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My wolf tracked the interloper's scent trail up the bank until we reached the road. We saw heavy tracks where a vehicle had turned around, likely within the last couple of hours.
Was he following Eva? It seemed likely. We needed to have a conversation with her, and soon. But for now, all my wolf wanted to do was get back to her, so I turned tail and ran back toward the cabin.
Eva
The next time I woke up, it was daytime. The blind was still down over the window, but light streamed in around it. I moved my head, testing how painful it was, but while there was some discomfort and I could feel an egg-shaped lump on my scalp under the dressing, it wasn’t nearly as painful as it had been last night.
The rest of me was stiff and sore, but I felt surprisingly good after a few hours of sleep in a luxurious bed.
It was a far cry from my nights at Brent’s house.
I crawled out of bed and into the small bathroom. The clothes I wore last night were missing, but there was a thick cotton shirt and some sweats neatly folded up on a chair next to the shower, along with two large fluffy towels.
Once I figured out the controls, I turned on the shower, and within a few minutes, hot water blasted out. My hair needed washing, but because of the dressing on my temple, I could only wash my body.
The shower gel smelled of citrus and pepper, just like Silas. The scent settled me, washing away the remaining anxiety swirling in my stomach. Inexplicably, I trusted him. And Cole. It was stupid, as I knew nothing about them. They could have been serial killers planning to chop me up, or worse. Yet I didn’t think they were.
Nothing about Silas and Cole had thrown up red flags so far. Not that I was an expert at detecting red flags. I certainly missed a whole heap of them when I met Brent.
After I’d showered, I dressed in the clothes left for me. The shirt fell mid-thigh, and the sweats were stupidly big, but I turned the waistband over five times and they stayed up. It was better than parading around in a towel. I didn’t have the self-confidence to show my body off. My ugly scars were more likely to trigger disgust than desire.
Soft music greeted me as I walked into the main living area of the cabin. Cole was in the kitchen frying what smelled like bacon. My stomach growled, and he turned around with a grin.
“Someone’s hungry,” he commented. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep OK? I checked on you a few times and you were fast asleep.”
God, I hope I wasn’t snoring. How embarrassing.
“The bed is really comfortable and I feel much better this morning.”
Cole wore a tight tee and jeans. The way he filled out his tee should have been illegal.
Brent was good looking, but he always had a hard edge to him, like biting down on chocolate and hitting the foil wrapper.
Cole was different. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, and he had been nothing but kind to me since I arrived.
“Sit down and I’ll plate you some breakfast. Once you’ve eaten, I’d like to check your head wound if that’s OK?”
I nodded and took a seat at the large oak table. Cole brought me some orange juice and a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. I ate it all as fast as humanly possible and he laughed.
“Someone’s hungry!”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, ashamed for attacking my food like a greedy bitch, but it was honestly the best food I’d eaten in forever.
“Don’t apologize, I’m happy to feed you. I should warn you, though, we will run out of fresh eggs eventually, so make the most of them.”
“I don’t want to eat your food if it’s going to run out!”
“It’s fine. We have a massive food store to last us through to the spring. There are just some things, the fresh stuff, that will probably run out. Plenty of coffee though, if you drink it?”
“Yes, please.” Coffee is the only thing that keeps me functioning most days.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine. Thank you.”
I watched with interest as Cole fussed with a high-end espresso maker. Predictably, the resultant coffee was way better than the cheap stuff I was used to. Brent liked excellent coffee bought from a coffee shop, while I had to make do with the dregs scraped together from half-empty tins at work.
“Let me check your head,” he said once he’d cleared away my plate. I offered to wash the dishes, but he refused, telling me I was a guest and not to lift a finger.
