“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.
“Socks?” I ask hopefully, because a nice pair of fuzzy socks would really help the freak-out that I’m attempting to tamp down right now.
“Catch!” Ruger must have anticipated my question, because he launches a pair of gray ski socks that wobble through the air. I catch them by the toe and notice they have a masculine little snowflake pattern on top.
“Thanks.” I hope a bit of politeness softens these guys up so I can ease out the door when the time comes. Agreeing to listen to them was really my only bargaining chip, but I have absolutely zero intention of entertaining this ludicrous bullshit for much longer.
I had a foster brother once who was insane. He brought home five kittens and called them lions, insisting they’d be perfect for his fighting pits. Saving those little creatures from his clutches had taken six weeks and nearly all of my thirteen-year-old wits, but I did it then and I can do it now. I can tell these loonies whatever they want to hear so I can get out of here safe and sound.
I can do this. I can match energy and outcrazy the crazy.
Leaning against the wall, I pull the socks on to find they’re long enough to end just above my kneecaps.
Ruger clears his throat and starts coughing. When I glance up, his face is red, and he glances away. Was he checking me out?
Warmth spreads across my chest at the fact that a guy as hot as him would ogle me, but I quickly shoot down that nonsense.
He’s nuts.
We don’t get twitterpated over crackpots, I fiercely remind my pulsing vagina—sometimes, she can be a real needy cunt.
“So…this Hunt…it was in the woods right?” I ask, trying to fit the fragmented pieces of last night together.
Ruger gives a brief nod. “Yeah.”
“And there were wolves?” I press, keeping my tone casual, because this detail is the thing I can’t make sense of. The part of all of this that’s confusing the shit out of me.
Did it happen, or was it a drug-fueled hallucination?
His green eyes study my face like he’s searching for something, but I have no idea what. “Yes,” he finally answers.