Page 55 of Never Fall for an Angel

I pause, feeling both relief and despair when a thin, injured wolf hops out of the brush, holding his paw up and surveying me for danger.

He’s soaking wet, his wiry black fur matted and clumped with dead leaves. There’s white around his face, making him look like a ghost. He hunkers down as if he’s afraid I might hit him, his big brown eyes staring up at mine in fear.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, sinking to the moss-covered ground. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He gives a subtle wag of his tail and backs up when I inch closer. I stay low, holding out my palm for him to sniff.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

His eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me, and I understand. I wouldn’t trust a random human, either.

“How did you get out here? Surely you didn’t swim all this way?”

I close the short distance between us, my knees wet through the material of Christian’s sweatpants, but I pay it no mind. Gently as I can, I reach out and stroke the top of his head, and though he jerks under my palm, he doesn’t run.

“You must be starving,” I whisper, petting his crusted fur. “And cold. “

I could take him back to the cabin, but there’s no guarantee Christian will let me keep him. If he finds a wild wolf, he’ll probably lay an egg. He’ll shoot him if he tries to bite either one of us, no matter how scared or hurt the poor dog is.

Sometimes, fear makes us do irrational things. I’m a living testament to that.

“Guess what Christian doesn’t know won’t hurt him . . .” I murmur, stroking the top of the dog’s head. “At least, I think.”

Standing, I dust off the front of the flannel coat Christian had made me wear before I left the house.

“Come on. I know somewhere you can be warm.”

CHRISTIAN

Mila Carpenter somehow always manages to find herself in danger. Or maybe danger finds her.

Either way, she’s going to be the fucking death of me.

Following Rudy and Paulina’s departure, we spend the next four days in near silence, avoiding each other as much as possible and fixing shit around the island.

Mila sticks to the indoors, cleaning up the years of dust and animal debris. When she’s not, she’s walking the island. I stay outside, tending to the holes in the roof, replacing broken lights and otherwise, finding anything I can fucking do so I don’t haveto spend any more time than is absolutely necessary in her intoxicating cloud of honey and vanilla and soft fucking smiles that makes think irrational shit.

I’ve jacked off more times than I can count in the last week, and while that would usually be enough, it just pisses me off and leaves me feeling like a fucking creep, dreaming of a girl who can’t even stand to look at me half the time, let alone be in the same room with me.

She wants to hate me. I know she does. She wants to pretend like she’s not just as drawn to me as I am her, but she can’t hide the pretty little blush on her cheeks when I catch her staring at me. How her gaze lingered on my abs when I stepped out of the shower in just a towel the other day.

She can’thidefromme, and she hates it.

Whether she’s in Los Angeles, Wichita, or at the bottom of the fucking ocean, she’s mine. I’ll fucking find her.

She’s my obsession. My own personal brand of heroin, created to ruin me.

From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I was fucked. There’s always been this deeply rooted part of me with the need to protect her, even if I didn’t understand it at the time.

Now, that time has come, and even if she doesn’t understand my need for revenge, she will someday. She’ll hate me for it, but we don’t all get happy endings.

Least of all, Mila and me.

“I’m going into town.”

“When will you be back?” Mila asks quietly from her place on the old couch. I’m surprised she got it as clean as she did.

“A few hours. You have everything you need, and if there’s an emergency, I left a cell phone on the table.” I hold up my hand when her eyes light up. She didn’t think I’d be stupid enough toleave her an actual phone, did she? “Don’t get excited. It only contacts me.”

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