Nothing.
At all.
It’s as if last night has been erased from my mind completely.
Worry starts to invade my afterglow. Why is there nothing in my head about either of these guys?
Warm pillowy lips press against my bare shoulder, and my attention is immediately drawn to the trois of this menage who is still snuggled against my back. I shudder, not because it feels wrong or scary or intimidating, but because it feels so utterly right. And yet, my mind is completely devoid of any knowledge of how any of us got here.
What the hell?
“How’s your wolf feeling?” Perth asks, nuzzling the juncture where my neck and shoulder meet.
I look back at him, and my eyes practically bug out when I take him in. If the other man is biker-level intimidating contrasted by soft smiles, then Perth is the naughty boy-next-door with the panty-melting grin.
Although boy is a massive misrepresentation of the man behind me.
I’d pin him at thirty maybe, just a few years older than me. He’s got reddish brown hair, a trimmed mustache and beard of the same color, and a face full of freckles that somehow add to his allure. I’ve heard of freckles being called angel kisses, but that title never made sense to me until now. Perth and his gorgeous face have most definitely been blessed by the heavens.
His eyes are a striking amber color, and the look banked in the warm hue tells me that this guy is deliciously dangerous. He stares at me as if he’s familiar with every bit of my body and currently planning to reacquaint himself with several prime inches of it.
I smile dreamily at him, and then what he asked me hits me like a Mack truck.
How’s your wolf feeling?
Your…wolf?
That one word trickles out of him so innocently, and yet it’s the key to unlocking the vault in my head. With a clang, the door swings open.
Memories of wolves, red cloaks, and pain inundate me. A terrified whimper tears out of my throat, and I scramble to get out from between these two psychos. I clamber to the foot of the bed before falling off in my rush to get away.
Both of them sit up in a snap, reaching for me like I need help. As graceful as a newborn foal, I manage to get my quivering legs under me. I pop up, holding out my hands as if I’m trying to ward off an attack that neither man is currently rallying.
Regardless, my senses are on high alert, my knees quaking, and my arms covered in goose bumps as though this is an actual life-or-death situation. The terror of the memories that just surged through me is so intense that bile creeps up my throat.
I risk looking away to take in my leg. I was bitten. A wolf attacked me last night and tore into my calf…but when I look down, my skin is smooth, and my leg is completely intact. There’s not even a mark there.
How the hell is that possible?
Bewildered, I look back at the two men and then take in my surroundings, as if somehow that will help make sense of whatever the hell is going on. There’s a soft gray rug beneath my feet and white-blond planks running the length of the room. A wall of windows to my right overlooks a forest with snowcapped mountains in the distance.
Did I fall into a postcard? Is this a Hallmark movie-induced delusion?
Ridiculous notions fill my head as tears creep to the brim of my eyes. Something strange is going on. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as I try to puzzle out when and how I completely lost my mind.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe,” Perth, the big spoon from my fucked-up cuddle session, reassures me.
“Where am I, and who the hell are you?” I demand, my voice scratchy and brittle from disuse.
The big, gentle gladiator dude scoots closer, the sheet falling down to his waist and revealing the fact that he has perfect six-pack abs and a tattooed chest to go with his massive inked arms. He holds his hands up in a manner that suggests he means no harm and speaks in a tone I’m very familiar with—one I often use to soothe scared animals. “I’m Ruger. And this is Perth. Our den claimed you during the Hunt,” he tells me evenly, his honeyed-tea tone trying to calm me against my will.
Shaking my head, I back away toward a dresser, which happens to be closer to the door I just spotted in my periphery.
Neither of the men try to stop me, but they do shoot confused looks at each other. Looks laced with something else, some other emotion that passes too quickly for me to decipher.
“I don’t know what the hell that means,” I snap. Pulling in a deep breath, I try to rein in my overwhelming fear and frustration; neither is helping me right now.
“The Hunting Ceremony,” Ruger offers, his brow furrowing as he studies my face. “You ran in it last night. Our den claimed you,” he repeats, but it doesn’t make any more sense this time than it did the last.
“I didn’t run in anything,” I argue. “I was assaulted in a parking lot, woke up naked in the woods, and then I was attacked by wolves.”
I look down at my leg again as if the bite I know should be there will have magically shown up to verify my story, but my calf still looks perfectly fine. I even check my other leg just in case I’m confused from all the pain and madness, but there are no bite marks on that one either.
There is no way that was all a dream. I’ve had nightmares before but not for a long time and nothing like that.
It was real. It had to be. I lift my hand to feel the wound on my head, but it’s gone.
Right?
Perth rises from the bed, and I jump back, slamming into the wall behind me at his sudden movement. He looks disconcerted but thankfully doesn’t move any closer.
“What do you mean?” he demands, and there’s an angry bite to the question.
“Is this some kind of cult?” I ask instead of answering him. “Did you drug me? Did I imagine the cloaks and the wolves?” I question, but I can’t tell if the last query is aimed at them or myself.
I should feel more terrified than I do right now, standing naked in front of two strangers in a house I don’t recognize that’s surrounded by a vast expanse of land and big-ass mountains. For some reason, I feel less scared and more baffled. It’s like the biggest issue here is putting the pieces of the puzzle together and not that these two had their hands all over me and are using words like claim and hunt.
Maybe it’s shock, or maybe I’m still high on whatever hallucinogen they dosed me with. Somehow, I don’t feel like I’m in immediate danger, which makes no sense because I was attacked in a parking lot and now, I’m here.
I didn’t see either of these two around town before I was attacked though. They certainly weren’t in the diner or at the coffee shop. I would have remembered faces like theirs.
I study them, waiting for my sixth sense to ping and warn me away. Nothing happens.
Carefully, I run my gaze all over them, but no ick surfaces or red flags start waving. It’s stupid—because what can anyone really tell about a person just by looking at them? But something in my gut is giving me an all clear, and my heart starts to slow while warmth pools low in my belly.
“What the hell is going on?” Ruger asks as he rises from the bed, a pair of maroon sweats hanging low on his hips. “Did you hit your head during the Hunt? Are you feeling okay? She’s awake, so it can’t be the Fade, right? She shouldn’t be awake this soon, though. Could it be?” he asks, turning to Perth.