9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Abby
I was in college the first time I went camping. I use the term “camping” lightly because it was mostly just drinking around a campfire and passing out in a tent without sleeping bags. Years later I always wanted to make it a hobby. Stargazing, cooking over an open flame, falling asleep to the sounds of the forest at night…
None of those things were what I planned to do at the end of a long day at my new 9-5 job. And yet, here I was.
It wasn’t dark enough to stargaze and my flame was isolated to a tiny burner screwed into a propane bottle, but it added a nice ambience to the evening. Birds I couldn’t dream of identifying were chirping gently to each other among the evergreen shrubs. The world felt peaceful.
Not every evening was this enjoyable. Autumn was here in the Pacific Northwest and the rumors about the rain were true. It rained a lot. All the time. Not crazy downpours like I was imagining but the light drizzle was almost worse. Hours would pass with this constant haze of droplets in the air, leaving me damp and frizzy and shivering. Even as the temperatures were in the lingering sixties during the day, night had them plummeting to a chilly forty degrees.
The sleeping bag I kept in the back of my car was rated to zero degrees. That didn’t mean it was comfortable to sleep in the cold, only that I wasn’t going to die from exposure.
Alright, fine. Camping sucked.
Living out of my car because I was literally homeless just six months after buying my first home sucked. I was waking up before the sun to drive into the city, stopping at a truck stop on my way and waiting for a paid shower behind a bunch of middle-aged long-distance truckers.
On dry evenings like this one I could lose myself in the peacefulness of the forest, but most of the time I was miserably counting down the days until I had a big enough deposit for an apartment. Here in Seattle, that was a small fortune.
There was no point dwelling on my situation or questioning if it was the right choice. Rock met hard place in my life when my husband—ex-husband—decided his love life needed a supernatural upgrade. If I stayed in Minnesota, I would still be penniless and homeless. Probably jobless too because there was a big gap in my resume where I was hunting for the “right” job after a layoff, and then living out of a hotel while I fought through a divorce.
“My income covers our bills. You can find a work-from-home job. Half the world works from home now,” David had said.
Stupid jerk didn’t consider that part when he slept with a shifter six weeks later.
You’re dwelling again, Abby.
Okay, no dwelling. Just birdsong and canned beef stew. It smelled delicious, and I was hungry. I probably had a bag of saltines in my front seat to go with it. That was starch, so it was basically a vegetable, right?
I slumped onto a half rotten round of wood by the cold and empty makeshift firepit. After all the heartbreak he put me through, I wasn’t hung up on David. It was surprisingly easy to fall out of love with someone when they betrayed you so thoroughly and completely. Whatever man I thought he was, that was a lie. A memory my brain fooled me into thinking was better than the reality. But I was in the anger stage of grief and there was nowhere for me to direct it.
I could call him in the middle of the night and breathe meanly into the phone. Or I could call him in the middle of the day and tell him every terrible thing I thought of him. Neither would make me feel better. I was angry with him, I was angry with his stupidly hot shifter girlfriend, but mostly I was angry with myself.
Why did I do that to myself? Fall in love with someone like that? Build a home with him. Waste half my twenties on empty promises. Let myself believe I was so unworthy that I deserved the barest minimum that he gave me. How did I let myself get walked all over by the two of them during the divorce?
A thousand rebuttals and remarks swirled constantly in my head, repeating endlessly. With a huff I scooped up one of the river rocks from the firepit and threw it with all my strength. It didn’t go more than four feet, thumping mockingly into the mud. Rather than giving me a cathartic release, it made me feel more powerless.
Not strong enough to stand up for myself. Not strong enough to throw a dang rock.
I grumbled, swinging my leg out and kicking the round of wood I’d been sitting on.
My shoe went right through it, leaving a pile of splintered, rotten wood on the ground.
Great, now I didn’t even have a chair. I bent to brush the debris from my sneaker and froze. My propane burner roared quietly, the soup in my discolored pot hissing and simmering. That was the only noise I heard. The birds had gone quiet.
Deer Base could be creepy as the sun went down. It was a popular shifter recreation area, and I heard all manner of animal noises in the night. Wolves howled, big cats snarled, and I once heard a roar that had to be a bear. They were always distant enough that I felt safe, reassured by the continued activity of birds and even the occasional deer. Shifters didn’t come near the campsites. They weren’t out here to interact with humans, nor were humans out here to spot shifters. Perfect co-existence.
Except now the birds were waiting with bated breath as some unseen predator approached and I wasn’t sure if it was shifter or animal. Would I rather run into a wandering shifter or a regular black bear? Black bear seemed less dangerous, to be honest. Movement snagged my peripheral, and I jumped, shrieking as I realized what it was.
A wolf. A larger-than-life, smoky brown shadow of a wolf. He was on the other side of the firepit from me, at least two hundred feet away, but I could almost feel how big he was. How powerful. Like there was this buzzing energy around him, warning away interlopers. I opened my mouth, trying to decide if I should shoo him off or talk to him when he took a step toward me.
Nature documentaries make wolves out in such a good light. The ancestors of our favorite furry friends, regal and loyal. This wolf was not giving me regal German Shepherd vibes. He was all predator, still but for his blue-grey eyes.
Finally finding my courage, I raised my hand and waved like an awkward neighbor. “Hi! I bet you smelled my beef stew. It’s from a can. Not that thrilling.” If he was a shifter and not a wolf here to eat me, I was going to die of embarrassment. “But I have more if you’re hungry. My pot can only hold one can at a time.”
His response was to move closer, gaze never leaving me as his feet dipped into the sooty remains in the firepit. I could almost reach out and touch the black fuzz on his ears. They would be adorable if his head didn’t come up to my sternum, putting his jaw inches from my throat. Panic overrode any other instinct I had in that moment.
I backpedaled to my car, some half-remembered wildlife advice telling me not to turn my back. My spine smashed painfully into the handle of the driver’s side door. I slid past it, yanking frantically. It opened just enough for me to slip an arm inside before the wolf was on me, knocking the door shut on my arm and pinning me against the car. His chest pressed into my hips, massive head lifting to sniff at my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, turning away as his cold nose pressed into the bare skin there.
Adrenaline surged madly in my veins, sending uncontrollable tremors through my legs. They almost buckled beneath me, but I held steady, my trapped hand reaching desperately for— Got it! Wrenching my arm free from the door, I popped the safety seal on the bottle of bear mace and sprayed. In reflection, I would realize that my survival instincts were lacking.
With a startled yelp the wolf backpedaled, swiping his front paw at his eyes. Unfortunately, that was the last thing I saw clearly as my eyes began to burn like someone dumped hot sauce in them. Tears streamed down my face, and I sniffed as my nose stung. I reached for the door handle on the car and missed, barely able to see my hands in front of me. I finally managed to get it open, planning to lock myself inside and hope that a wolf wasn’t strong enough to smash through my windshield when a familiar voice stilled me.
“What the fuck, Abigail?” I turned, searching blindly through the wall of tears. There was a distinctly masculine shape standing next to the firepit, with thick arms and statuesque thighs. One hundred percent naked, by the tan color of his figure. I blinked, clearing my vision momentarily.
Wow, yup. Very much one hundred percent naked. I didn’t know real men were built like that. Then again, he wasn’t a regular man.
“Gage?” I rasped, my throat taking on the bear mace burn as I inhaled.
“Why the fuck did you pepper spray me?” I fished around in my backseat slash bedroom, snatching my only towel and stumbling toward him, shielding my eyes with my other hand.
“Is that a trick question?”
He growled a very animal growl, and I shivered at the reminder of what he’d been moments before. “It wasn’t rhetorical.”
“You were—” I struggled to find the polite way to say it, unsure if shifters were sensitive about their furry halves. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought I was about to get eaten.”
His chuckle was dark and smoky, surprising me. It was kind of annoying how unbelievably attractive he was, even wearing nothing but a towel in the middle of the woods. Especially in a towel in the middle of the woods. I went through my mental list of all the reasons my attraction to him was shallow and pointless.
He’s just a hot guy. He has muscles and I’m lonely, recently divorced, and homeless. Nice muscles take my mind off how pathetic I currently am. He doesn’t even like me.
“You were about to get eaten.”
“What?”
“What?” He repeated.
I crossed my arms. “You said you were going to eat me.”
Gage was closer, and I wasn’t sure which one of us moved. I tried to force myself not to look at him and all his beautiful muscles, but I literally couldn’t help it.
“You do smell delicious,” he purred.
“That’s—that’s just beef stew!” I pointed to the propane burner, where my soup was definitely scorching to the bottom of the pot. Great, I would have to take it into the shower with me to wash it tomorrow. My eyes were still pumping like fountains, but I saw the ghost of a smile before he caught himself and straightened, tightening the towel around his waist.
My gaze drifted to his strong, rugged hands fisted in the fabric of the towel below his belly button. Brushing that dark trail of hair.
Then I noticed the long scar half hidden by his hair. It had ridges on the sides, like a surgical wound that was stitched shut. Curiosity got the best of me, and my eyes travelled back up, finding three matching scars along his torso. There were less tidy ones too, like the puckered pink circles in the cradle of his shoulder.
What would leave scars like that? As far as I knew, shifters weren’t the recipients of organ transplants or any other surgeries. They didn’t need them.
“I said, what are you doing out here?” I was staring at him, and it was obvious by the look on my face I wasn’t checking him out anymore. The ghost of a smile was gone from his lips, replaced with a hateful glare.
“I’m camping.” I forced my eyes to turn to his face and not his skin. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m a shifter in the woods. No explanation required.” He crossed his arms, quickly dropping them back down when his towel began to slip. “Why are you camping—without a tent—on a Wednesday? You have work in the morning.”
“I—” What should I tell him? Technically, Gage was my boss. Not my boss-boss, but bossy enough to have some control over my future. If I admitted the truth, would he fire me? It wasn’t like I showed up to work late or dirty. I kept my work clothes in a sealed plastic bag, so no smoke or other smells lingered on them, and I was always tidy when I came in. But I’d only been working for Silver Bullet for a little over a month, and I wasn’t exactly his favorite employee.
“I’m a morning person. I’ll be up and out of here before seven.”
Gage moved in, close enough that I could smell the sweat on him. It was…not a bad smell. He reminded me of the dewy evenings in the forest, when everything was musky and sweet and fresh. His chest was eye level now and I had to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. For a second, he just stood there, staring down at me, blue eyes wild and intense and hazy. They were striking, even through my bear mace tears.
“You’re out here alone. In the woods. At night.”
“You forgot the sky is blue and ‘I’m naked.’” Sassing your boss when he’s naked under your only towel and about to fire you. Not good, Abby. Not good.
I could hear his teeth grinding. “Tell me the truth. What are you doing, Abigail?”
I was glad to have pepper spray as an excuse at that moment. I swallowed, willing the tightness in my throat away as real tears threatened to steal my voice. “I live out here. I mean, technically, I don’t live anywhere so, here is a good place to be. It’s quiet and no one bothers me. Plus, you’re not allowed to sleep in your car in the city.” I tugged on the ends of my hair, my words tumbling out. “I’m saving for an apartment, but I don’t have the deposit yet and my credit is in the garbage after I had to file for bankruptcy because my ex took out a bunch of credit cards in my name then divorced me without warning and left me to pay it all on my own. I just got this really great job that I love even though it’s intense and stressful and the whole IT department hates me, and I don’t want to lose it because I hit rock bottom and I’m still trying to pick myself back up.”
Gage exhaled audibly, staring blankly at me. No, scowling blankly at me. That was his default expression. I couldn’t really blame him for having resting-bitch-face except that I knew as soon as he opened his mouth his words would match his expression. “You live in your car.”
How was it possible to say something so calmly and simultaneously infuse every word with rage?
I swallowed. “Temporarily.” I waited for the, “you’re fired,” or some kind of reprimand. I waited until it was awkward, and I became aware of how loudly I was breathing and how close I was standing to him, and he was just staring at me.
“You live in that car?” He pointed very judgmentally at my poor, battered Subaru. He was shaking now, eyes burning blue, head snapping to the left.
I nodded. “For now.”
I extended a hand, reaching for that pulsing place on the side of his neck. I could almost hear it buzzing, a deafening tone that was destroying the serenity of the evening. Gage snatched my wrist, stopping me before I could make full contact. He shuddered when our skin met, groaning out a breath. His gaze came to my hand, where it was limp in his rough grip, and he sighed heavily. He was tired in a way I understood.
Maybe our experiences weren’t the same, but the pain was similar. Constant and exhausting, eating away until you’re the most jagged version of yourself.
Eyes shuttered, he drew my wrist up to his face, inhaling. It wasn’t the first time he smelled me. Every time I walked into his office he was sniffing my hair, flaring his nostrils as I walked by. He was discreet about it, and I assumed it was one of those shifter things he simply couldn’t help. Smell was as important as sight to them. But this felt more intimate, more layered.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured to him, trying not to overthink the way my heart was beating out of rhythm. That unsettling secondary thump was happening more frequently, and I was starting to worry there was something wrong with me. I probably wouldn’t be the first person to develop a heart condition due to stress.
“It was only pepper spray. It’ll fade.”
“Well, I’m still sorry,” I said, even though that wasn’t what I was apologizing for.
I was sorry for whatever was happening to him. For whatever had him in that constant state of tension.
He turned, nostrils flaring. Gage was equal parts hot and scary, and in moments like this I wasn’t sure if I was excited or frightened. He had this wild look to him that I didn’t usually see. Almost like he was drunk. He was amped up in a different way than usual, his muscles tensing then relaxing, his gaze landing on me and softening.
“You can’t be out here anymore.”
“It’s public land, and there’s no limit to how many nights you camp as long as you pack out your trash.” I held my ground, once again waiting for him to fire me or worse.
“How long have you been living in your car?”
“Since my divorce was finalized.”
“Since your divorce was—How many months is that?” His eyes rolled up as he mentally counted. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally said, “Goodnight, Abigail.”
He whipped the towel from his hips, handing it to me and turning back to the shadowed tree line without uttering another word. I couldn’t even appreciate the sight of him leaving. That man was impossible to figure out. He was brusque, and he didn’t like me, but there were times where I noticed him watching me so keenly, I almost second-guessed myself. Every moment I sat in his office was smothering, the air thickening with a tension I didn’t understand. My very existence seemed to offend him, and it felt like more than a general dislike of humans.
Anyway, why was he working in a major human city if he hated us so much? He was welcome to go live in a Wildling colony like the other shifters that didn’t want to co-exist.
It didn’t matter one way or the other. Not to me, because now Gage knew my secret, and it was all over. This was exactly what he needed to get me out of his way. Replace me with some irritatingly fit and beautiful shifter chick and move on with his life.
I swallowed down the sting of that thought. It felt too similar. Being replaced by a shifter who was only half as good at the job as me.
Who didn’t sacrifice her own career for his.
Who didn’t manage every little detail of his life for him.
Who didn’t give and give and ask nothing in return.
My heart double thumped again.
The thump felt sad, which only meant I was losing my mind.
I couldn’t let myself go down that path anymore. I wasn’t less than her. I wasn’t less than anyone. The more I remembered the long years of my marriage, the more I saw how wrong it was for me.
I was never adored, never loved beyond the maintenance required to keep me there. When he told me that I wasn’t good enough, I believed him, and then wasted years of my life trying to improve myself. Going to the gym to lose those jiggly twenty pounds around my stomach and thighs. Wearing clothes I didn’t like because he preferred them. Doing more than my fair share of cooking and cleaning because he was tired from work. Having sex even when I wasn’t in the mood, when it made me feel used, because I didn’t want him wandering.
And it didn’t even work! He still found a different woman to bring to his bed every time he was on a business trip.
I clicked off the propane burner and plunked onto the ground with my pot of soup. My appetite was gone.
Everything was gone. It felt as if my insides had been this big, beautiful garden and each and every bloom was wilted.
I had nothing left. By this time tomorrow, I wouldn’t even have a job.