The look in his eyes grew tender as he brushed a stand of hair from my face. His fingers left a trail of warmth where they brushed my skin. I wanted him to do it again. Touch me. His breath hitched when I tilted my head slightly. His fingers trembled as he touched my hair. Encouraged, my hand drifted to his bicep.
The contact broke the spell, and he hastily set me on my feet next to the bike. Like cold water splashed in my face, it brought me back to reality. I needed to claim him for the right reasons—to get rid of the dreams where I died, and not the wrong reason—because he made my insides quiver.
Being connected by the strap didn’t give us much room. It pinned us together and brought my face close to his neck. I blinked at the opportunity, and I didn’t wait for permission. I darted in with the intent to end the bad dreams, but my teeth didn’t reach my intended target.
Luke had shoved his hand between my face and his neck at the first sign of my move. I should have anticipated his speed, I thought. With my face humiliatingly mashed into the palm of his hand, I grew angry.
“What’s your problem? I know you feel the pull. This is what’s supposed to happen.” I resisted stomping my foot as he slipped out of the strap. Standing tall and out of his personal space, I glared at him. He looked angry, too.
“No, it is not. Why did you change your mind?”
“I’m tired of dying!” I cried. “It hurts! What don’t you understand? Every time I close my damn eyes, I feel every anguished moment of one of our past lives. Claiming you will make the dreams better.” I tried to keep the begging tone from my voice, but by the end, that’s what I did. Beg. “Please, Luke.”
Some of the tension eased out of him, and he looked at the trees, taking a moment before answering.
“I promised I only wanted to help you. And I will. The dreams are better when I sleep near you. We will keep doing that,” he said without meeting my eyes. “Climb on.”
I felt like throwing a fit, but then I realized the position I would be in if I climbed back on—right by his neck. Keeping the triumphant grin from my face, I slipped behind him.
For the next twenty minutes, he face-palmed me at least fifty times. When I gave up in frustration and leaned my forehead against his back, his heat started lulling me.
“I’m going under,” I managed to mumble before my eyes closed.
“Try to hold on. I called for help. There should be a car ahead,” he called over his shoulder. He sped up instead of slowing down.
A fear-induced adrenaline spike pushed the dream back, and my eyes popped open. “What do you mean you called for help?”
I barely got the words out when an object flew from the woods beside us. Big, black, and furry, it just missed our back tire. In stunned disbelief, I clung to him as we raced on. He’d really done it. He’d called for the rest of his pack.
Luke twitched before me, and I peeked over his shoulder. In one of the mirrors, I saw the reason. My heart leapt into my throat as I twisted to look behind us.
It ran on all fours. Its paws pounded the pavement as it gained on us. With a sleek head and a vicious snarl, it looked just like the werewolves in my dreams. Seeing it all affirmed, I started shaking.
“Hold on,” Luke warned me.
Relief flooded me. Not one of his.
“Faster!” I shouted and hit Luke on the back.
He had already twisted the throttle when another shape flew into our path. Luke leaned far to the left and made a swift deep swerve around the second one. I clung to his back panting in fear. We were both going to die. He barely recovered from the swerve when something snagged the bag on my back—the same bag strapping me to Luke—and pulled. My breath left me in a whoosh.
With my arms wrapped around his waist, my shoulders screamed in pain as I struggled to hold on. Then suddenly, the pressure eased. The bike flew forward, riderless, as we stayed in place, hanging in the air. The strap still connected us. Luke whipped an arm back to keep me pressed against him while he severed the strap. We landed with a thud just seconds after being unseated. The bike glided for a distance and then fell onto its side on the gravel shoulder.
Despite my bruised and aching butt, I scrambled to my feet. Luke already stood in a semi-crouch near me, facing off with the two dogs that circled us.
“Go,” he said nudging me.
“No, thanks,” I whispered. Running through the woods away from the only person who might be willing to protect me didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, I’d been chased through the woods before, and it hadn’t ended well.
Luke’s skin rippled as he partially changed. My heart thumped painfully seeing the truth of what he was. His nails elongated, and his back hunched a bit. He leapt at the wolf to the right with his upper body, and then he swung his legs to kick the one on the left. He scored a solid hit on both seconds before he fully burst into his fur. I backed up two steps staring at the copper-coated wolf.