Page 8 of Into the Lion's Den (Secrets of the Northland Shifters)

They had nothing to fear from me. Not today. I wasn’t in the mood to hunt. I was in the mood to forget.

To forget the pain of our father’s death. To forget the crippling concern that I could never fill his shoes as alpha to my siblings. To forget the curvy, sweet-smelling woman curled up in a bed so very, very close to my own…

I pushed the thought away. My body’s reaction to Sarah McAvoy was merely a fluke brought on by the natural urges of springtime and the six-week abstention I’d put myself and my siblings through already.

My reaction had been a one-time thing. I’d get her out of my system, and I wouldn’t be affected again. And going forward—just as an extra safety precaution—I’d give her as wide a berth as possible.

I couldn’t afford to be distracted by some woman—not with my father’s legacy hanging in the balance. All I needed was one run to get back on track. One run, and I could focus on business.

I looked longingly in the direction of the lodge. Or maybe I was full of shit.

My tail twitched, and I was already heading back. That female’s lure was too strong for a beast who’d never had much time for logic or reason.

If I thought this Sarah McAvoy person had any idea what she was doing to me—now, at the most inopportune time imaginable—I would punish her for her impertinence.

As it was, her innocence would save her. At least, it would for now.

4

SARAH

So much for catching a catnap before dinner. I couldn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t even close my eyes. I was going to have to call John Riordan and tell him he’d made a terrible mistake. While this place in Minnesota’s northern wilderness was a perfect hiding place, it held a different kind of torture, which John—being a heterosexual man—apparently hadn’t considered.

Okay, fine, Reese Fitzpatrick’s brand of torture wasn’t as intentional or scary as the kind of torture Carmine DaBruzzi’s associates likely had in store for me, but I’d still just as soon avoid it.

Why were handsome, moody men always my Kryptonite? Hadn’t I learned my lesson time and time again?

I rolled over and tried a new position, throwing a pillow over my head.

Obviously it wasn’t like there’d ever be something between me and Reese Fitzpatrick. Even under normal circumstances, he was my boss and off-limits. I would never cross that line. The fact that this job was an integral part of keeping me alive and breathing just made that line a lot thicker.

I got up, feeling defeated, and dug around in one of my suitcases until I found my makeup bag. Inside was a small bottle of a newly prescribed sleep aid. It wasn’t meant to be taken during the day, but maybe a partial tablet...

I bit one in half and swallowed it down with a gulp from my water bottle. Then I opened my ASMR app for some sleep music.

Before I could crawl back into bed, there was a soft knock on my door. I jumped, then stared at the door for a few seconds. I might have imagined it.

But then the knock came again.

Even though I firmly believed the witness protection program had done everything it could to ensure my safety, fear and doubt prickled through me.

DaBruzzi wasn’t stupid. His men could be outside my door. The very real possibility filled my nightmares and plagued my every waking moment.

But I had to trust. It was the only way forward. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the floor and hesitantly opened the door.

Outside stood another one of the Fitzpatrick brothers. This one had an angular face with cheek bones so sharp, they could cut paper. His sandy blond hair was thick and pushed back.

He took one long look at me, tipped his head while narrowing his eyes, then inhaled deeply. His odd manner had the effect of making me feel completely assessed.

“Did you…” he asked hesitantly, “by chance, meet my brother Reese?”

“Yes,” I said just as slowly.

To that, he grinned. “Mystery solved.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam Fitzpatrick. Second in line to the throne.”

I still wasn’t making sense of our exchange, but I was travel-weary, so maybe it was just me.

I shook his hand. “Sarah McAvoy.” The name still felt strange in my mouth. “Apparently I’m your new events coordinator.”

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