Page 42 of Samuel
Relief flooded through me as I reached him, grabbing his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him, the confirmation that he was real.
“Finn, what the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice a mix of anger and worry.
“Looking for you,” he replied, his tone wry despite the weariness in his eyes. “What do you think? I thought you were dead, Blake.”
My chest tightened, gratitude mixing with the fury still pounding through me.
He'd risked his life, thrown himself into danger—just to find me.
Gordon probably told everyone I was dead, but knowing Finn, my cousin refused to believe him. Still, there wasn’t time to argue.
Samuel came up behind me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“We need to get out of here before more show up,” he said, his gaze darting around the clearing. “Let’s move.”
Finn nodded, his expression serious as he slipped his arm over my shoulders.
I caught his eye, giving him a small smile, and he managed a weak grin in return.
Samuel took the lead, and I fell in step behind him, supporting Finn as we made our way back through the trees.
But my mind was still racing. The danger wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
I could feel it, a prickling unease at the back of my neck, a sense of something dark watching us from beyond the trees.
The rogue dragon. The one Samuel had been hunting. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Suppressing a shiver, I wrapped an arm around Finn.
I held him close as we finally broke through the forest and into the clearing where the cabin stood.
The moment we reached the door, Samuel’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He gave me a quick look, then nodded towards the back room, his face tight with an unspoken urgency.
“I’ll just take this,” he said, slipping away to answer the call.
Finn watched him go, his eyes narrowing as he disappeared down the hall.
Once Samuel was out of sight, Finn turned to me, a worried expression overtaking the familiar, easygoing grin I knew so well.
“Blake,” Finn whispered, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.
He kept his voice low, no doubt trying to avoid being overheard. I almost told him it was pointless—my mate had excellent hearing.
But Finn’s expression was so intense, so earnest, that I held my tongue.
“What is it?” I asked, tucking my weapons away, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline.
“Blake, what are you doing here?” he demanded, searching my face. “Withhim,a shifter? An enemy?”
His voice was rough, laced with worry, and it hit me like a punch.
I took a deep breath, my mind spinning as I tried to find the words to explain. How could I make him understand?
Even I couldn’t wrap my head around the twists and turns my life had taken in the last few days.
A few months ago, I would have said the same thing as Finn. Shifters were the enemy.
