Page 23 of Shadows of the Soul

He transformed, leaving a gloriously naked Hudson in front of me. I blinked, but refused to turn away and blush. “What now?”

A howl laced with anger and despair echoed around us, coming from every direction.

“In here,” he said, leaning down. He yanked open a door on the ground and flung it open. A storm shelter. Lightning struck the ground, mere yards away from where we stood. Hudson grabbed my arm, flung me over his shoulder, and jumped. The door clanged closed, plunging us into pitch black as we fell. I yelped at the jostle of his shoulder in my belly as he landed. He pulled me off him and grabbed my hips.

“Stay here while I find a light,” he muttered.

The howling wind and sleet battered against the door above my head. Rumbles of thunder and lightning hammered into the ground, causing a tremble in the earth surrounding us. I swallowed and tried to find my bearings as the darkness gave me a dizzy sensation.

A small wall light encased in a cage blinked on next to me. I spun and found myself in an underground bunker. The entire space couldn’t be larger than my bedroom, but it held a double bed, bookcase, kitchenette, and a two person sofa. A high shelf edged the room, stuffed full of various teddies and dolls. A flowery curtain separated the next area. I assumed it was the bathroom.

“There’s not enough room to swing a cat in here.”

Hudson flashed me a grin. “You could try, but I might class it as foreplay. I’m partial to tail rubbing.”

“In your dreams.”

“Every night.”

I took two steps and dropped the bag on the bed. Hissing at the pain slicing up my calf, I looked over my shoulder. Blood seeped down my pants leg and was pooling on the floor.

“Damn it.”

“Get on the bed, let me see.” Hudson motioned with his hand and started opening cupboards, his naked butt tightening as he bent. Lord, save me now. He was so damn masculine and pretty. I followed his instructions and flopped face first onto the bed. A puff of washing powder wafted from the sheets. At least they were clean.

Hudson clanged around the tiny kitchen. “You’d think they’d have a bowl,” he muttered.

“Try under the bed,” I said into the pillow.

The bed moved. “How did you know?”

“Space is at a premium. It’s where I’d store stuff.”

“There’s spare male clothes under here, too.” More’s the pity.

Water splashed against metal. Then the bed dipped, and he was touching my leg. I hissed as the material pulled against my wound, making me clutch the comforter.

“Sorry,” he said. He was gentle as he prodded. “It’s a deep claw mark. The wolf caught you. It might scar.”

“I’m alive,” I stated, turning my head to the side to look at him. “Scars don’t matter. Beauty doesn’t matter. Don’t pity me.”

His hand paused, and he met my eyes. “You are beautiful inside and out. Your scars are the marks of a survivor. I don’t pity you. I admire you.” My heart gave a little pitter-patter of happiness. He wasn’t just handsome, he was smooth and disarming. He looked back at my leg. “But this will take time to heal.”

“My bag. The pink plastic pot.” He unzipped my bag and rummaged through it, emptying various items onto the bed.

“Got it.”

“Rub it on the wound. I’m going to want to hit you. But it will speed up the healing and kill any infection.”

He unscrewed the lid and sniffed the contents. “Smells like ass.”

“But it works.”

He placed the pot next to my head and frowned at my leg. “These pants need to come off.”

“No one ever told you cheesy chat up lines don’t work?”

His lips curled. “I don’t need chat up lines. But these will need to come off if I’m going to cover the wound.”

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