Page 5 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

There’s no way out.

The realization settles over me like a fog, creeping in without warning, curling around every thought. I’ve asked. I’ve argued. I’ve struggled. I’ve been reassured by three strangers with the kind of beauty that should come with a warning label. They insist they’re only trying to help me.

But I don’t know them. And I don’t know what else to do.

“We’ll help you up,” Nixon says, his hand already reaching for me. I shuffle forward on the couch, clutching my purse like a lifeline. Before I can rise on my own, he tugs me upright and sweeps me off my feet again, effortless and unbothered.

“Showing off your manly strength,” Finn calls out from the hallway.

“How do you think she got here in the first place?” Nixon’s voice is flat, but there’s something sharp beneath it.

Up the stairs we go to a room tucked at the back of the cabin, and for a second, I forget everything.

It’s beautiful.

The soft glow of a bedside lamp warms the wood-paneled walls, casting golden shadows on the hand-carved furniture.

The bed is large, made from thick beams of polished walnut or oak, the headboard smooth and gleaming beneath my fingertips.

Everything smells faintly of lavender and pine.

If my motel room looked anything like this, I wouldn’t have dreaded staying there for a night.

Well... I guess that’s no longer a problem.

“I’ve left you a towel,” Reed says, stepping into the doorway. “The sheets are clean, the bathroom is down the hall, and there’s a crutch in the corner if you need it.” He points to a gray metal contraption that stands waiting to assist me.

“Thanks,” I say. “I need that.”

“Not really,” Finn says from behind me. “You have Nixon to carry you around. I’m sure he’d be happy to escort you to the bathroom, too.”

“I’m sure he would,” I reply, my tone dry. “But your hospitality can stop short of that.”

Finn and Reed laugh, but Nixon remains straight-faced.

“Well, goodnight. And call us if you need anything.” Reed lingers a little, but follows his brothers, closing the door softly behind him.

I exhale, finally alone. My gaze moves around the room, lingering on the details.

The carved dresser. The ornate lamp base.

The way the woodgrain gleams, as if polished by hand, not a machine.

Every piece of furniture is a work of art—crafted, not bought.

Someone loved the materials. Someone poured time and heart into shaping them.

My fingers trail across the headboard again, admiring the lines of the grain, the smoothness of the finish.

I shake myself. Focus.

This is not the time to swoon over furniture. I fumble in my purse and pull out my phone, exhaling in relief when the screen lights up. Low battery, but enough for a call.

I press my mom’s number. Nothing happens. No ringing.

No signal.

Great. Perfect.

I’m stranded. Cut off. At least the room has a lock, though the idea of being locked in is almost as unsettling as being locked out.

At least I won’t have to lie awake worrying about Nixon, Reed, or Finn slipping in while I sleep.

Or that giant wolf-dog slinking in and deciding I look like a midnight snack.

Where is it, anyway? It followed Reed upstairs, but I haven’t heard a sound since.

Something catches my eye at the end of the bed. A soft heap of gray fabric. I unfold it and find a man’s T-shirt, oversized and worn thin from dozens of washes. It smells like lavender, like the room. Thoughtful. I guess Reed left it for me.

It’s a strange sort of kindness, and it makes my chest ache.

I push up from the mattress, using the edge of the dresser for balance, then grab the crutch. It’s heavier than I expected, but it holds my weight. I make my slow, careful way to the bathroom. There’s fresh soap and a brand-new toothbrush laid out by the sink.

These men don’t usually have visitors?

Yeah, right.

They must have half the women in Braysville falling over themselves to visit. Maybe these are the locals all the women on TripAdvisor were raving about. I wouldn’t be surprised if this place had left more than one guest weak-kneed and breathless.

I freshen up with a washcloth, skipping the shower. I don’t want to be that vulnerable. Not here. Not yet.

Back in the room, I tug the T-shirt over my head. It’s soft and worn, and it smells like safety even though I know better. I slide beneath the crisp sheets and lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to settle my thoughts.

As I drift into sleep, a long, sharp howl slices through the stillness.

It’s close. Too close.

Painfully, I push myself upright and limp to the window. The sky is luminous with moonlight, casting silver across the clearing behind the cabin. Is it a full moon? I can’t be sure. The trees sway softly in the breeze, shadows shifting in their arms.

And there they are.

Three wolves, lithe and gray, moving together through the brush, their bodies fluid and powerful as they disappear into the forest like ghosts.

I go cold. I can’t look away.

There’s no escaping this cabin. Not safely. I may not be miles from town, but between me and civilization lies a forest thick with shadows, secrets… and wolves.

So many wolves.