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.
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.