Page 10 of Taken By The Wolves
“I’m sure he would,” I reply, my tone dry. “But your hospitality can stop short of that.”
Finn and Reed laugh, but Nixon remains straight-faced.
“Well, goodnight. And call us if you need anything.” Reed lingers a little, but follows his brothers, closing the door softly behind him.
I exhale, finally alone. My gaze moves around the room, lingering on the details. The carved dresser. The ornate lamp base. The way the woodgrain gleams, as if polished by hand, not a machine. Every piece of furniture is a work of art—crafted, not bought. Someone loved the materials. Someone poured time and heart into shaping them. My fingers trail across the headboard again, admiring the lines of the grain,the smoothness of the finish.
I shake myself. Focus.
This is not the time to swoon over furniture. I fumble in my purse and pull out my phone, exhaling in relief when the screen lights up. Low battery, but enough for a call.
I press my mom’s number. Nothing happens. No ringing.
No signal.
Great. Perfect.
I’m stranded. Cut off. At least the room has a lock, though the idea of being lockedinis almost as unsettling as being lockedout. At least I won’t have to lie awake worrying about Nixon, Reed, or Finn slipping in while I sleep. Or that giant wolf-dog slinking in and deciding I look like a midnight snack.
Where is it, anyway? It followed Reed upstairs, but I haven’t heard a sound since.
Something catches my eye at the end of the bed. A soft heap of gray fabric. I unfold it and find a man’s T-shirt, oversized and worn thin from dozens of washes. It smells like lavender, like the room. Thoughtful. I guess Reed left it for me.
It’s a strange sort of kindness, and it makes my chest ache.
I push up from the mattress, using the edge of the dresser for balance, then grab the crutch. It’s heavier than I expected, but it holds my weight. I make my slow, careful way to the bathroom. There’s fresh soap and a brand-new toothbrush laid out by the sink.
These men don’t usually have visitors?
Yeah, right.
They must have half the women in Braysville falling overthemselves to visit. Maybe these are the locals all the women on TripAdvisor were raving about. I wouldn’t be surprised if this place had left more than one guest weak-kneed and breathless.
I freshen up with a washcloth, skipping the shower. I don’t want to be that vulnerable. Not here. Not yet.
Back in the room, I tug the T-shirt over my head. It’s soft and worn, and it smells like safety even though I know better. I slide beneath the crisp sheets and lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to settle my thoughts.
As I drift into sleep, a long, sharp howl slices through the stillness.
It’s close. Too close.
Painfully, I push myself upright and limp to the window. The sky is luminous with moonlight, casting silver across the clearing behind the cabin. Is it a full moon? I can’t be sure. The trees sway softly in the breeze, shadows shifting in their arms.
And there they are.
Three wolves, lithe and gray, moving together through the brush, their bodies fluid and powerful as they disappear into the forest like ghosts.
I go cold. I can’t look away.
There’s no escaping this cabin. Not safely. I may not be miles from town, but between me and civilization lies a forest thick with shadows, secrets… and wolves.
So many wolves.
5
SCARLET
I don't sleep well. Not that I expected to. My nerves keep straddling that thin line between slumber and wakefulness all night long. My ankle throbs steadily beneath the covers, a dull drumbeat that won't let me forget it's there. And every creak of the old cabin, every rustle of wind through the trees, jolts my already-frayed senses.
