he needed to do was inhale, exhale, and repeat until he was calm and collected again. It was a simple plan, straightforward, and easy to follow.
On his second breath, the scents of his surroundings registered properly for the first time since he left the cabin—and what he smelled instantly made his hackles rise. He spun around swiftly, every nerve on the edge and every hair along his spine prickling in alarm. It was too late. Before he could react, there was a flash of movement from above. A large shadow streaked through the night sky, sharp fangs flashing white in the moonlight as it dove downward upon him. Teeth pierced his shoulder in a vicious bite, knocking him off balance and sending him rolling across the rocky ground.
His attacker leaped back, readying another lunge as Ryder scrambled upright in a fighting stance. Blood trickled down his fur, matting his coat into clumps.
“Who the hell are you?” he shouted at the lean, brown-furred wolf snarling before him, baring his fangs and letting out a warning growl. “What are you after?”
“You,” came the stranger’s low growl.
The shifter lunged again, snapping his jaws mere inches away from Ryder's throat. He responded with a swift kick to his midsection with his hind legs, launching the other wolf back several feet with a pained yelp. The mystery assailant landed on all fours and staggered unsteadily to his feet but showed no sign of surrendering. Instead, he let out a blood-curdling howl that echoed through the trees, then charged once more. Ryder met the attack head-on, lunging forward to slam into him with a headbutt to the rib cage. A sharp crack sounded beneath their paws as ribs snapped in several places, and his foe let out another cry of anguish as they flew apart once again.
In a flurry of fangs and claws, the two combatants traded blows, tearing fur and blood, ripping through skin and muscle, all while dodging each other's lethal strikes. For every hit they landed, they received a matching wound of their own until both were bruised and battered, barely able to stand upright and panting heavily. An average rogue wolf shouldn't be able to fight like this. It was too coordinated and methodical, too aware, too experienced. Military maneuvers meant to leave foes dead, disfigured, or disabled, every strategy employed with expert precision. The fighting style was eerily similar to his own. Like they'd been trained by the same instructor.
Asher.
After one particularly brutal series of hits, which sent them tumbling backward and slamming into a boulder, Ryder found himself pinned beneath his opponent. Sharp claws dug into his chest while the other shifter loomed overhead, his bloody maw bared and dripping saliva, preparing to rip his jugular open. This wolf wasn't going to stop until he was dead. If Ryder wanted to survive, he realized at that moment he'd have to be the one to strike the killing blow first.
Taking advantage of his position underneath, he launched a counterattack with a swipe of his left forepaw aimed directly at the rogue's throat. His claws tore through tender, unprotected tissue, lodging in place deep beneath the skin. With a ferocious roar, he yanked his paw back, leaving the other wolf gaping and bleeding, collapsing lifelessly. Ryder gasped sharply and pushed the creature's body away, staring at his bloodied paw with horror as his heart raced wildly. He was trained to kill—but also to avoid it whenever possible. It never felt like the right outcome.
It took him a second to catch his breath as he forced himself to his feet with a muffled groan of pain. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving him fatigued and badly wounded. Limping gingerly, he made his way through the forest, scanning the darkness for any signs of danger as he went. His shoulder was bleeding profusely from where his attacker's fangs had sunk deep into the muscle, and countless wounds and cuts were scattered over the rest of his body. Shifters could regenerate faster than any human, but even they had limits. He wasn't sure he could heal this much damage on his own. He was losing too much blood too quickly. His vision swam before his eyes, growing hazier with every step.
The only conscious thought in his mind was of Elena. He had to find her before the rogues did. Make sure she is safe. Get in touch with HQ and tell them to get her out of here. That thought drove him onward even as the ground pitched and swayed below his feet, and the world around him spun in a blur. Through unsteady, soggy paths and knee-deep puddles, he stumbled through mud and brush and bracken as best he could muster. The image of her face burned into his retinas and spurred him on. Nothing mattered more than her. He had to reach her.
In the distance, as the last vestiges of consciousness slipped through his fingers, he saw a faint glow of light reflecting off damp tree trunks and leafy ferns. A small lantern hung from an old hunting stand. So close. His paw pads scraped against damp dirt and loose foliage, desperate to close that final gap. A shot of pain coursed from his shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways. He hit the ground hard, his chest heaving as he struggled feebly to regain his footing, but it was no use. With one final rasping breath, his vision went black.