Page 7 of Lost Fate

I feel bad lying to my best friend, but the vision is that eventually, I won’t have to. Once Leander is better, I’ll get him out of here and move on, and Terra will never be the wiser. I have no doubt that she’d worry about me, and I hate that.

I would rather just take care of it, and then, when it’s said and done, I can just tell her and Rylan about it without having them absolutely freak out.

I don’t want to panic them. Which, honestly… at this point, I think it should be pretty clear that I can take care of myself. I can pretty much handle anything life throws at me, in terms of physical strength.

I hope that I can handle it mentally, too.

The morning is bright and cloudless, and I’m on the way back to my little cabin with some food for both of us. The Oakwood Bakery has pastries that are insanely good, in addition to their world-class cinnamon rolls.

I love a good pastry. And honestly, it’s not like rural Colorado is known for its eclairs.

Nibbling on a chocolate croissant, I come around the corner on the little path that winds back through the woods, the bag of goodies in my other hand, when I pause.

Leander is… doing something. Without a shirt on.

I blink. Holy shit.

Again, I know exactly how muscular he is. He’s my patient, and I’ve examined his body in a myriad of ways, but whatever he’s doing now is…. It kind of puts the whole thing on display.

Yeah, he’s wearing sweatpants. But in the morning sun, he’s moving his body around through a series of stretches and poses that almost look like he’s doing some kind of a dance. Slowly, I walk up to him, aware that I’m staring as he makes his body flow through the poses and gestures.

“That smells good,” he says when I get closer.

Okay, he doesn’t say it so much as he rumbles it, and for the tiniest heartbeat of a second, I let myself pretend that he’s talking about me in that deep, resonant voice that’s honestly so sexy, it’s hard to resist.

Not hard. Impossible to resist.

If he were talking about me, telling me that I smelled good, then I imagine he’d run his hands up my arms, that he’d lean in and inhale and maybe let his lips glide over my neck…

I shiver.

This is what I’m talking about, Ember Greene. You need to back off of this injured wolf, because you don’t know the first thing about him.

Not even what he’s doing right now.

“So. I guess we can add yoga to the list of things you do know how to do,” I say.

He shakes his head. “It’s not yoga.”

“Oh?” I take a huge bite of the flaky croissant, hoping that the food in my mouth will keep it from watering as Leander gracefully moves again.

“Tai chi.”

“Bless you.”

He casts me a baleful eye. “It’s a form of martial arts; it’s Chinese.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “I think… maybe my grandmother taught me this? Or someone grandmotherly to me.” His arms move again, and I’m fascinated all over again by the way his biceps twitch and curl as he stretches.

“Your grandmother taught you?” I bite the croissant again, pleased he remembered more about his past. The pastry crunches on my tongue. It is delicious. But I’m sure Leander tastes better…

Stop it, Greene.

“Yeah. There’s a lot of context and history behind it, but I like how it makes my mind and body feel settled.”

I dust myself off and stand, setting the croissant back in the bag and the bag on the porch steps. “Show me.”

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