I knew these two were big, but seeing them both on their feet instead of their backs makes the word big feel puny. Ruger has to be a foot taller than me, maybe more, and Perth looks like he’s only a few inches shy of his bed buddy.
Ruger looks back at me. “You’re in Howling Rapids. Home of Pack Arcan. Last night was our Hunt. You ran in it. Gannon bit you, which means our den claimed you and freed your wolf,” Ruger explains, as though everything he’s saying should make perfect sense.
I knew it—a twisted sense of validation winds through me at the mention of a bite…but then the rest of his words start to trickle through to my unhelpfully lethargic brain. Words like pack and your wolf.
It’s a good thing he’s pretty, because he’s clearly unhinged.
I study him for a moment, my gaze roaming over his wide shoulders and tapered waist. The way his dark red sweats skim the V of his hips. The dusting of hair on his chest is the exact shade of brown as the hair on his head.
“My wolf?” I challenge, swallowing down the hysterical laughter that tries to bubble up my throat. “I’m just a woman. There’s nothing wolflike about me, unless you count the winter months when I don’t shave my legs. As for your den,” I tell him, the word spilling from my lips more like a question than the title he used it as, “thank you for your interest in claiming me, but I’m going to have to pass.”
What medieval motherfuckery is that? Claiming women. No thank you.
These guys have to be in some sort of cult. I look around the room for any sign of red cloaks, but I don’t spot one.
Doesn’t matter. What happened last night was not me joining whatever the fuck they’re a part of.
Or was it?
Shit.
Someone needs to call animal control on these assholes because forcing wolves to chase after people is fucked. Of course, I can’t say that aloud. I’m also not one-hundred-percent sure it happened. I think they drugged me, but I don’t know.
Fuck. This is so messed up.
“I just wanted a burger,” I protest, “not whatever this is…” I gesture between us and then around the room. “Last night was…um…interesting, but I start a new job in a couple weeks, and I really need to get going.”
Am I good to drive? Yes, I have to be. I don’t have a choice, because staying here is not going to happen.
I inch closer to the door, hoping against hope that these two will somehow let me go.
“You can’t leave,” Perth decrees, and I pause my advance to shoot him a glare.
“You can’t keep me here against my will. That’s illegal,” I warn, the reminder filled with false bravado. I don’t know what I’m going to do if these two behemoths decide they don’t care.
“I don’t understand,” Perth lobs at me, his gaze shooting to Ruger in a silent plea before he looks back at me. “What are you doing here in town if you didn’t come to run in the Hunt?”
The accusation in his tone that I’ve done something wrong here—that I’ve injured him in some way—shocks and angers me.
“Are you kidding me?” I challenge. “Do you honestly think you can claim every stranger who drives into town? I was hungry and needed a break from driving. I didn’t know that stopping in Howling Rapids meant I was signing my life away. You might want to put that on a sign outside town or something. Better yet, hang a notice at the diner. ‘Free kidnapping with every meal.’”
Perth, the redhead, looks even more perplexed. “We don’t need a sign, we have wards. You can’t even cross the town’s limits unless you’re one of us. Unless you’re an eerie,” he counters, like it’s something that should be obvious.
I stare at him completely lost. “What the fuck is an eerie?”
4
NOAH
Perth reels back like my question just cracked him across the face. He stares at me, one second slipping into another, and something dawns in his amber eyes.
“You don’t know what an eerie is,” he repeats, only this time it sounds more like a statement and less like a question.
Exasperated, I throw my hands up. How many circles around I don’t know what the fuck is going on do they want to make?
“I’m so over not understanding anything that’s being said in this backwards town,” I grumble as I shake my head and rub my temples, my mind drifting to thoughts of straitjackets and wings in a mental hospital. “I don’t know why you two think I’m playing some role in your weird-ass LARPing thing, but let me make this clear: I’m not. I want no part of whatever’s going on here. I want to leave.”
Perth opens his mouth, ready to argue with me, but Ruger cuts him off.
“Okay,” he chimes in. “You’re not our prisoner.” His green eyes are filled with calm assurance, and despite his intimidating gladiator-Viking-like appearance, I relax slightly. “There are some things I think we need to explain. Some details about what’s going on you need to know,” he offers. “Hear us out, and when we’re done, if you still want to leave, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Ruger’s words make my heart hammer in my chest, and for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, it’s not from fear, but relief. He might be a little cracked, but he’s clearly not deranged. I can work with that…I hope.
“Now, let’s start with getting you some clothes. Would that be okay?” Ruger asks, his brows lifting, concern etched into his bottom lip as his teeth dig into it.
Right, I’m still naked.
How the hell did that slip my mind?
Embarrassment colors my muttered yes in a thousand shades of bright, flaming reds.
I debate for a moment if I should awkwardly try to cover myself up with my hands, but decide against it. I’ve been arguing with both of them like this, and they’ve both managed not to make a big deal out of it, so why should I?
Ruger starts pulling clothes out of a nearby dresser. All of the shirts are way too big, but it’s better than nothing. I look around and note that this room must be his. It’s a surprisingly posh place for the mentally unsound. Then again, I haven’t read about too many billionaires who are anywhere close to normal, so…
I try not to shift uncomfortably on my feet when he turns to look at me again, because his gaze is anything but salacious. It looks like he’s trying to measure me with his eyes.
“Perth? Could you go grab some of Gannon’s pants? I think they might be the closest fit.”
Gannon…Gannon is a person? Why did I think Gannon was their pet wolf?
Wait. A person bit me?
I fight the urge to start checking over my body again, forcing myself to look calm even though I’m reeling inside. I need to get out of here, and pretending all of this is no big deal is the key to making that happen.
I could have sworn that I saw a wolf bite me. I felt it.
Fucking hell. Whatever drugs they gave me must have been next level. I’ve never even heard of anything that can make you hallucinate like that.
Perth leaves the room as Ruger tosses me a black T-shirt. I snatch the cotton garment out of midair and quickly don it, though it does little to soothe the chill scattered across my skin. The fall air up here is a different kind of cold than what I’m used to on the East Coast. It’s drier, crisper, but also harsher.