Page 11 of Captive Wilderness
Two large, flat rocks, slightly mossy, took up a wide portion of the view out the window. Together those two rocks probably made up the same square footage as my apartment. Kane stood near the one where an ax stuck out of a big stump. A small pile of newly chopped wood sat beside it. A larger rack of wood leaned against the cabin. I couldn’t see it now but had noticed it on my short tour, the logs neatly stacked.
As I watched, Kane bent down and picked up a few of the smaller logs beside the stump. His T-shirt stretched over his back. His jeans hugged his butt and thighs. Both the feminine and feline sides of me liked what I saw. The man was built, thick everywhere.
I guess that’s what chopping wood does to a person.
When he straightened, I stepped out of sight, not wanting him to catch me staring. Footsteps thumped on the landing before he opened the door, the logs nestled in the crook of his arm. He strode to the potbelly stove and dropped his load in the wood box beside it.
The front of the stove opened and he placed kindling from the wood box in the bottom, then stacked some of the smaller pieces in a triangular shape around it. I didn’t move while he lit the kindling, blew on the newly made flame, then tended it until the larger logs caught before closing the front of the stove.
I knew an expertly made fire when I saw one. Sabrina had done the same thing when we’d gone camping with Mom. My heart lurched in my chest at the thought of my family. My stomach sank to my toes. God, I hoped they were okay.
Chest aching, I tried to swallow my fear for them as I watched Kane retrieve a big silver pot from the cupboard next to the sink, fill it with water, and set it with its lid on top of the stove.
When he turned to me, he swept his hand toward the set up he’d just created.
Trying to smother my rising panic, I blinked up at him. “That’s the onlyotherway to get hot water?”
A nod. Finally, a nod instead of a shake of the head.
I would never take freely flowing hot water for granted again. That thought led to another. I gripped the countertop tighter, my fingers aching. “You don’t have a shower, do you?” The kettle bubbled behind me, clicking off because it was done heating.
With another fleeting quirk of his lips, he gestured toward the lake.
Right. Just jump into the lake to get clean with only a mild case of hypothermia as a result.Sounds like fun.Even with his bulky jacket over my shoulders, I was cold. There was no way I was going to take dip in that freezing lake.
My gaze scanned the cabin, searching for something to make me feel like this situation was less dire. The two apples on the table drew my attention, and my cheeks became hot. He’d cleaned up my vomit. I’d only drank a little of the coffee he brought me, and now it settled like acid in the bottom of my stomach. I needed to eat something or I’d retch again.
Cheeks burning now, I looked up at him. “I haven’t eaten anything in a while.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped beside me and reached in the cupboard above my head. The scent of pine and spice wafted over me along with a wave of body heat. I shivered. The man was his own personal furnace, and he wasn’t even wearing a jacket.
Straightening, he set a red box on the counter. Soda crackers. The same thing my mom would give me after I’d been sick.Perfect.Setting the dirty mug to the side, I grabbed the box and cradled it to my chest. “Thank you.”
He nodded and stepped away, taking the heat of his body with him. I hobbled to the table and sat in one of the chairs, relieved to not be standing anymore. My legs were tired from the trek through the forest, then my jaunt around the cabin earlier. My throbbing ankle needed ice.
One of the packages in the box was already opened, secured by a rubber band, and I rolled it off. I ate two crackers quickly then stopped, waiting to see how much my stomach could handle—what I should have done with the apple when I’d arrived. Again, my cheeks heated at the memory of retching on his floor.
It wasn’t only the apple that had made me vomit, though. I touched my collar. My body had wanted to shift when I’d been threatened by another shifter. Except, I hadn’t been threatened, I’d just been scared. But the pain had certainly been real enough.
Kane moved around in the space behind me as I ate another cracker. I heard him put a plug in the sink then run water. A cupboard opened and closed. The tap turned off, then there was a splashing sound as he added the kettle water to the sink. The fire in the stove crackled behind me, warming my back. Besides waking in his bed, it was the first time I’d felt warm since I’d woken on that airplane.
Gripping the package of crackers so tight some of them broke, I bent my head. God, I hoped Sabrina was okay. Guilt wracked through me. I’d abandoned her. She was alone and who knew what was happening to her. My mind went to a dark place. If Sabrina remained on that plane, I had no doubt she was back in that cage. These collars kept us helpless, at the mercy of others.
The crackers I’d eaten threatened to make a reappearance. My head bent, I closed my eyes and willed myself to keep it down. I wouldn’t puke. Not again.
When I lifted my head, Kane sat across from me at the table, a mug in his hands, his expression concerned.
I swiped at the tears on my face, angry that I let myself cry again. There was no point. “It’s been a lot,” I said as way of explanation.
He nodded once, but the concern in his eyes remained.
I touched the collar at my neck. “Could you maybe help me get this off?”
He shook his head.
A shot of anger made my hands tighten on the package of crackers, the crinkling plastic mimicking the fire crackling behind me. He was refusing to help? He’d keep me like this? For what purpose?
No, he hadn’t refused to help me earlier. The shake of his head meant he didn’t have a phone or a car, not that he’d been unwilling to help. Maybe he didn’t mean “no” right now but something else.
