Page 53 of Defeated

After washing my body, I decide not to shampoo my hair. It’s so thick it’ll take forever to dry, and Chris will come back from grabbing breakfast for us, bring it up to me, and we’ll eat it in bed and then…

I’m brushing my teeth when I stop mooning over Chris, or whatever it is I’m doing. I’ve finished drying my body and stuffed Chris’s shirt back over my head, and I have no memory of having done so.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my mouth full of toothpaste and a smile in my eyes. Then I spit the foamy mouthwash out before Chris comes back and accidentally sees me foaming at the mouth.

I wash my face, pat it dry, and leave the bathroom to return to the bedroom. I could go downstairs, but the appeal of breakfast in bed—or is it brunch at this point?—is too attractive to turn down.

As I bend to pick up my bag so I can figure out what I’m going to wear today, I spot the two familiar men, one red-headed and one dark, walking down the street.

I immediately back away from the window before they look up and realize I clocked them. They were coming this way, right toward this house, as if they knew exactly where they were going.

Chris is out grabbing us breakfast, probably several minutes away since his U-Haul is missing from the front, and it looks like the shifters know where I am.

For one long, terrifying second, I don’t know what to do.

Then my lazy, contented wolf wakes up, growls a loud warning in my head that cuts through my rising panic.

I can’t stay here.

Up here, I’m trapped.

There’s only one thing to do.

I yank my shirt off as I rush out of the bedroom and out onto the landing, tossing it aside. And I sprint down the stairs, knowing I don’t have much time to get away.

In the kitchen, I wrench the backdoor open, leave it ajar, and drop to my knees to force myself into the fastest shift of my life.

Human, I don’t stand a chance. As a wolf, I do.

I’ve finished shifting when a slow creak of the front door opening warns me that my time just ran out. It’s time to go.

Running the streets as a wolf is reckless, especially when they’ll be plenty of people around to see me. I could wind up in the pound, rounded up as a lost animal, or even shot by cops. But if I don’t do this, I’m dead.

I sprint out of the backdoor as a yell goes up behind me. One of the shifters. Footsteps soon follow as I hurtle down the black iron steps.

There’s an alley up ahead. I don’t know where it goes, but I charge down it anyway, head down, the sound of footsteps pursuing me.

And I hope to hell that anyone who sees me will think I’m just a big dog and not a wolf running free in town.

18

CHRIS

“Was there anything else, sir?” the French bakery assistant asks.

Standing opposite, with a glass counter separating us, I eye my small collection of white paper bags filled with croissants, sourdough bread, and the selection of other pastries I picked up for breakfast for Zoe and I.

It’s minutes away from midday, so it’s less of a breakfast and more of a brunch, though I plan on making us coffee and pouring glasses of juice back at the house. And hopefully, distracting Zoe from her intention to help with the packing and leaving.

I mean to convince her to stay with me, or even better, come with me to Winter Lake. I don’t know what this thing is between us, but the thought of walking away from her, or her walking away from me, isn’t on the cards.

What I’ve picked out is enough food. More than enough food, but maybe Zoe might like a couple of those chocolate choux buns as well.

If she hasn’t left, that is.

I mentally shake my head. She wouldn’t have left. She crawled into my arms and fell asleep. After last night and this morning, she has to still be there.

“Yes,” I say, pointing. “Two of those chocolate buns, as well. And the strawberry.”

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