Page 6 of Captive Wilderness
Landon betrayed me.
Anger washed through me, coloring the edges of my vision red. If my cousin stood in front of me right now, I would strangle him with my bare hands.
The anger felt comforting and familiar, seductive. I wanted to give into it. I wanted to tear something apart, to roar and bash the table with my fist. But as my vision tunneled, and every muscle bunched with the need to lash out, the unconscious woman on the floor commanded my focus. She was a mess, like she’d had a rough night at a bar. The closest one was more than four hundred kilometers to the south through muskeg, lakes, and hard terrain. There was no way she could have walked that.
To battle the red haze threatening to take over, I kept breathing, focusing on her face. My fingers relaxed; my fists loosened. I had lived all these years alone without incident. I refused to have one now.
Slowly, the haze lifted. I wanted to rip that collar right off her neck, but the active frequency gauge on the side made me hesitate. It was armed. It looked like a remote might be the only way to turn it off. There were enough similarities to see the connection to my design but enough differences that kept me wary of messing with it. If I tried to force it, I might end up hurting her even more. I couldn’t risk it.
The angry red scratches that scored her bare arms and legs drew my attention. Her jean skirt was dotted with vomit. Chunky bile lay beside her face along with an apple core. I glanced at the table. Yep. She’d eaten an apple from there.
A fresh wave of sympathy made my chest ache. She probably ate too fast. There wasn’t anywhere close to get food. No matter where she’d come from, it had to have been a long way off. How many days of walking had it taken her to get here?
I touched her bare arm and gave her a shake. The sequins of her top picked up the overhead light and glinted at me. Her head lolled back and forth, but her eyes remained closed.
Not wanting to leave her on the hard floor, I carefully rolled her onto her back and slid one arm beneath her knees, the other under her shoulders. I stood, hitching her up on my chest to support her neck. Protective instinct flared through me. She was small in my grasp, as light as dandelion fluff. Her skirt rode up. Bare skin pressed against my forearm like she wore nothing underneath. I wouldn’t look to double check.
I took her to my bed and gently laid her down. Outside, the sunrise broke over the horizon, bathing the cabin in a soft, yellow glow. Five in the morning.
Blood smeared on the bright white sheet beneath her feet. I leaned forward to take a closer look. Broken skin covered the backs of her ankles, rubbed raw from her shoes. That wasn’t all, either. Scrapes reddened her knees, the skin missing in places, and a swelling bruise blossomed around one ankle.
A scratchy growl emerged from my chest, surprising me. Her shifter fragrance must be getting to me. Turning away from her slight form, I crossed to the kitchen where a first-aid kit lived in the cabinet above the sink. White box in hand, I returned to the bed. She hadn’t moved. Sitting beside her feet, I carefully slipped off her shoes, trying not to cause her pain. She winced in her sleep.
Setting the impractical shoes on the floor, I examined her injuries. Not only were the backs of her ankles raw, so were most of her toes. I reached for the tube of ointment in the kit. Cold skin met my fingers as I rubbed salve over the open wounds on her feet and knees, then covered the larger cuts with Band-Aids. A tensor bandage came next. I wrapped her bruised ankle with careful movements, making sure not to hurt her further, securing the end with two metal clips.
Kneeling beside the bed, I dug out a pair of socks from the bottom drawer of my dresser. Her toes were freezing, and I wanted to warm them up. Because the sock was so big, I was able to slide it up and over the tensor. The other one remained loose and baggy on her good foot. I pulled it up her calf as far as it would go.
With that done, I covered her with my blankets and stepped back. Her distinct feline scent filled the room, heavy, overtaking everything I’d once found familiar. I shook my head to clear it, then backed away slowly like she held a loaded gun. Her expression didn’t change.
Yesterday, my life was as normal and monotonous as it had been for the past five years. Now I had an unknown woman in my bed. I’d grown up in a town of both shifters and humans, the shifters keeping themselves separate and secret. The older I got, it became more and more apparent that I wasn’t in control of the beast inside me enough to live with either species. It was why I’d left despite Landon and Walker’s protests.
I’d bought this piece of land in the boreal forest from a trapper six years ago with the promise to never develop anything beyond the one cabin. It was literally in the middle of nowhere, everything self-contained. No one bothered me here, and I needed it that way. For everyone’s safety.
I rubbed a hand over my face, hoping my world would return to normal. But everything remained the same: the knocked-over chair, the missing apple, the splat of chunky puke on the floor. The weight of the situation made me feel older than my thirty-one years.
I glanced at the bed. How had she ended up here? And why was she wearing the collar I’d helped design? She’d been scared, like she thought I might hurt her. Had others already done so?
Another growl emerged from my chest, and I stopped it with a shake of my head. Standing in the middle of the room looking like a fool wasn’t getting me any answers. I forced myself to move.
The chair came first. I righted it and tucked it in its place at the table. Then I retrieved a rag to clean up the mess on the floor. With the rag rinsed and the apple core in the compost bin underneath the sink next to the water filter system, I headed for my shotgun beside the door.
After a last look at the woman in the bed, I left the cabin. I needed to figure out where the hell she came from and if there were more people out there.
4
BROOKE
Everything hurt.
My toes, my ankles, my legs, my arms, my stomach, my face and scalp—everything. I didn’t remember ever being so sore. It was like a truck had rammed into me, backed up, ran over me again, and left me for dead. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to breathe. I just wanted to stay wrapped up in this warm cocoon that smelled like lemon and shifter, safe and protected.
Shifter.My eyes flew open, my body tingling.
It all came crashing back to me. I remembered the airplane and the cougar. I remembered falling from the sky. I remembered stumbling to the cabin and eating the apple, then seeing the big man with the gun. Panic shot through me. I needed to get away. I needed safety. There were people after me. Most importantly, I needed to find my sister.
My hand inched its way to my throat. I still wore the collar, the metal cool against my fingers. Panic ripped through me, making my breaths come out in little bursts. Stars dotted in front of my eyes.
Throwing the covers off, I sat up and winced, my head spinning and stomach clenching. I curled into myself, needing it all to stop. Breathing properly became a difficult task. I inhaled deep through my nose, like how I was taught in those yoga classes I took a year ago then bailed on.
