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Fuck.
Fuck.
Mason sat up and leaned against the headboard, made of the same wood as the rest of the bed, the morning sun glistening on his naked chest, transforming him into a god. He reached out, but Lacey shuffled backwards, out of his grasp. If he touched her again, she’d fall into his arms, into the devilish burn that he produced within her. The same flames she would never want to leave. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her, concern filling his eyes.
Lacey swallowed, moving to the edge of the bed and started to pull on her clothes. “I … I can’t do this,” she stuttered, the urge to get out of the room and away from him overwhelming. The energy pulsing from the mark started to ebb away, but she knew it would be there. Always. “I have to go,” she stammered, not knowing what else to say.
I’m sorry. I already know that you’re a werewolf, that this mark means we are now married even though we only met yesterday, and oh yes, your uncle hired me to find you and your sister so he can take back what you stole from him.
Yeah, that was a conversation every new wife wanted to have with her husband.
We’re not married! This can’t be happening. I wanted great sex, a dozen orgasms, maybe a nice dinner and a movie, not … a fucking branding and a shifter husband.
She needed to get out of there, away from that shifter devil, and think about what she was going to do.
Because right then, she had no freaking idea.
“Don’t go.”
Lacey turned at the rawness of his voice, her boots finally zipped. Already she could feel his seed dripping out of her body, soaking into her jeans. Not bothering to dress, Mason stood before her, naked as his voice. Just the sight of him threatened to transform her knees to jelly.
Part of her wanted to stay, to take her time exploring the length and breadth of that delicious body, to search what made the breath in his lungs dissipate into nothing and what made his eyes darken to midnight slits and leave him cursing and balling his fists, and the other part screamed at her to run. It had taken years to stitch the pieces of her broken heart together again – she couldn’t do it a second time.
And this man, this werewolf, would do just as much damage to her sanity and soul as Nathan’s death did. She couldn’t risk that again.
Still, Mason stared at her, his jawline twitching, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he waited for her to say something. Anything.
A knot formed in the back of Lacey’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her lungs burned with the need for air, and the rest of her body burned with the need to throw herself at Mason as her brain blazed with one thought: to get away.
Unable to take any more, Lacey sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and ran out of the bedroom, Mason’s eyes burning twin holes in her back as she raced down the hallway and past the living area with its comfortable yet shoddy looking denim coloured couch and pitcher of bright yellow flowers.
The cabin became nothing but a blur as she flew through the door. The warmth of the sun hit her face, causing tears to well up in her eyes. The crown of the canopy allowed beams of light to descend, highlighting the phantasmagoria of greens and earthy colours.
Lacey paid no attention to where she ran. She just raced through the trees, ignoring her traitorous body screaming at her to go back. She ducked under low-laying branches, but not quick enough to avoid the low-lying leaves that whipped their way across her face.
Time became nothing, the world little more than a blur. All she could feel were the conflicting need to return to Mason’s arms and the overwhelming need to get the hell away from said arms.
So she did the only thing she could be certain of: run.
Lungs screaming for breath, Lacey finally collapsed to the ground, her sweaty fingers digging into the dry earth, needing to feel connected to something real. Twigs snapped off from branches above her head dug into the tender flesh of her hands as she bent over, struggling to get oxygen back into her body.
What the hell was she going to do about Mason? About the damn job? Having sex with her target wasn’t on Sam’s list of requirements! How could she find out if he and his sister were really the ones Sam was after if she didn’t go back?
But how could she go back? After having the best sex of her life and then running out on the man who’d given it to her?
Oh gee, I know I ran out on you after all those mind-blowing orgasms and that rather delicious bite, you know, the one that binds us together, but I really need to know if you’re related to a rather surly and brutal alpha who goes by the name of Sam?
Hmmm, yeah. She could just see that conversation going down well.
Then the snap of twigs and leaves tore her from her rather pathetic thoughts and whipped her gaze upwards.
Only for dread to snake its slimy fingers down her sweaty spine as the sight of three hunters from the day before suddenly appeared before her.
They all wore similar clothes from the last time they’d met, washed out jeans and an assortment of old t-shirts, some plain, others emblazoned with country bands Lacey had never heard of. She much preferred R&B, especially the old school stuff. Each of the men held a rifle in their hands or had one slung over their shoulders.
One of them, a burly guy with dark brown hair, sported lovely mottled shades of purple and sickly green bruises over his cheekbone.
Ha. The bruises on my knuckles were well worth it.
