Page 66 of Crucible
Just like Aurelia.
The wolf sniffs my palm, and I can see Thorin and Khalil from my peripheral moving into position just in case this inevitably goes south and I lose my hand. If I do, I’ll make sure to gift it to Sunshine as an apology for hurting her that night and all the ones that will no doubt follow.
The wolf is still scenting me when I sign my death wish by moving my hand through the fur under her jaw. I keep it there,admiring the untamable wildness in her gaze as she watches me back.
“It’s okay, girl. Go back to your den. We won’t bother you,” I promise.
With one last warning growl, the wolf turns and jots off into the trees. I guess it was too much to hope for a few palm licks before she went.
Looking over my shoulder, I smirk at those cowering pussies when I see Khalil and Thorin looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
The joke’s on them. I never had it.
“She’s getting ready to whelp those pups, so her den must be nearby,” Khalil remarks.
“I’ll track her down tomorrow. Make sure she doesn’t come back,” Thorin says.
I’m still watching the tree line when I answer. “Don’t bother.”
“And if it’s Aurelia out here the next time she comes?” Thorin retorts.
“Maybe she’ll learn to stay her ass in the cabin,” Khalil mumbles.
I roll my eyes at them both. “The wolf won’t be back. She’s not interested in us. She was just checking out the competition.”
I don’t give either a chance to argue. Unzipping my jeans, I pull out my dick and watch the steam from my warm piss hitting the frozen ground rise and curl in the air.
“What the fuck, Seth?”
I look over my shoulder to see Khalil pinching the bridge of his nose and looking exasperated. “Why?”
“Marking our territory,” I explain. “Why else? If you don’t want the wolf coming back…” I let my point hang since they’re smart boys and continue draining the hose along the outer edges of our turf.
There’s a beat of contemplative silence, and then the sound of zippers lowering as Khalil and Thorin join me.
Anything for Sunshine.
AURELIA
The cookbooks, which one of those creepy bastards left stacked on the nightstand for me, might as well be in a foreign language: braise, core, dredge, sauté, and brine.
I don’t understand any of it.
This morning, I’d woke up once again in the bed of twisted branches, and it had been only slightly less jarring than before. It wouldn’t have been bad at all if not for the mysterious nausea and stomach cramps that roused me. The sick feeling only intensified when I realized I hadn’t slept alone. Khalil was already gone when I awoke, but the indentation in the pillow and the lingering warmth of the sheets told me as much.
I’d taken a much-needed shower only after making sure I was alone in the cabin, and then I donned the peasant dress because it was the only thing I had left that was mine. The constant was a constant reminder that I didn’t belong here and that I had a life waiting for me outside of this cabin.
I’m sure if the guys knew that, they’d burn it, so mum’s the word.
Despite their warning that they expected three hot meals a day, the guys hadn’t dragged me out of bed to cook for them again. With great satisfaction and amusement, I wonder if it’s because they weren’t looking forward to sampling my amazing culinary skills again so soon.
At the moment, I’m sitting cross-legged on the unbelievably cozy bear rug in front of the fire upstairs, studying recipes for canning and making butter because it’s better than dwelling on reality.
I may never leave this mountain.
If I’m not found, I’ll be confined to this cabin for the rest of my life. It’s not like my captors could take me into town and introduce me as their girlfriend or anything. I’m too recognizable, and thanks to the plane crash, that now includes the people in this remote corner of the world.
Maybe in a few years, but I doubt they’ll take the risk.
