“Thanks,” Annabella said. The word felt funny in her mouth. Why on earth was she thanking her? For returning the bag they had confiscated when they kidnapped her? Crazy. But then again, Talia had shown her nothing but kindness. And what about Custo? Was there any kindness for him?
Annabella shook her head to clear her thoughts. She was too tired to think, and there was nothing she could do anyway. She’d sleep and then deal with everything tomorrow. She turned and made her way to the room with the number “15” on a flap above the door.
She gripped the lever and entered. The room was small and tidy. A hospital bed fitted with white sheets was centered on the opposite wall, a beige blanket folded across the end. Another door, kitty-corner to the entry, was ajar, the gleaming edge of a toilet promising a private bath. Nothing fancy, but clean.
Okay. She could rest here for one night. Rudy, the linebacker-turned-nurse, wouldn’t let anything get past him. Maybe this was the best solution after all.
The console above the bed had an overhead light, and Annabella moved forward to find the switch to turn it on for a little extra protection. As she was fiddling with the switch, the door closed behind her.
Her sleeping pill? Her bag?
She turned and found a soldier. His hair was buzzed, jaw square. Bulging arm muscles, bronzed by the sun, were displayed by a tight army tank. He wore baggy camo pants tucked into black boots. No bag.
When he didn’t say anything, she was forced to ask, “Yes?”
He cocked his head at a sharp, oblique angle, chin tilted slightly downward. Gaze fixed on her.
Maybe the guy was confused. “Rudy, the nurse out front, assigned this room to me,” she explained.
The soldier took a predatory, silent step forward. Light from the bed lamp broke over his features, softly highlighting old acne scars across his cheeks and his yellow eyes.
A chill skittered over Annabella’s skin as her heart fluttered. She let her hand fall on the hospital bed railing and pressed the call button for the nurse.
The soldier took another stealthy step, shoulders slightly hunched as he approached.
Her heart clutched hard over two gulping beats before accelerating into a rush that pounded in her head. The soldier was familiar, but her mind refused to recall how.
He sniffed at the air. “I can’t smell so good now.”
Annabella flattened herself against the wall and console, and the light cascaded over her shoulders, bright at the edges of her vision. Her consciousness sparked at last, though she had known from the moment she saw him. “Wolf.”
He skulked forward again, upper lip curling to bare teeth. The yellow of his eyes became consumed by black, the irises swallowed by deep and shifting shadow.
“Who—? How—? I don’t understand.” Hysteria rose like bile in her throat.
“What are you?” the wolf asked, his voice soft, husky, and low, rumbling from his chest. He tilted his head again, moving in closer.
Annabella gripped the bed railing, torn between climbing over it and staying beneath the light, her place of protection. Not so much protection anymore—the wolf now stood in the dim illumination of the room. “What are you?” she asked back.
He considered her question.
“I am the hunter.” He bent his head to the exposed skin at her neck. “You and the other one trespassed in my territory.”
She craned her head away, but he brushed his cheek there anyway. Nuzzled, his hot breath in her hair and curling around her ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you want from me?” Sobs clogged her question. Though her body was painfully tense, a deep shudder had her trembling beneath him.
He groaned, almost a growl, before answering. “This body wants to be inside you. To fill you. Is that where you keep your magic?”
“Oh, please, no.” Tears slid down her cheeks. Her knees threatened to give.
“Then how do you glow? Why does magic obey you? How do you light Shadow?” His low voice was full of wonder.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gasped.
Hot, slick teeth pulled at her earlobe. “Show me again.”
“Show you what?” she whined, insinuating her arms between them to push him away.
“Bridge our worlds.” His hand found her ass and he ground his pelvis against hers. “But you feel so good, I almost don’t want to go back.”
“Please go back,” she begged. “You don’t belong here.”
“I could stay a while longer, like this, with you.” He growled again. “Feels so good.”
“Go back.”
His other palm skimmed up her waist. He cupped her breast. “I’ll stay. I think I can bridge our worlds a little myself.”
Annabella’s next breath released in a frightened whimper, high and weak. A sound somebody else would make. Somebody who let bad things happen to them. Somebody who didn’t think to fight. Not her.