Page 112 of Savage Hearts

His lips part. His pupils dilate. He stares at me, motionless.

Then he looks away and swallows hard. He exhales and says gruffly, “If you don’t go back with him, he dies. I’ll kill him.”

“You’re not going to hurt him.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

He looks at me again, and his eyes burn with anger. “Goddammit! You’re not listening to me!”

“Yes, I am, but you’re lying. Because you know that if you hurt Spider, I’ll never forgive you. And no matter how much you try to tell yourself that shouldn’t make a difference, it does.”

Infuriated, he stares at me in crackling silence.

Feeling daring, I add softly, “And we both know why.”

He jolts to his feet, flattens his hands on the table, and leans over it, glaring at me. “If you think I care about you, you’re wrong.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. You’re only here because I’m punishing Declan.”

“Okay.”

His voice rises. “You’re nothing but a means to an end. You’re part of my plan. This”—he waves a hand between us—“isn’t anything. It’s nothing. You meanzeroto me.”

I look down at my hands, then back up at him. I say quietly, “Okay.”

His temper snaps. He shouts, “Why do you keep agreeing with me?”

“Because we both know you’re full of shit, so arguing would be pointless.”

He stares at me. A vein throbs in his temple. Then he straightens abruptly and stalks out of the kitchen.

I sit in my chair, listening to him storm around the cabin, stomping from room to room. After several minutes, the front door slams.

Now I’m alone, wondering if I’ve just signed Spider’s death warrant.

You never know what a trained assassin will do when he loses his temper.

I jump up and run out to the front porch. Mal is nowhere in sight in the meadow, so I run around the side of the cabin, stumbling in my haste. I’ve never seen where he parks his car—there’s no barn or detached garage within sight—but it must be nearby, hidden somewhere in the trees.

When I regain my footing and look up, ready to sprint into the woods, my heart drops. I suck in a terrified breath and freeze.

A bear stands motionless ten feet away, its attention focused on me.

It’s an adult. I can tell by the sheer size of the thing. It must weigh eight hundred pounds.

Its head is a massive wedge shape. Its fur is a glossy dark brown. If it stood up on its hind legs, it would tower several feet over me.

It makes a terrifying chuffing sound, a low grunt of aggression. It lowers its head, clacks its teeth, and pounds a huge paw against the ground.

Shaking in fear and badly hyperventilating, I take one careful step backward.

The bear watches with hostile black eyes as I take another step.

Then it lunges.