Page 29 of Red

I let all the heat into my arms in a last-chance effort. Closing my eyes, a small tear runs down my cheek.

Stark’s breathing halts, then goes deep as he releases his red hands and presses his hip into me. “Red, why the hell are you crying?”

My eyes open and search his as another tear falls. “Just do it already.”

He drops me to the ground, but my feet don’t find the wood below. Instead, his hand grips my arm again before I fall.

“What exactly am I doing, Red?”

I swallow.

His hand raises my chin to meet his gaze. “Where’s the comebacks?”

At least his eyes are a beautiful thing to see last.

“Red, give me something.”

I shake my head, slow, the word no stuck in my throat.

His face falls.

He is a crafty hitman—or hitwolf? My own joke gets me, and I begin to laugh through the tears.

“You’re awful at this,” I say as my laugh grows. Oh spirits, I’m laughing at the man who’s going to kill me.

His hip digs in, and the straight face he always holds vanishes. “Awful? How?”

“You could’ve killed me there at the trees, and now—” I raise both my arms and grip my stomach above his hip, laughing even harder at his confused face.

“Why would you think I’m here to kill you?”

“Seems to be a frequent pastime for me.”

Sometimes I am just wow. The hysteria doesn’t stop and I’m wheezing. Where’s Jocko when you need him?

“Red.”

I slow my breathing and lean back to look up at him.

“I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours looking for you. The front lock was broken and the window in your bedroom was left open. I followed your trail, but it disappeared with a bunch of wolf tracks. Jocko scented you out, and again, it ended with wolf scent. I thought . . .” His breath stops, and he tucks a stray piece of brown hair behind my ear, sending tingles into my cheek. “I didn’t think you would’ve run this far.”

“Oh . . . those guys didn’t catch me.”

“Well.” Now he lets out a light laugh. I love the sound too much. “No shit, Red. How did you manage that?”

“I’m fast.” I wink.

“Give me more.” His breath touches my ear.

I flinch to the side, the wood boards digging into my shoulder. “Like?”

“The truth.” His Alpha voice comes back. My legs squirm, and he takes a step back.

“Some werewolves aren’t that smart.”

He doesn’t smile but nods. It’s the most I can give him. “Let’s go home.”

“I am home.” I tap the wood behind me. Home—a sanctuary more than I realized for the past eight years.