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The foot of space separating our shoulders slowly shrinks to inches. He leans in, shaving away vital slivers of air until our bodies practically touch. With his face angled toward the side of mine, his nose damn near brushes my hair. But he pauses before making contact as if he doesn’t want me to bolt.
He inhales deeply and exhales hotly, stirring the strands around my face. “You smell different today.”
I flinch, and he growls as if my reaction disappoints him.
But seriously, when has he ever been close enough to know my scent?
For reasons I can’t explain, I hold impossibly still as he dips his head and proceeds to smell my neck above the fabric of the hoodie.
“What do I smell like?” My voice trembles, and I hate it.
“Fear.”
“That’s not a scent.” I can’t hide the fact that I’m fucking shaking with it. Now would be a good time to bolt, but instead, I shift my gaze to his, our faces so close I can’t breathe. “I don’t know what you want with me.”
“I don’t know, either.” His eyes track the movement of my lips, the nervous flutter of my lashes, and the heavy swallow in my throat.
His eyes stalk me.
I remain frozen, my hands balled inside my long sleeves.
“I love the way you smell,” he rasps against my mouth, wrapping me in the earthly essence of wood smoke and berries with warm hints of vodka.
Abruptly, he stands, and I inhale sharply, breathing on my own again.
What just happened?
“Denver expects you to join us for dinner tonight.” He reaches into the leather pouch that’s strapped to his body among countless knives, guns, and arrows.
A canvas bag lands on my lap.
I stare at it, blinking in confusion. “And if I don’t join you?”
“The consequences aren’t worth it.” A shadow of something slips over his otherwise moody expression. He almost looks…pained.
“What consequences?” My pulse shivers.
“The bag is for berries. You’ll find blueberry bushes along the river beside the cabin. Only pick the ones that are fully blue and fall off in your hand.”
“What consequences?” I ask again.
“Fill the entire bag, and don’t come to dinner without it.” He glances at the dipping sun. “I suggest you hurry.”
“Rot in hell.” I fling the bag at him.
We both watch it bounce off his chest and drop to the ground.
“Denver’s been indulgent with you.” Dragging a hand through his short, black hair, he looks at the river. “He gave you time to recover and accept your new life. Now that you’re up and running…” He shrugs. “You’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Today, it’s picking berries.”
“Then what?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m just the messenger.” He turns on his heel and prowls away.
“You’re leaving?” I suck in a lungful of air and storm after him. “I want answers! There are human remains in that fireplace and—”
“People die. You will, too. Soon, if you don’t smarten up.”
That’s a threat if I ever heard one.
He’s a killer, Frankie. Let him leave.
My stupid mouth has other ideas. “You’ve been following me this whole time. Why? How do you even keep up with me in those boots?”
“No. I’ve been waiting here since you left.” He stops, peering back at me with his brows pinched. “I knew you’d go directly to the one place you were told to avoid.”
“But I didn’t. I ran south first. Didn’t you hear me shoot the gun?”
“No.” His gaze flicks down my body and back up. “Were you attacked?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
So he wasn’t following me? Do I believe that?
Maybe it was marmots. Or one of those foxes. Do they wander south? Away from the hills and boulder fields?
I swear what I saw was bigger and faster. “Something’s out there.”
“Better keep that gun close.”
With a disarming arch of his brow, he leaves me standing here alone, outraged and horror-struck.
He wants me to pick blueberries? After I found a fireplace filled with human bones?
Fuck him.
Fuck all of them.
19
Denver
—
The savory aroma of baked trout, wild rice, and boiled cabbage steams from the platters, waiting to be devoured.
Growing colder by the minute.
My patience thins.
“Here are the parts we need.” Leo drops a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table in front of me and takes his seat to my left.
Annoyed, I don’t reach for it.
Wolf sprawls in the seat on my right, doodling ink on his forearm. The other two chairs remain empty.
“Put that away,” I snap at him. “Sit up straight.”
His jaw tightens. Then he caps the marker, shoves down his sleeve, and adjusts his posture.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear.” I steeple my fingers against my mouth. “Was she given my expectations for dinner?”
“Kody delivered the message.” Leo nods at the paper—an attempt to distract me. “Can you get those parts?”
I snatch it and scan the short list. “Your handwriting is getting lazy. I can barely make out—”
“My handwriting is fine, but the snow machine isn’t. If I don’t have those parts by winter—”
