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But he’s gone. I don’t even hear the sound of his big bulk crashing through the woods.
Growling irritably, I put my nose to the ground and sniff around until I catch his scent. Even in wolf form, he smells like whiskey and woodsmoke, so it’s easy to find. Once I’ve got him, I take off through the woods, ignoring the throbbing in my head as I trail him.
Half a mile into the woods, however, his scent begins to grow strangely indistinct. It fades little by little until suddenly, I’ve lost his trail.
Fuck.
Chapter 6
I snarl in frustration, the sound echoing through the woods. A flock of tiny warblers takes flight to flee my anger, then the forest goes still again but for the breeze knocking through the trees. Dusk has fallen to full dark, and I can sense all the nighttime creatures slithering fearfully away from me in the inky shadows.
But I can’t sense Kian.
That son of a bitch.
I’m not sure he even meant to headbutt me, but it certainly gave him the advantage he needed to get away while I was incapacitated.
At the very least, I hope his head’s ringing with a concussion too.
I sniff around a while longer, but I can’t find a good trail. Turning circles in the dark isn’t going to conjure the asshole up, so after a time, I begrudgingly set a trail back through the woods to my bike.
Kian’s Harley is right where he left it next to mine. I shift back to human form and lift it up so I can dig around in its compartments.
Except the saddlebags are gone.
“That rotting pile of flaming trash,” I mutter and let his bike fall back to the ground.
He came back and got his things, then took off.
Hauling up my own bike, I knock the kickstand down so I can open my top-box. I dig around through the detritus inside until I find a pair of wire cutters, then gleefully go to work ruining his Harley. If it can be cut, whether mechanically or aesthetically, it gets a trim.
If this was the wild west, I’d just steal his horse. Alas, I was born in a different time, and I can’t operate two motorcycles at once. The asshole runs from me, I make it so his bike can’t run. Tit for tat.
I toss my wire cutters back in my top-box, then dig out some clothes. Nothing would get people’s attention quite like a naked girl riding around on a bike, so I started keeping a couple spares in the trunk a while back.
The t-shirt chafes against all the scratches I’ve gotten. My hips and legs ache as I step into the soft cotton shorts, and I realize I’m going to have to find a store in town to pick up a new pair of boots. In the meantime, I step into my spare pair of flats and brace myself for engine heat on my ankles.
I briefly consider sticking around. Kian has to come back for his bike eventually, right? But there’s no guarantee he will. I’m in pain. I’m pissed. I want to clean up my wounds and sleep for an entire day.
I’ve made it this long searching for him. I can go a while longer.
So I kick my bike into gear, carefully turn it through the undergrowth, and head back for the road.
Returning to the bustle of Oscura feels… odd. What just happened out in the woods feels like it took place on a totally different planet. It’s like the girl who rode into town a couple hours ago isn’t the same girl coming back now. Not after the constant rush of conflicting emotions I feel around Kian. After the argument. The fight.
Losing him again.
As I pass Joe’s Bar and Grill, I remember that I had change laying on the table. I’d run after Kian without grabbing it, too caught up in his attempt to flee to think of anything else. No biggie, though. Poor Brandee was having a bad night. She deserves the tip. Hopefully the rest of her night goes a hell of a lot more smoothly than mine.
I park my bike on the sidewalk outside the motel then swipe the keycard to let myself into the cool AC. The door slams shut behind me, and I slump against it, staring around the pathetic room.
Home sweet home.
My head’s throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I straighten and limp to my bag for some ibuprofen, then carry the little brown pills to the bathroom sink. When I turn on the strip of lights above the counter, I wince at my reflection in the mirror and immediately consider turning them right back off.
I look… rough.
The past three years haven’t been kind to me. It’s never more obvious than when I’m forced to confront my own reflection. My thin face has turned hard and angular, and my once grass-green eyes are dull and haunted above dark hollows put there by sleepless nights.
