Chapter 12
What a nice way to be greeted.
Can I outrun him? See, if I hadn’t listened to my brother, I maybe could without hitting any trees by now, but his stride must be huge.
His dark claws dig into the snow less than a foot from my bare feet.
I have no idea how he managed to find me without making a sound.
His teeth could rip me in two pieces in one bite. There’s no healing if I’m dead.
I close my eyes and open them to his nose bumping into my arm. This is it. I have to fight.
Heat swarms me as Stark’s head turns, his white teeth showing out the side of his mouth. His coat is the most magnificent I’ve ever seen. I can’t be distracted. The heat flares, and I turn to book it, letting my legs carry me as fast as they can, the snow melting away before I reach it.
I skip all three stairs and curse for locking the door as I dig into the pot, grateful my limbs are still intact. The metal scrapes my fingertips, and I glance back to see Stark behind me.
He pushes me into the wall of the house, the cold wood rough against my bare legs. His hands wrap around both my upper arms, pinning me a foot off the porch floor. A heavy breath releases in the cool air between us. He thinks I’m so weak he turned into a person to kill me.
I’m sorry I failed you, I send out to Pratt, knowing he’ll never hear it.
I let all the heat into my arms in a last-chance effort. Closing my eyes, a small tear runs down my cheek.
Stark’s breathing halts, then goes deep as he releases his red hands and presses his hip into me. “Red, why the hell are you crying?”
My eyes open and search his as another tear falls. “Just do it already.”
He drops me to the ground, but my feet don’t find the wood below. Instead, his hand grips my arm again before I fall.
“What exactly am I doing, Red?”
I swallow.
His hand raises my chin to meet his gaze. “Where’s the comebacks?”
At least his eyes are a beautiful thing to see last.
“Red, give me something.”
I shake my head, slow, the word no stuck in my throat.
His face falls.
He is a crafty hitman—or hitwolf? My own joke gets me, and I begin to laugh through the tears.
“You’re awful at this,” I say as my laugh grows. Oh spirits, I’m laughing at the man who’s going to kill me.
His hip digs in, and the straight face he always holds vanishes. “Awful? How?”
“You could’ve killed me there at the trees, and now—” I raise both my arms and grip my stomach above his hip, laughing even harder at his confused face.
“Why would you think I’m here to kill you?”
“Seems to be a frequent pastime for me.”
Sometimes I am just wow. The hysteria doesn’t stop and I’m wheezing. Where’s Jocko when you need him?
“Red.”
I slow my breathing and lean back to look up at him.
“I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours looking for you.
The front lock was broken and the window in your bedroom was left open.
I followed your trail, but it disappeared with a bunch of wolf tracks.
Jocko scented you out, and again, it ended with wolf scent.
I thought . . .” His breath stops, and he tucks a stray piece of brown hair behind my ear, sending tingles into my cheek.
“I didn’t think you would’ve run this far. ”
“Oh . . . those guys didn’t catch me.”
“Well.” Now he lets out a light laugh. I love the sound too much. “No shit, Red. How did you manage that?”
“I’m fast.” I wink.
“Give me more.” His breath touches my ear.
I flinch to the side, the wood boards digging into my shoulder. “Like?”
“The truth.” His Alpha voice comes back. My legs squirm, and he takes a step back.
“Some werewolves aren’t that smart.”
He doesn’t smile but nods. It’s the most I can give him. “Let’s go home.”
“I am home.” I tap the wood behind me. Home—a sanctuary more than I realized for the past eight years.
“I’ll help you pack.”
I let the sadness flash on my face and go to the door. He trails along, his eyes scanning the place. I wait for a judgmental comment, but the silence between us fills the space.
I go to my room and fill a bag. This time, thinking it through, I pull a few dresses I’ve never had a reason to wear off hooks in my armoire, then grab a few extra pieces of red clothing—my favorite.
On top of everything, I place a photo of the three of us up on the cliff.
Pulling on a baseball cap for future emergencies, I stride out the room.
Stark’s flipping through the book I left on the kitchen table. “You like myths?”
“Oh no, my mom read those.”
“Too bad. I have an entire collection.”
“What? You do?” I clap my hand over my mouth.
Stark’s smile grows. I like it as much as the laugh, that rare moment his lips curve upward. The smallest dimples appear in those stone-edged cheeks.
A green truck plows through the snow and parks right out the door. My body freezes.
“It’s Jocko.”
“Oh.” I smile and head right out the door.
Stark carries my stuffed bag, and I grip the one with hair dye I scooped off the kitchen counter.
“Aloka, your unwanted chariot has arrived.” Jocko opens the back door, and I accept his help to climb in.
You good? Jocko doesn’t talk out loud to Stark.
Leave it.
Stark’s inner voice is always so pissed. I shake it away and lean back in the seat, then avoid looking at the home I love as we roll out to the road.