Page 8 of Taken By The Wolves
“So he walks around naked in the woods?”
Nixon shrugs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s warm out. There’s usually no one around.”
“Isn’t he worried the dog’s gonna bite off his sausage?”I mutter, as the icepack touches my skin. The cold shocks through me, and Nixon lets out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrates my bones. Not a great combo when my ankle’s throbbing like it’s going to explode.
“Sorry.” He places a warm hand on my knee, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That was an interesting mental image.”
“Their whole entrance was a mental image,” I say, trying not to laugh.
The ice soothes, and I take a deep breath, trying to relax.
A door slams upstairs, and footsteps descend. Reed returns wearing gray sweats and a worn blue T-shirt, like a model in an ad trying to convey casual cool. Another man follows behind him. Tall and broad, he’s dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. Classic lumberjack.
Three of them now. Brothers obviously. And no sign of a dog anywhere.
“So,” Reed drawls, resting his elbow on the banister. “What do we have here?”
“This is Scarlet,” Nixon replies. “I found her in the woods. She was running from some asshole.”
I don’t miss the intense look that passes between the men. It’s quick, silent, and packed with some kind of understanding I’m not privy to.
“Not like you to play knight in shining armor,” Reed snorts.
“You’re lucky he didn’t leave you there,” the third one says, stepping closer. “I’m Finn.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. His grip is firm and dry; his palm callused from work. He holds on for a moment too long, his gaze lingering.
“Scarlet’s ankle is pretty swollen,” Nixon says, ignoringthe jibes. “She needs to ice it and keep it elevated. One of you want to get the spare room ready?”
“I’m not staying,” I blurt. “I’d appreciate it if someone could drive me back to my motel.”
“It’s no trouble,” Nixon says firmly. The others exchange glances, obviously confused by Nixon’s refusal to take me back but not questioning him in front of me. “Better not to head out again until morning.”
Right on cue, a long, low howl splits the night air. The sound is distant, but eerie, and the way the men react, the sudden stillness in their bodies, the quiet way they listen, makes the hair on my arms rise.
They’re not scared. They’re alert.
I try to tamp down the panic rising in my throat. “I want to go back.” I sit straighter, shifting my painful ankle. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not comfortable staying here.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Finn says gently. “That’s not what we’re about.”
“You’ll get some rest tonight, and we’ll see how you are in the morning,” Nixon says. Without another word, he gestures at Reed, who sighs dramatically and heads back upstairs. Even if there’s a lock on that bedroom door, I already know I’m not going to sleep tonight. Not in a house with three strange men and a literal wolf.
“Can you grab some anti-inflammatories and water?” Nixon asks Finn. “And maybe something for her to eat.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I already ate.”
“Where?” Nixon’s voice is full of disbelief.
“At the bar.”
He lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You like gambling with your life, don’t you?”
“It was actually decent.”
“Decent? Have youseenthe chef?”
“Let’s not talk about it.” I raise a hand to draw a line under the conversation. “I’ve eaten it. No going back now.”
Nixon smirks like he’s enjoying this a little too much. “So, is the ankle any better?”
