Page 9 of Her Convict Wolf

I was just having a nightmare, one of many. The clock on my nightstand says 4:48am. It’ll be getting light soon. I close my eyes again—

Tap, tap!

What was that? I jerk upright.

Tap, tap.

There it is again—something hitting the window.

Just like hailstones.

Ice shoots down my spine.

But not.

I want to pull the covers over my head and curl into a ball. So goddamn sick of being scared.

Something flips in me.

I leap out of bed and tear the curtains wide open.

And I scream as a pair of pale eyes stare back at me.

* * *

My eyelids flutter.It’s still dark and I’m lying on my back. There’s a smell of the outdoors and a rich masculine scent. I feel like I’m being embraced in someone’s arms.

What the hell?

My eyes open wide and I let out a gasp.

There’s a man’s face, peering into mine. Rugged. Strong features, with a broad, angular jaw. A scar cutting across his cheek and chin. Cropped dark hair and a five o’clock shadow.

Maxim?

“Emory, it’s okay. Relax,” a familiar deep voice says.

Adrenaline pumping through my system, I wriggle out of his arms and pull myself upright.

“W-what are you doing here?” My head snaps to the window. It’s closed, just like I left it.

“I climbed in,” he says. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

He’s wearing a white T-shirt and bright orange pants. The lower half of a prison jumpsuit. “You broke out of jail?”

He reaches for me but I pull away. My heart is going so fast, it’s making me dizzy.

“I needed to get to you.”

“B-but why? How did you—?” I exhale slowly. “You were right—I am in hiding. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me.”

His gaze drifts over me, and his eyes turn tender. “You’ve done real well. It’s a good disguise, Emory. But it’s not enough. They can still get to you.”

I shake my head confusedly, desperate to understand. Did he follow me all the way from the chain gang? It doesn’t make sense. The last I saw of him, he was being shot. “Your shoulder—” I cry.

He pushes up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and my mouth falls open. Right there, at the top of his massive shoulder, where I saw the bullet entering—where blood spattered from the wound—is a small, old-looking scar.

“I heal fast,” he says.

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