Page 8 of Tiger Born

“What’s up with me telling you all the awesome stuff about my life and your only take-away being about a fiancé?” she popped back.

Ha. She was quick. Okay.

“Just curious,” he murmured, pushing up. He swayed and had to hold onto the bed he must’ve been on for part of the surgery. The covers were still damp. He locked his arms on the bed and stared at the huge red bloodstain that had soaked the comforter. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she said softly. “I really thought.”

Fuck. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, standing. He controlled the pain on his face this time. He would be better so she wouldn’t worry.

She still stood there with her arms crossed. Misty shrugged, and her eyes softened even more. “How do you know my name? You said it before you passed out.”

He huffed a sigh. “I need to eat. I need food bad. I’ll pass out again if I don’t get something in me. Healing this fast takes a lot of energy.”

“How do you know my name?”

Crap, she was immoveable when she wanted to be. He swayed dangerously again and sank onto the edge of the bed, slumping his shoulders forward. “I looked you up after that morning. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve been following your Instagram account all these years.”

Her delicately arched eyebrows drew down. “What is your handle on there?”

“Lame—”

“Lame Dame10! Oh my gosh! You like all of my posts!”

He shrugged. “You’re funny. And innocent. And you’re this wholesome, entertaining person.” He shrugged again. Fuck, was he blushing? Get it together. “Very human.”

“I checked your page once!” she exclaimed. “You had only posted a couple of pictures of landscapes though, and when I asked to follow you back, you denied me.”

He cocked his head. “If I did, I didn’t mean to. I don’t know how to use the damn thing.”

She snorted. It was this cute little sound, almost a laugh, and her face transformed with a slight smile. God, she was stunning. She was even prettier in person than in her pictures online.

She did this cute head-bob thing and told him, “I’ll go get you some food.”

“I can come with you.” His instinct to stay right with her was overwhelming. He would be toast in a fight right now, but he could buy her some time to escape at least. “We need to move locations soon.”

“Why? How would they be able to track me here?”

“Has your uncle seen me?”

“My uncle is a prepper.”

“Come again?”

“He’s one of those old-school, prepare-for-the-end-of-days, huge storm shelter, put his house right in the middle of acreage kind of guy.”

“Okay?”

“My car is currently parked in what looks like an abandoned barn, and I would bet my left leg he threw a tarp over it before he left for work. He sees nothing, says nothing. At least if it’s a favor I ask.”

“He saw me?”

She nodded.

“Was I…” He cleared his throat. “Was I making noises or anything?”

“Growling? Yeah. My Uncle Tim is the only one who believed me years ago when I told him I was attacked by a tiger man.” Her forced smile was empty. “Good memories.”

“You didn’t talk about it online,” he murmured, unfolding a T-shirt she’d left on the edge of the weird tree branch nest she’d built. It was a shirt with a beer logo on it. Nice.