Page 43 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

He was already climbing out, rounding the hood of the truck and reaching for her door. She sighed as she climbed down. He reached out to take her elbow before thinking better of it. Another instinct. Clenching his jaw, he pulled his hand back.

If he didn’t get ahold of himself, she’d grow suspicious.

“Which way?” he said.

“There.” She pointed to a building across the quad.

“Excuse me, but you can’t park there.” A middle aged man frowned at him.

“Sorry,” Rebecca called. “He’ll be moving it shortly.”

Ignoring the man, wishing she would too, he put his palm at the base of her spine and pushed her in the direction she indicated. Then, as they made their way, he looked at every shadow, around every corner, just to make sure Blackthorn wasn’t lurking. Because no one touched his mate.

No one.

12

Iwoke up to the smell of coffee and bacon. For a moment, I stared at the ceiling, at the patterns in the wood. Axel had built this place with his bare hands. He’d touched each beam above my head. Hand made the bed frame I was sleeping on. The wood furniture around the room.

I exhaled, settling more deeply into the mattress, reluctant to get up. It was warm and comfortable. Perfect to combat the chill in the air. October had arrived and you could feel it.

I loved this time of year, and while I appreciated Axel’s desire to keep me safe, I was bummed that I’d left my cute little bungalow that was already decorated for autumn.

It had taken hours to fall asleep last night. On my first night here, I’d blamed Ambrose and his appearance in Redding for my inability to sleep. But last night had been for an entirely different reason. Axel was being…weird.

I couldn’t put my finger on it.

He’d been overprotective yesterday morning, insisting he escort me to my first lecture. He’d sent me texts throughout the day. Usually a picture of my bunnies accompanied by whatever activity they were doing. It was endearing, really. And the irony wasn’t lost on me, that they were being babysat by a wolf.

When he picked me up yesterday evening, it was like he’d done a complete one-eighty. Instead of the lingering looks, it was like he didn’t want to look at me at all. He’d appeared outside my lab to escort me to his truck. He’d asked about my day in a gruff, nonchalant way. I’d asked about his and received a one word answer. Then we’d fallen into charged silence.

He was quiet the entire drive back.

I chalked it up to growing pains. It couldn’t be easy having a stranger in your space. Upending your carefully constructed routine.

The cabin was filled with a heavenly aroma when we returned. Venison stew. Which he’d simmered all afternoon.

“Already ate,” he informed me after I greeted Basil and Sage. “They did too.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I’m going out. Don’t leave the house—the safety of the perimeter.” He didn’t look at me as he said any of this. Like he was avoiding me. But it was the simmering emotion I detected that confused me. Like he was fighting something and this was his best response to it.

“Out?”

“For a run.”

“Oh. Ohh. That kind of run.”

“Yes. That kind. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Fine. I can put everything away when I’m done.” I gestured to the pot on the stove and the bread he’d left for me. He merely grunted and turned. I just stood there, staring at his broad back as it disappeared down the hallway. Then the back door shut and silence fell.

I was tempted to creep after him. To watch him on the deck as he shed his clothes and let his wolf take over. Just the thought of seeing him naked before his shift had heat flushing my cheeks.

But I stood stock still for several minutes, until my stomach growled.

I’d gotten the distinct impression that he hadn’t wanted to be around me. That it was, perhaps, hard for him to be. Which made sense if you considered his dislike of other people. He’d already admitted to being a recluse. And here I was in his space.