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Navigating as best I can, I leave the thickest part of the trees, heading toward what I hope is civilization.
The moon is bright enough to light my path.
After hiking long enough to leave my feet screaming, I hear the hum of cars zooming over asphalt. It’s only when I pop out in a drainage ditch, climbing up toward the road, that I realize the flaw in my plan.
Hitchhiking is a thing that people do.
But not omegas, even scentless, unawakened ones.
I can’t trust strange alphas.
If the driver’s a beta it’s probably fine, but the problem is, I don’t trust anyone.
I’d rather curl up in this ditch than ask for help from yet another person who wants to use me, hurt me, or straight-up sell me off.
Again.
I promise myself I’ll look up how to set up a lean-to and an organic farm, so the next time I’m lost in the woods, I can just stay fucking lost and solve all my problems.
Tonight, I’m too cold and hungry to sleep in a ditch, no matter the risk.
I climb up and stand on the shoulder, hugging my waist, shivering, and waiting for a car to pass. We must be farther out in the boonies than I realized because it’s a few minutes before headlights appear.
I stick out my thumb like the movies. The car flies by.
I start walking toward Wyvern McManor. If I have to, I can trudge all the way back, but my feet seriously ache. Trail running barefoot wasn’t my brightest idea.
I wasn’t even thinking. I was fleeing.
The second car honks as it zooms past, and I resign myself to a long, woozy walk. I just hope I can find the driveway.
It’s a while before the third set of headlights approaches, and a long line of bloody footprints stamps the ground behind me. I half-heartedly wave, not really expecting them to stop.
The pickup flies by.
As expected.
Until the brakes skrrrrrr.
The truck kicks into reverse and stops beside me. When the driver lowers his window, my heart drops to the pavement with a wet plop.
Hunter.
He smells like smoke and sweet liquor. I brace for my body’s betrayal, expecting my perfume to pop out and say hello, but thank goddess, I’m too exhausted for omega shenanigans.
Hunter’s jacked shoulders block my view of the passenger seat and pretty much everything else in the world because right now there’s only him, with his big brown eyes and sexy scent that has me torn between vaulting through the window and tucking and rolling to the bottom of the ditch.
“What are you doing out here, little omega?” His thick eyebrows lift as he scans me from my bare, bloody feet to the suddenly rock-hard nipples poking through the fabric of my swimsuit.
Traitors.
“Move,” a muffled voice says, and then Hunter’s shoved out of the way. Finn leans over the steering wheel, craning toward me. With dark red hair and sparkling green eyes, he licks his lips, pure mischief. “You need a ride?”
“Hop in.” Hunter nods to the backseat.
No way am I squeezing into the cab. I give it thirty seconds before I’m dry humping both of them.
I hobble around and climb the bumper, hauling myself into the truck bed. I crawl forward, then collapse. It feels so good taking the pressure off my feet.
