Page 52 of The Union
The official day of spring had come and gone, and the snow on the ground, which wasn’t unusual for the end of March in Massachusetts, was keeping the flowers from blooming.
“Are you just out for fresh air?” he asked, searching the wooded area across the road.
I pushed out a shoulder, zipping my coat to my chin. “Something like that. I would like to see Sam and work out for a bit in the gym.”
He started for his camouflaged Jeep parked alongside Harley’s Mini Cooper in the gravel driveway.
I inhaled the brisk air, pine and cedar wafting on the soft breeze. “Can we walk?”
“Sure. I have to call it in first.” He adjusted his earpiece, then pressed a tiny receiver device on his belt.
I tuned out Lane’s voice, ambling down the stone path to the gravel road. The moon’s rays peeked through the dense mixture of conifers and deciduous trees. The latter showed signs of new leaf growth, which would sprout quickly once the weather turned warmer. I couldn’t wait for the heat of the sun on my skin or the humid air to blanket me. The snow, cold, and ice invoked too many terrible memories as of late.
We’d fought Roman in a blizzard, we’d flown to meet my uncles in an oncoming winter storm, and it had been snowing on and off since Sam fell into a coma. Besides that, I wanted to hear the birds chirp, see the flowers bloom, smell their fragrant buds, and maybe walk along the beach in Maine. I couldn’t stop thinking about a hideaway for Sam and me. The only place I had in mind was Jo and Webb’s home in Maine. I loved it there—sun, beach, ocean, the salt air, the soothing sounds of crashing waves, and digging my toes into the sand as Sam and I walked along the ocean’s edge.
As awesome as that sounded, if Sam came out of his coma, I doubted I could keep him contained. He was a soldier, fighter, and protector, and to keep him confined would be like waiting for a bomb to explode. Still, a few days alone on the beach wouldn’t hurt. With no one chasing, hunting, or kidnapping us, and that our enemies had fallen off the face of the earth, it would be a perfect time to take a vacation.
But rest and relaxation were a pipe dream, and I couldn’t entertain happy thoughts, not until Sam was on his feet, staring at my tits, or saying something snarky in that husky and sexy voice of his.
“Copy that,” Lane said into his earpiece as his long legs ate up the space from his Jeep to the end of the driveway. “I know a shortcut through the woods.” He led the way to the edge of Harley’s yard and onto a dirt path alongside her house.
Harley didn’t live far from the central hub of activity. The one building where everything took place—control room, war room, infirmary, a floor with barracks, cafeteria, gym, weapons room, and the list went on. I imagined that, from an aerial view, the structure spanned at least a football field in size.
“You’re not the wolf leading Red Riding Hood into danger, are you?” I teased.
Lane was one of the more talkative SEALs on the team. He loved history and had rattled off facts about old historic structures in the city of Fall River. The one that gave me a chill was the Lizzie Borden house. Living in Montana, I’d never heard of Lizzie Borden.
But the day Lane had driven Jordyn, Harley, and me to the spa, he’d pointed out the house on the way into downtown and explained how Andrew and Abby Borden had been hacked to death with a hatchet in 1892. Andrew’s daughter, Lizzie, had been accused of their murder but had been acquitted. I couldn’t help seeing the parallel between Lizzie and me. A hatchet hadn’t been used in Ray’s death, but Jack had accused me of killing Ray when I’d screamed. But no one knew if I was to blame. Still, I had no doubt my grandmother, Ray’s wife, and his kids would consider me guilty.
Leaves crunched under our feet as we trampled along a narrow path. Memories of that night we battled Roman Brown and his team of merry vampires surfaced. Olivia Brock, the only female vampire SEAL on staff, and I had fought off our attackers as they’d darted out of the thick brush.
But tonight was quiet. The silence was soothing until a howl stopped Lane and me in our tracks. He angled his head toward the ground, opening his acute senses, listening, and sniffing. Then he pressed a finger to his mouth.
I held my breath.
Another howl cut through the brisk air, sounding as though the animal was calling for backup.
Lane whipped out his gun. “Let’s keep walking.”
I was ready to run. But when we rounded a curve to our right, my heart jumped out of my chest. A white wolf sat on his haunches, blocking our path, his red eyes glowing.
Lane trained his gun on Dane. I was sure it was him.
I inched up to the snarling wolf, who was about to attack Lane. “He won’t hurt you,” I said to Dane. “Where did you come from?” Like the damn shifter could talk.
He angled his head one way, then another.
I held out my trembling hand. “It’s Layla,” I said, even though if the wolf was Dane, he knew it was me.
Nevertheless, Dane sniffed as I drew closer.
“Layla,” Lane warned.
“He won’t hurt me. It’s Dane Gray.” I petted his damp, dirty fur. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
The enormous, beautiful, and scary creature was almost level with my shoulders, and he was sitting down.
He leaned into my hand, seemingly enjoying the contact. Then he sniffed my neck, my hair, and my coat, and lingered on my stomach. As if he knew I was pregnant, his eyes glowed a brighter red, like he was trying to tell me he knew. Then he ran his snout along my arm and pushed his nose at my wrist.
