Page 49 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Luna
Ismile and stretch in my comfortable bed. Sunlight streams through the window, and a light breeze stirs the curtains, making them billow like sails. A crystal dangling from a thread in front of the glass catches the light, scattering it across the walls in flashing bursts—patterns that swoop and dance like birds in flight.
And I can’t help feeling… what? Déjà vu. Like I’ve seen this before. Weird.
Then I smell it—bacon. That’s weird, too, because the house I share in Portland is strictly vegan, no exceptions. But there’s no mistaking that smell. Rich. Savory. Mouthwatering. Honestly, the smell of frying bacon has to be one of the top three scents in the entire world, the other two being fresh-ground coffee and sunbaked earth after a heavy rainstorm.
Wait a minute…
My thoughts scatter, slippery as minnows. I’m sure I’ve smelled that before. I’m sure I’ve thought these exact thoughts about bacon, coffee, and rain-soaked earth. I was lying in bed, thinking the same thing… and then it’s gone again.
A dull throbbing pulse from the back of my head and in my left ankle. Strange. Why would they hurt? Did I sleep funny? Maybe I cramped up.
I yawn and stretch—then freeze. Something’s pressed against me. Warm. Solid. Not blankets. Too firm for that.
I push gently. It pushes back.
My gaze slides down the bed, and horror stops me cold.
A wolf. Not just a wolf—the biggest wolf in the history of wolves. Massive head, yellow eyes locked on me, unblinking, unreadable. Almost smug. Then it yawns, jaws stretching wide.
And everything clicks back into place.
"Southpaw!"
The beast wags his tail at the sound of his name, then casually goes back to licking his ass—or whatever part of himself he’s currently tackling.
I sigh. Of course.
No wonder I felt déjà vu. Thishashappened before. Twice now I’ve fallen in the forest, twice I’ve woken up rescued—and twice I’ve found myself in bed with this overgrown, patronizing wolf standing guard over me.
Judging by the memory of my foot slipping on a rock, he’s found me again. Which means, once again, I owe him thanks.
Southpaw pauses mid-wash and looks at me with a smug, satisfied expression.
"It winked," I mutter. "I swear to God, the self-satisfied, flea-ridden, hairy bastard just winked at me."
But the wolf just sighs contentedly, as if the joke’s on me, and goes back to his grooming.
There’s a knock at the door. Before I can even yell "Go away," Toby strolls in—swaggering, grinning, every inch of him trouble.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here?" he drawls.
"Fuck off."
He only laughs, sauntering toward the bed. He tries nudging Southpaw aside, but the wolf growls low, deep, and refuses to move an inch.
"Look at you, quite the animal whisperer," I smirk at his failed attempts to get Southpaw to budge even half an inch. "Ever thought about going on TV with that act? You’d make a fortune."
"Me? Oh no," he responds smoothly, his smile widening. "You, on the other hand, Princess, seem to have dear Southpaw wrapped around your little finger. How ever do you do it? I can see the headlines now." He raises his hands as if viewing a newspaper hoarding. "Wolf saves woman from her own stupidity… twice in one week."
I glare. "Fuck you, Toby."
"Found you again last night, didn’t he? Sniffed you out. Mind you… Luke said they didn’t even need Southpaw—they could smell you halfway up the hill after your little hike."
He grins at his own joke.
"So it’s funny I fell and got hurt? That's the kind of man you are?"
