Page 37 of The Wolf's Kidnapped Mate

“I want to be treated like a person instead of an object, Fred.”

Alright, that was probably warranted. I could use some of her ire to get my focus back on the road and the task at hand. I had to get to her safety. I had to do it at all costs.

Even if the cost was her emotions.

Without another word, I pressed on, hoping she wouldn’t start crying again, and hoping that I wouldn’t get the urge to comfort her if she happened to shed a few more tears. I didn’t want to give in to my urges. I just wanted to make sure she was safe. No kissing. No cuddling.

Nothing that would make this trip longer than it needed to be.

Chapter 12 - Kylie

Heavy clouds rolled in quickly overhead. By the look of them, we were about to get hit by a pretty nasty storm. Thunder rumbled above us. Lightning snapped the sky into jagged pieces, flashing a blanket of pure white over the dirt road. A few raindrops pelted the roof and then quickly broke into a heavy curtain.

Fred muttered something under his breath as he slowed the Jeep. He carefully eased around a log partially obstructing the road, and then he veered off to the right as the dirt path rapidly shifted into a muddy river.

It happened too fast for comfort, and the rain came heavy enough to cloud my ears with static. I pointed to a fork ahead. “We need to get off the road, Fred.”

“We can’t afford to lose time.”

“We can’t afford to get hurt either.”

At that, he veered right, following a smaller road that bumped into a thicket of trees. Soon, the trees parted to reveal a miniature cabin. It looked more like a shed to me, but that wasn’t really a problem when we needed to just get off the road. Fred was reluctant, which I understood, but he seemed to be keen on protecting me.

Good thing he still wanted to do that.

The only part of this plan that made me nervous was the fact that we couldn’t secure a proper perimeter. I glanced in the back seat at the bags and furs. Among them was a potted plant with gnarled ashen-gray branches that looked more like a potted stub of iron bars held up by soil.

That pungent smell had gone away—or I had gotten used to it.

I cringed as I reached for the door handle. “Perimeter check.”

“Kylie, wait—”

But as soon as I opened the door, the rain rushed in, soaking right through my T-shirt and the thighs of my jeans. I hopped out of the car, shut the door, and held my hand over my forehead like a visor to keep the water out of my eyes. I scanned the trees as I circled the shed, noticing that there wasn’t a path leading anywhere else. It couldn’t have been more than 250 square feet at best.

The good news was that it was abandoned. The windows were cloudy with webs and the wood hadn’t been kept up. Rain was probably leaking right through the roof. It was much smaller than the last cabin we’d been in, but at least it seemed no one had been here in a long time.

We had trees for cover. We had the Jeep and supplies. We would be okay.

Fred appeared in the curtain of rain with the potted plant and bags. He set the pot on the ground in front of the doorway and reached for me. I didn’t need to hear him to know he wanted me at his back. As soon as the door was open, he pulled me inside, causing me to trip over my wet sneakers.

I started to topple after him when he caught my waist. He kicked the door shut. He dropped the bags—but kept holding me.

With the door closed, the rain was muted. Steamy silence ensued as Fred gripped my hip, his nails digging through the fabric to get to my skin. It was like he was afraid to let me go.

I gulped. “What’s that plant?”

“Whispering palm. It’ll protect us if we need it.”

I nodded as I steadied myself with his shoulder and looked around. There was a wood-burning stove, a window, and a counter. Which was about as much stuff as the space appeared to be able to hold. It wasn’t much bigger than a standard studio, and it would be cover for the rest of the day.

“We should wait until nightfall to move again,” he panted. “I’ll get a fire going.”

“I’ll get the soup and bread ready.”

Each of us went about our stated missions. I grabbed a can of soup from one of the bags and punctured the lid with a sharp hunting knife. Once it was in a small pot, I noticed the flames going in the stove. I set the pot on the stove and watched for a while, shivering in the dim darkness brought on by the storm.

Fred stood up and reached for the hem of my shirt. “You need to get out of your wet clothes. I’ll hang them up.”

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