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They’re everywhere. On her smooth, pale abdomen. Above her round breasts, across her clavicle. Down her arms, her legs, even her fucking feet. Small scars, round scars, cuts so thin they look like they were carved intentionally. Some old, some new, and some nearly as fresh as the wrist brace on her arm. The worst of them appear to be situated on parts of her body easily hidden by clothes.
As if they were put on her intentionally.
Pure rage envelops me, and I grip the t-shirt I’m holding so hard I feel my nails dig into my palms through the fabric. She’s so fucking beautiful. So fragile, breakable, soft… Who would hurt this woman? How could they live with themselves?
I’m surprised by the intensity of my anger. Uncurling my fingers from the t-shirt, I breathe through the fury as I gently tug the shirt over her head.
With the most intimate of her injuries covered, I feel a little more level-headed. I move on to the pants, pulling them up over her hips and keeping my eyes firmly on her sleeping face instead of the panties.
Then I roll her gently beneath the covers, pulling them up over her shoulders. She turns over in her sleep, curling into a fetal position beneath my quilt, her good hand resting beneath her cheek. I tuck the blankets around her, marveling again at how lovely she is. Despite the fact that my cock has a mind of its own and she’s got a body like a goddess, this isn’t the kind of girl you fuck and run. I can smell the innocence on her; smell the goodness in her.
Moving to the door, I extinguish the bedroom light and leave her to her rest.
As far as I’m concerned, no one will hurt this girl again.
I’ll make damn fucking sure of it.
4
Sable
I wake up slowly, as if my body and mind are resisting consciousness. My dreams were surprisingly calm and comforting, and my eyes don’t seem to want to open. I don’t want to leave this calm, peaceful space between sleep and waking.
And why would I? So much of my life has been pain and trauma that it’s only fair I linger in the good moments as long as I can.
I’m beneath soft, warm blankets in a quiet room, and for a moment, I think I’m back in my bed in Uncle Clint’s house. But then a comforting scent wafts over me. Not the usual smell of Tide and my lavender body lotion.
Something more masculine.
Woodsy and spicy.
Unfamiliar yet achingly intoxicating.
I nestle farther into the pillow, breathing the soothing scent in deeply. I slide beneath the covers, ignoring the pained protests of my body as I roll into the sheets and take another deep breath. I spread out on my belly, blankets covering me from head to toe, and smile as I’m completely surrounded by this woodsy smell. Even still, I want more of it.
I’m rubbing against the she
ets like a cat, like I can imprint myself with the smell, when the events of last night suddenly rush back into my memories with a vengeance.
My heart seizes in my chest as I freeze, my breath catching.
The hospital visit.
The drive home.
I… I ran.
I remember shoving open the truck door and racing off into the woods to the sound of Uncle Clint spitting mad and making chase. There was a deer leading me, and I was almost hit by a car. Were there… bear claw marks on trees? I fell down a ravine…
And then there was a wolf.
Everything after that is a dark, unformed blur. But what I do remember is enough to send panic spiking through my veins.
Shoving back the covers, I sit up in bed and glance frantically around the room. Four unfamiliar walls surround me, constructed of wooden logs like some kind of rustic cabin. There’s nothing in the room but a bed and a dresser, and two doors, both closed. A small window is set into an exterior wall, covered by gauzy white curtains that let in golden sunlight—afternoon sunlight, maybe.
Shit. How long was I asleep?
Then my gaze lands on a pile of dirty laundry resting in a basket in one corner. Men’s blue jeans, white t-shirts…
