Page 4 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

“Come and sit over here,” Nixon says, guiding me gently by the arm toward the deep navy corduroy couch. I hop awkwardly on one foot until I reach it, then sink into the cushions with a relieved sigh.

I clutch my purse to my chest, acutely aware of the phone tucked inside. Knowing it’s there provides a thread of control in a situation that’s slipping through my fingers.

Nixon lowers himself onto the polished wood coffee table directly in front of me. His thighs spread slightly for balance, his body solid and broad, and before I can object, he lifts my injured foot into his lap and slowly peels away the sock.

“Don’t,” I say. “I can do it.” I try to jerk it back, but he continues.

“Why don’t you want me to help?” he asks. “You’re so guarded.”

“You’re a stranger,” I snap. “A stranger who carried me into his cabin in the woods. Forgive me if I’m not swooning with gratitude while you try to undress me.”

He shakes his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Undress you? It’s a sock. A dirty, leaf-covered, damp sock. You think this is my idea of foreplay?”

I flush with embarrassment.

It isn’t. Of course, it isn’t.

But when his fingers slide beneath the fabric and ease it over my swollen ankle, it’s not just pain that floods my nerves, but awareness. His touch is warm and sure, rough in the way that comes from working with his hands, but gentle, too. His focus doesn’t waver, not even for a second.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

The sock peels away slowly, dragging leaves and forest debris with it. When he exposes my foot, he pauses.

“It’s very swollen,” he says quietly, setting the sock aside.

I glance down and wince. He’s right. The bones of my ankle have all but vanished beneath red, puffy skin. It looks angry and injured.

But for some reason, what embarrasses me isn’t the injury. It’s my toes. Painted cherry red, neat and shiny.

Too bold. Too sexual. Too… obvious.

He notices. His eyes flick over the polish and then to mine. There’s no teasing smirk on his face, just that cool, assessing calm again. His gaze is so deep, it seems to touch parts of me I don’t show anyone.

I bite my lip at the intensity within their depths.

His silence is unnerving. His stillness is even more so.

I can’t read him at all.

He’s so damn sexy, from the straightness of his nose to the fullness of his lips, but it’s his eyes that have me shivering. Cool and blue, they’re as pretty as they are empty.

Nixon lifts my foot from his lap and settles it on a thick cushion on the coffee table.

Then he stands, walking with quiet purpose to the kitchen, pulling a tea towel from a drawer, and grabbing a plastic bag from the counter.

I watch him fill it with ice, fold it in half, and wrap it.

The whole motion is efficient and quiet, like he’s done it before.

Like he’s used to people being hurt around him.

I reach into my purse and curl my fingers around my phone. It’s there. Warm from my body heat. My lifeline.

But the moment of comfort is shattered when the front door swings open with a loud creak.

A man walks in.

And he’s completely naked.

I freeze.

He’s tall, lean, and broad-shouldered with the kind of body that could only be built in the woods or a weight room.

His torso is marked with dark, intricate tattoos that spiral across his chest and arms, curling like ancient script.

His hand goes to his cock, which he attempts to conceal but fails.

It’s so big that, even though his hand is enormous, there is still a whole lot on show.

My mouth drops open. He blinks.

“Reed,” Nixon growls from behind me, his tone halfway between irritation and warning. “Clothes. Now.”

The naked man, Reed, turns toward the door with a roll of his eyes. “We didn’t know you had company,” he mutters. “A sign might’ve been helpful.”

But then a scratching sound attracts my attention. Heavy, like claws on wood.

Something massive moves just beyond the open door.

A moment later, a huge gray muzzle pushes through the frame. Not a dog. Not even close. The creature is enormous. Muscular. Predatory. Its eyes gleam with intelligence, ice blue, sharp, and utterly unnatural.

I press myself deeper into the couch cushions, heart thudding. “That’s… a big dog.”

Reed glances at the hand still cupping himself and smirks. “No one’s ever called it that before. But I like it.”

My cheeks go up in flames.

Nixon mutters a curse. “Get dressed.”

I guess that Reed is Nixon’s brother. Now I’ve had a moment to look him over. The strong family resemblance is obvious. There's something about his hard jaw, cheekbones, and eyes. Wow. Even the dog matches his owners in that regard.

“And take…” Nixon pauses, looking at the beast who seems so out of place in this crafted, clean environment.

Reed pats the wolf-dog on the head with his free hand. “Come,” he says, heading off up the stairs, his perfect bare ass on display. I can’t help but watch him striding away as heat floods between my legs.

Wow.

Two gorgeous men under one lonely and isolated roof. If I weren’t desperate to return to civilization, a girl could find plenty to keep her occupied out here in the woods. Those reviews on TripAdvisor flash through my mind again. Maybe this cabin has seen its fair share of ‘local hospitality.’

Nixon closes the front door and sits at the table before lifting my foot. “Sorry about that. My brother…well, we don’t usually have visitors.”

“So he walks around naked in the woods?”

Nixon shrugs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s warm out. There’s usually no one around.”

“Isn’t he worried the dog’s gonna bite off his sausage?” I mutter, as the icepack touches my skin. The cold shocks through me, and Nixon lets out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrates my bones. Not a great combo when my ankle’s throbbing like it’s going to explode.

“Sorry.” He places a warm hand on my knee, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That was an interesting mental image.”

“Their whole entrance was a mental image,” I say, trying not to laugh.

The ice soothes, and I take a deep breath, trying to relax.

A door slams upstairs, and footsteps descend. Reed returns wearing gray sweats and a worn blue T-shirt, like a model in an ad trying to convey casual cool. Another man follows behind him. Tall and broad, he’s dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. Classic lumberjack.

Three of them now. Brothers obviously. And no sign of a dog anywhere.

“So,” Reed drawls, resting his elbow on the banister. “What do we have here?”

“This is Scarlet,” Nixon replies. “I found her in the woods. She was running from some asshole.”

I don’t miss the intense look that passes between the men. It’s quick, silent, and packed with some kind of understanding I’m not privy to.

“Not like you to play knight in shining armor,” Reed snorts.

“You’re lucky he didn’t leave you there,” the third one says, stepping closer. “I’m Finn.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. His grip is firm and dry; his palm callused from work. He holds on for a moment too long, his gaze lingering.

“Scarlet’s ankle is pretty swollen,” Nixon says, ignoring the jibes. “She needs to ice it and keep it elevated. One of you want to get the spare room ready?”

“I’m not staying,” I blurt. “I’d appreciate it if someone could drive me back to my motel.”

“It’s no trouble,” Nixon says firmly. The others exchange glances, obviously confused by Nixon’s refusal to take me back but not questioning him in front of me. “Better not to head out again until morning.”

Right on cue, a long, low howl splits the night air. The sound is distant, but eerie, and the way the men react, the sudden stillness in their bodies, the quiet way they listen, makes the hair on my arms rise.

They’re not scared. They’re alert.

I try to tamp down the panic rising in my throat. “I want to go back.” I sit straighter, shifting my painful ankle. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not comfortable staying here.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Finn says gently. “That’s not what we’re about.”

“You’ll get some rest tonight, and we’ll see how you are in the morning,” Nixon says.

Without another word, he gestures at Reed, who sighs dramatically and heads back upstairs.

Even if there’s a lock on that bedroom door, I already know I’m not going to sleep tonight.

Not in a house with three strange men and a literal wolf.

“Can you grab some anti-inflammatories and water?” Nixon asks Finn. “And maybe something for her to eat.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I already ate.”

“Where?” Nixon’s voice is full of disbelief.

“At the bar.”

He lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You like gambling with your life, don’t you?”

“It was actually decent.”

“Decent? Have you seen the chef?”

“Let’s not talk about it.” I raise a hand to draw a line under the conversation. “I’ve eaten it. No going back now.”

Nixon smirks like he’s enjoying this a little too much. “So, is the ankle any better?”

“A little.”

Finn returns with two small pills and a glass of water. I eye them warily. They’re not in a packet. No label. No branding. Just two anonymous white tablets.

“I can’t take those,” I say.

Nixon looks at me, head tilted slightly. “Why not?”

“I’m allergic,” I say smoothly.

“They’re over-the-counter painkillers,” Finn adds. “Nothing strong.”

“I get reactions,” I lie, shaking my head. “Hives. Swollen throat. That kind of thing.”

They don’t argue, but Nixon doesn’t look convinced. He readjusts the ice pack against my ankle, his hand lingering longer than it needs to.

“I think I should call the police,” I say. “I don’t know what happened to the guy in the woods, but if he’s still out there, he could hurt someone else.”

Nixon’s hand adjusts the ice pack to curve around my ankle. “You can leave that to us,” he says. “We know the sheriff in town. We’ll let him know what happened.”

“I should make a statement,” I insist.

“We’ll see what the sheriff says. Right now, you’ve had a shock. No need to stress more.”

Finn sits across from me, his eyes searching mine. I don’t think he fully understands why Nixon brought me here. I’m not sure I know. But it’s clear he’s not about to question him in front of me.

Before I can press the issue further, Reed reappears at the top of the stairs, one hand sweeping out like an actor on stage.

“Your castle awaits,” he says, voice rich with theatrical flair. “M’lady.