Page 46 of Shadow Bound

My eyes snap open and I find averynaked Ransom lying on his side. Bright blue eyes meet mine and my breath hitches ever so slightly. Those fucking eyeskill me. Having to look away from them before I’m sucked in, never to be found again, I look down at my hands. They’re both lying on his side and chest. Embarrassed and ashamed that I just got caught caressing him, I go to yank them away. Ransom is faster, he catches my left one before I have a chance to pull it back fully. He holds it to his chest, his much larger hand fully covering mine.

I fight the urge to pull away from him, forcing myself to relax as much as possible. Clearing my throat, I tuck my hair behind my ear with my free hand. “So, that’s your wolf, huh?” I sound dumb, stating the obvious like that, but I don’t know what else to say.

When I look back at his face, his eyes are scanning me head to toe. When they lock in on the blood on my chest, he shoots up into a sitting position, not once letting go of my hand. “Fuck, Beau,” he hisses, his other hand coming to push the top of my torn shirt down, exposing my injured chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He apologizes and hemeansit. I don’t second-guess that for a second.

I push his hand away. “I’m fine, Ransom,” I assure him.

“It has to hurt.”

“No, I barely feel it,” I say, shaking my head. I reach out to touch his throat but stop myself. “Are you okay? I had to do it, you know that, right?” Suddenly, I’m nervous he’ll be upset with me for choking him.

“Yeah baby, I’m fine.You’rethe one who’s bleeding.” The remorse in his voice is thick and I hate it. “What do you mean you barely feel it? Look at those claw marks, Ihurt—”

I press my fingers to his mouth. “I’m fine. I promise. I’ve had much worse. They’ll be healed soon.”

Whether it was from Nessa’s hand as she‘trained’us or my own victims fighting back—trying desperately to save their own lives—I’ve suffered my fair share of bloodshed. I can’t help but feel like I’ve deserved all the wounds I’ve acquired. If my skin didn’t heal so quickly, I’d be covered in scars. I may not have the physical reminder permanently etched on my skin, but I can still feel the weight of the emotional ones.

His hand that had been sitting on my shoulder moves up to cup the side of my face. Wide-eyed, I stare back at him. Dropping his forehead to mine, he breathes me in. “Don’t tell me shit like that because it makes me want to hunt down and kill every last motherfucker who ever touched you. And I hate that now I’m just another person that’s hurt you.” I hold my breath when he lifts his head to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

“You aren’t like them because you didn’t mean to,” I whisper. “You weren’t in control, just like I wasn’t in control whenIattackedyou.”

“Don’t care, still don’t fucking like it.”

His thumb runs softly over the tattoo that starts at the base of my hairline. I’ve caught him staring at the thorn-covered vines multiple times and last night he’s kissed a trail down. I’m starting to think he might like them. He catches my eyes again when he pulls back from me. His eyes are heavy, making my usually cool skin heat. I find myself really wanting to kiss him again, but the bloodied pale blue jacket in my peripheral vision reminds me of why we were originally out here.

“Ransom,” I whisper. “We need to get moving…”

He pulls back from me, but not before dropping another kiss to my temple.

Hell… what are we doing?

What am I doing?

She said she was okay, that she’d heal, but the scent of her blood—blood that I’d drawn—fills me with remorse. The knowledge that I’d caused her harm eats at me. Even my wolf feels ashamed, a low whine comes from him, filling my head with the remorseful sound. He’d been so consumed with anger knowing that another female died because he hadn’t stopped the rogue, that he’d snapped.

Unfortunately, the only person that was close by to take his anger out on was poor Beau. Luckily, Beau isn’t a defenseless target and was able to hold her own against him. Her own guilt over choking him is tangible. She tries her best to hide her emotions from the world, but the longer I’m around her, the easier it is for me to read her. They’re small changes, barely noticeable if you don’t know to look for them, but I see them. I see how her eyes widen or narrow ever so slightly, or how her odd pulse jumps in her neck. Her arctic eyes are so cold, but if you look at the right time, you can see the emotions she’s trying to conceal.

She stands over the body of the victim, her lips pressed together, and her dark brows furrowed. Her expression reminds me of someone trying to figure out a puzzle, but there are missing pieces.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, pulling my jeans over my legs. Miraculously they survived the shift, my shirt and jacket on the other hand are torn to bits. My socks are also destroyed. Guess I’m going shirtless and sockless the rest of the day.

Her eyes flick to me briefly. “She looks familiar.”

“How can you tell? Her face is totally fucked.” I fight the angry growl that rises in my chest when I look down at the poor girl again. She didn’t deserve this. None of them did.

“I’m talking about her hair and eye color.” Isabeau crouches down next to the girl, pushing some of the fawn colored hair off the marred face of the girl. “Even her facial features are similar.”

“Similar to who?”

“The last victim in South Dakota.” Her head cocks to the side, still observing the girl. Her raven hair almost looks blue in the bright sunshine, spilling around her back and shoulders—silently beckoning me to grab a fistful of it and pull her to me.

Now is not the time or place.

“Zoe?” I recall the pictures I’d seen of Zoe in her bedroom, what she’d looked like before she was shredded by claws and fangs. Comparing her to the victim at my feet, I find that Isabeau is right. There is no denying their similarities. Petite, light brown hair with hazel eyes.

Standing, brushing her hands off on her tight as hell pants, Isabeau purses her lips, thinking. “What about his other victims? What did they look like?”

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