Page 7 of Shifting Hearts

SEVEN

Running From Shadows

Paris

T he cabin is too quiet. Too close.

I lie awake long after Ranger’s breathing evens, listening to the fire crackle, to the weight of silence pressing down on me. His presence burns at my back, I don’t need to turn to know he’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed like a sentinel, refusing sleep for my sake.

It should comfort me. Instead, it makes the bond ache worse.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Gabriel’s face. I hear the words he spat before he left me on my knees in front of everyone. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

And then Ranger’s voice, sharp and raw, telling me not to push him. The way his eyes went cold when I begged him not to decide for me. It’s too much. I can’t breathe in here.

So I wait, counting his breaths, praying he doesn’t stir as I shift carefully beneath the quilt. My legs tremble, but I grit my teeth and slide them over the edge of the bed. The wood floor is cold under my bare feet, the air biting against my skin.

One step. Then another. The door creaks softly as I ease it open, my heart pounding in my ears.

The night air slaps me awake, sharp and bracing. Stars scatter across the sky, pale silver light spilling through the trees. The forest smells of pine, damp earth, distant snow.

I breathe deep. For the first time in days, I feel something like freedom.

Wrapping my arms tight around myself, I step off the porch, the damp grass cool against my toes. My body protests, every muscle sore, every breath tight, but I keep moving. I need to prove to myself that I can. That I’m not broken.

I make it as far as the tree line before the shivers start. My vision swims, the bond humming sharp with warning. My knees buckle, and I brace myself against a trunk, panting.

“Dammit, Paris.” The growl rips through the night, low and furious.

I flinch, spinning clumsily, and there he is. Ranger. Barefoot, shirtless, storm-grey eyes blazing as he stalks toward me. His muscles ripple under the moonlight, his chest rising and falling with harsh, angry breaths.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is rough, gravel scraping over steel. He grips my shoulders before I can move, steadying me as my legs threaten to give out. The bond flares hot where his skin touches mine, a shock that makes me gasp.

“Let me go,” I snap, though my body betrays me, leaning into his heat.

His jaw clenches, his grip firm but not painful. “Not a chance. You sneak out here, half-dead and barefoot, like prey begging to be taken, and you expect me to just let you go?”

My throat tightens. Prey. That’s what Gabriel made me. That’s what I feel like now, trembling under Ranger’s touch, torn between shame and the desperate want that coils low in my belly.

“I just needed air,” I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds.

His eyes darken, the fury in them cracking to reveal something deeper. Fear.

“You scared the shit out of me.” The words rip from him raw and unguarded. He shakes his head, pulling me closer until our chests nearly brush, his breath hot against my hair. “If anything happened to you….” He cuts himself off, his jaw locking.

The bond thrums, insistent, hungry, pulling me against him. My thighs squeeze together, the ache between them sharper under his touch. He feels it. I know he does. His nostrils flare, his pupils blown wide, his claws threatening to break skin where he grips me.

For a breathless second, the world narrows to this. His body, my body. The space between us that begs to be closed.

Then, with a strangled curse, he shoves me back against the tree, as though distance will save us both.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he growls. His voice shakes. Not with anger. With the effort it takes to walk away.

He turns, fists clenched, every line of him trembling with restraint. And I stand there, my back pressed to the rough bark, the echo of his heat still burning into my skin, my heart pounding out the truth I don’t want to admit.

I want him. Even if he never wants me back.