Page 46 of Red

She comes back in no time with a brown box. I pull them out and take a look. They’re rubber soled, with a light-brown coloring. Crisscross laces go up the top to a rim of textured fluff. I slide into them and walk to the mirror. I’ve never worn winter boots before. They’re warm—too warm. I’m going to have to drill Pratt’s methods into my brain all day.

I go back to the bench and pull them off. The lady smiles. Imagine if she knew the truth of who she was smiling at. Would she be so nice? Coming to the cities before was to let go, to party with others—something I wasn’t allowed to do at home—and no one ever questioned me. Being able to turn daily, my internal temperature didn’t raise alarms then.

“Where are you going hiking?”

“Just north of here. I can’t remember the trail.”

Her face twists. “Be careful. The you-know-what is somewhere that way, but if you’re close to town, it’ll be before the boundary line.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I give her my best don’t-worry-about-me-I’m-a-random-human-you-just-met smile.

After checking out, I lift the back hatch on the SUV and toss all the bags inside. Loaded up, I take off to the hotel on the north side of the city. Once I check in, I drive to the side of the hotel to unload all the bags.

My body trembles. This is all to protect my home.

Once the bags cover the bed, I reorganize everything and rip off all tags. When I’m done, I have one giant backpack filled with a giant coat and snow pants thrown on top. I toss my runners into my old duffle bag that smells like wolf and huck it by the trash can.

My stomach reminds me it’s been a day, so I head downstairs for a quick bite.

Full, I slump onto the bed farthest from the door and close my eyes. It’s already late, and driving back up to the border takes hours. I’ll just rest here for a bit.

When I wake, it’s dark. Stark would have gotten word about me by now. He told me not to leave so I didn’t get hurt by other pack members, but I’m far out of their reach now. I force my eyes to close as the digital red numbers on the clock mock me. I need to arrive at the camp in the dark.

Mid-afternoon, I check out at the front desk and the young clerk with a mohawk and thick-rimmed orange glasses gives me an odd glance since I have to pay for tonight too.

Not long after, the city starts to fade behind me. The woods start to surround me and my heart rate slows.

I check over my map pictures and pull down a side road until I come to a thicketed area full of low branches.

The sun sinks down beyond the trees, casting me in deep shadows.

I go around to the rear of the SUV and start loading on the layers—my new jacket, snow pants, and a thick beanie. Tightening the straps on my boots and lifting on my backpack, a laugh bubbles out of my chest. I look like a stuffed pillow.

I head toward the woods and let the heat fill me. It’s overwhelming in the layers, and I resist the need to tear them off. I walk further into the woods and then start running, thankful some of my wolf vision adds to my sight in the dark. I move faster and faster through the tight trees, letting them slap me in the face. My shoulder catches, and the fabric tears. I keep going, zigzagging through the thickest tree bunches I can find.

A low branch hangs in front of me a few feet away. Backing up, I pause. Magic flames at my wounds, but I ignore it. I charge and duck into the rough bark. Pain explodes across my forehead, and the impact knocks me backward. I land hard, staring up at the trees, the backpack twisted beneath me at an awkward angle.

Well, it should be enough for a bruise.

Back in the SUV, cramped with the layers, I crank the air on cold full blast and roll down all the windows. The heat in my chest keeps flaring, and I repeat Pratt’s words out loud over and over.

“Pull the coolness into you. You’re the one in control.”

I check the map one more time before starting the engine and heading north. I make one turn and follow the road toward the red pin Stark placed that day in his office, those muscular forearms pointing at the map, commanding attention while he explained the situation we were in. He even took the time to answer my questions, providing honesty about how he saw the situation. I wonder if he sits there now, wondering where I went. Or maybe he’s happy to spend time with his mate without an additional burden on top of protecting the pack.

A few hours later, as I approach the humans’ camp, I put the windows up and begin to rapidly blink my eyes, forcing tears. Ahead, several trucks are pulled off to the side. I suck in air, using short breaths to add to the effect of a panic-stricken girl. In, out. In, out.

I roll up to the truck and let my window down. The passenger door opens on the other side and a large, bearded man rounds the hood along with a flashlight. The weeks of seeing rifle wounds makes my body grip the shifter, wanting to take off. These could be the hands that hurt my pack . . . that took my brother from me . . .

“Miss?”

“Hi, hello, uh, I’m just—” I pull in a dramatic breath. “I fell while hiking, and I don’t know where I am. I need some help.” I point to my forehead.

He lowers the gun, keeping his grip in place. The ring of the light flicks over my forehead. “How long you been driving?”

“I, I don’t, um, remember. I woke up and it was dark.”

“Fenwick.” He knocks on the truck’s glass. It lowers, and an extra-wide man appears, his eyebrows pulled together. “Drive this poor girl to the medical unit.” The other man pulls at my door, and I flinch. “Come on, dear, we need to get you some help. You shouldn’t be driving. Fenwick will take you.”