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I turn again, and I keep running.
Chapter One
Jace
Six months.
It’s been six months since I moved to my little cabin in the woods.
Six months and nine days and I haven’t looked back.
Haven’t wanted to, if I’m perfectly honest with myself. The cabin might be isolated and the world around me might be cold, but it’s perfect in its own way.
Perfectly isolated, in any case, and that’s what I care about more than anything else.
Swinging my axe, I make a clean cut on the log I’m splitting. It was hard work at first, but after six months, I’d dare to say that I’ve nearly perfected my ability to split logs quickly, easily, and painlessly. I bring my axe down again and again, and before I know it, the sun is setting on another beautiful day in the Dragon Moun
tains.
Wonderful.
I clean everything up, store my wood neatly, and put away my axe. Then I head inside for the best part of my day: dinner. I make myself a delicious potato stew, take a spoonful of honey that I definitely don’t need, and settle in for a long evening of reading.
It’s a boring, but wonderful life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Living among other shifters was a nightmare in so many ways. It’s nice to just be able to breathe a little bit. It’s nice to me able to have some time to myself to just relax.
It’s nice not to have to worry constantly about making the right choices or how my decisions will impact literally everybody. Leading a clan of shifters, no matter how temporary my position might have been, wasn’t a good choice.
Solitude?
Definitely a good choice.
By the time I finish my book, I’m starting to get sleepy, so I lock up my cabin for the night, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed. My small home has just one bedroom and the bed is so big it takes up almost the entire space. It’s perfect for someone like me. It’s perfect for anyone. If I ever decided to have an overnight guest – which I definitely won’t – there would be plenty of space for both of us.
Or all of us.
Depending on the situation.
Now it’s storming outside, which always makes me tired. Somehow, thunderstorms up in the mountains always seem a bit worse than they otherwise would. Not that I’m scare dof a storm. I’m not. I am, however, tired. Curling up in my favorite corner of the bed, I pull the blankets up, tuck them under my chin, and fall into a dreamless sleep.
I’ve only barely passed out when I hear knocking on the door, followed by yelling.
“Please!”
At first, I’m certain that I’m imagining things. I’m absolutely positive that this is just part of my dream. After all, why else would I be hearing a woman’s voice?
“Please! Help me! Is anyone home?”
Then I sit up suddenly, realizing that this isn’t a dream.
Of course, it’s not.
It’s actually a woman’s voice, and judging by the pounding on my door, she’s right outside. I hurry out of bed, pull on a pair of jeans, and head to the door. If someone has the guts to knock on my door, then I’ve got the balls to answer it. I move across my tiny cabin, yank the door open, and look at her.
“Please,” the woman standing on my porch is soaked, and she’s got some sort of weird backpack strapped to her chest. “I need a place to stay.”
I step aside, gesturing for her to come into the cabin, and then I close the door behind her. I have no idea why I’ve decided to play nice all of a sudden. It’s not exactly my style. I don’t really have time for anyone – let alone women – but something tells me that she’s in danger, and my inner-bear is growling with desire.
I close the door, and then turn around to take a closer look at her.
