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His wound had been deep, probably fatal without treatment. Yet, he’d insisted it would heal on its own. There’d only been a couple minutes between her first look and second. She’d noticed how the wound had changed in just that much time and had to believe he was right.
What was the difference between his wounds and the ones on the dead boy? She’d always focused on evading rather than fighting back against the werewolves. But in her research, she had read a great deal of what was considered to be fiction about different types of werewolves. Did any of those accounts relate to the Valàfrn?
How long would Zeven insist on staying?
She carried the bag toward the bedroom. She was through waiting. She wasn’t going to let his stubborn pride get either of them killed.
While Zeven focused on healing and checking security, she dressed. She sorted out what she’d packed to make sure she had everything she needed or wanted.
Inside the little bag she’d grabbed from the hospital was the necklace that she cherished more than anything else she owned. The tiny snake carved from an antelope horn meant more to her than any diamond could. It was the one thing Zeven had given her all those years ago. Or at least it had been the one thing she had been able to hold onto other than the heartache. Even in her panic earlier she’d still remembered to grab it from the hospital. This time she’d wear it right where it belonged. She looped the thin chain around her neck. The delicate snake settled perfectly above the cleft of her breasts.
Was he really healing, okay? She couldn’t resist checking on him. As she peeked into the living room, he was pulling on a shirt over what appeared to be a mostly healed wound.
Returning to the bedroom, she tried to focus on packing as he’d suggested. She checked the emergency bag and then did a slow circuit of the room, dropping other items into a second bag. She packed a few more clothes, some papers from the nightstand. Not much really. When Zeven joined her, she said, “That’s it.”
“Are you sure? We have plenty of time for you to decide. We can even wait until tomorrow--”
“I don’t need more time.” She had almost faltered but even now with a dead body lying in the living room, he was looking for an excuse to delay. “I’ve been on the run all my life. There aren’t many things I care about and everything I need to start over was in that first bag.” She zipped the bag shut and swung it up over her shoulder. The other one, that was only half full, was the one she left for Zeven to carry.
His gaze narrowed.
Would he pick up on her plan? She tried to calm her racing pulse. Everything depended on her getting a big enough head start. The trick would be to get far enough away to force him to leave the house, but not so far that he couldn’t follow.
If only she could trust that he wouldn’t make any more excuses. That he would actually leave with her, run away instead of staying to fight. But even after getting injured so badly, she’d seen the stubborn set to his jaw. Given even a slight excuse, he would delay their escape longer. She’d have to take the choice out of his hands.
She leaned close, soaking in the heat from his body. “Before we have any other catastrophes, I need to use the bathroom.” She kissed him with a sweet press of lips and then turned away.
Zeven relaxed, glad she was finally accepting that he was part of her life. The way she’d overcome her fear time and again. First with the violence and then with his wound. And now initiating a kiss. It all gave him hope.
She might not trust him, but how could he blame her? He couldn’t. She had survived over the years because she was strong and independent and able to do for herself. Not only able but she was most comfortable doing for herself. Even letting him guide their next move probably chafed. Really it was amazing how compliant she was being, considering all she’d been through and what she’d just witnessed him do to the wolf punk.
He was still mulling the thought over when he picked up her bag. Her one bag. Where was the other one? Why would she take it to the bathroom with her?
Shit. There was a window in the bathroom.
She was running.
He bolted down the hall and crashed the door open. The room was empty, the curtain fluttering in the breeze. The opening was big enough for her but not him. He spun and thundered for the front door.
Before he made it outside, the garage door clanked open, and her motorcycle revved to life.
Damn! She flew past him, and he was fairly certain she screamed his name. Not that it mattered. She was on the street and accelerating fast.
He ran for his car, glad to have his keys and not even giving a shit about leaving behind some of his best weapons. His first thought was to catch her and spank her ass for running and putting her life in danger. But as he barreled after her, calmer thoughts came to the surface. He knew her, knew why she ran. She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her at all for her choice. After all, his past actions had cost her greatly while her own had kept her alive.
He eased off the gas and let her pull away. There was no way he could let her go, not now, not ever again. Instead, he followed her from a distance. He’d wait until his bird found a roost, then he’d be there to keep her safe.
Why the fuck hadn’t he asked for her cell phone number? What if he lost her? How would he find her again? His gut twisted with fear. Assholes, hunters and alphas he could face, but the thought of her living out her life without him... Yeah, that was the thing that could break him.
He followed as she took a ramp onto the interstate. She’d leave Vegas, but from there where would she go? He backed off a little more, letting a black sedan pass him, then a semi so that she was only in sight occasionally. He watched every off ramp and kept on heading east toward the desert. Finally, she swerved, taking a ramp at the last possible second.
Zeven missed the exit and swore in disgust as he had to back up on the roadside to follow. A familiar looking car was behind Harley turning off the main road toward the direction she'd gone.Holy hell!It was the same fucking sedan that had circled the block earlier. He was sure of it.
Shit, what if he was wrong and the bastards had sent someone else after her already? He floored it, backing into the Sunday morning traffic amidst much horn blowing, to make the turn back onto the ramp. Then he raced after her. At the bottom of the ramp, he turned the way she’d turned, but Harley and the sedan were both gone. There were a couple gas stations along the road, but he couldn’t even be sure that was the way she’d taken from the exit. For all he knew she might have friends, coworkers or…lovers on this road.
No, not lovers. They’d really connected earlier, hadn’t they? Doubts flooded his mind as he wove in among the lots and businesses looking for any sign, any track to follow. She’d been alone a long time. How could he be sure what he’d felt from her was real? Would Harley be able to lie with her body well enough to let his dreams and delusions fill in the gaps?
What if none of it was real?
