Page 143 of Her Wolf

Finn could feel Lars glaring at him as they crept over the glowing sand that stretched between them and the beach house, but he didn’t make eye contact. Lars stopped walking, but just as Finn came to a stop outside the beach house’s bedroom window, he heard the man’s footsteps start up again.

Lars of all people should know he couldn’t be trusted right now. Not with so much at stake. He’d fuck it up. Cora would get hurt, maybe killed.

And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened.

. . .

Bailey had no reason to be so pissed off, but that didn’t make his indignation vanish. Made to keep look out like the fat kid in gym class who never made the team; what the fuck was Finn thinking?

Then again, Finn had never liked him to begin with. It had probably been easy for him to agree with Kane.

Bailey glared after the three men, stiffening his neck when he saw Kane head back his way.

The fuck did he want?

“What are you doing?” Bailey murmured when Kane was in earshot.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere.”

Bailey snorted through his nose. “Fuck off. Just because—”

Kane pistol whipped him.

The jungle’s shadows lunged at him, all claws and teeth and hissed promises of eternal sleep.

. . .

The kitchen window opened without a sound. Lars lifted his head and peeked through, studying the dimly lit appliances and counters. There was no light inside the kitchen itself, but an ambient amber glow from the living room painted the room with just enough light to pick out the edges of furniture.

Lars hoisted himself up and slid through the window on his belly. It opened above a countertop, and luckily nothing lay on it that could rattle or clatter.

He twisted around, silently setting his feet on the floor. A quick glance showed the room to be empty. He could see a sliver of the living room’s one wall; the light in there was much brighter, but failed to illuminate anything of importance.

On his second step, the floorboard creaked under him. He winced, halted, and waited for the fall out.

Nothing.

Another step, another low creak.

Jesus Christ, whoever’d built this house should be drawn and quartered.

Creak. Creak.

His heart was pounding so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if that drumming was louder than the dodgy floorboards.

If he hadn’t been straining so hard to hear, he would have missed the shuffling sound coming from the hallway.

Finn or Kane?

His arms prickled as he drew nearer to the hallway. Another creak, this time not his, down the hall to the left.

The bedroom.

Goddamn, Finn would give them all away if he tried to walk down the hall. But perhaps he’d realized it, because Lars couldn’t hear any more sounds coming from that side of the hall.

Kane sounded as if he was drawing closer; a gentle brushing, like fabric against a wall. As if the man had his back pressed to it.

Maybe that’s why his floorboards didn’t creak.

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