Page 5

Chapter

Four

HAZEL

T he morning sunlight crept across my face, pulling me reluctantly from darkness into consciousness. For one peaceful moment, I floated in that space between sleeping and waking, where nothing hurt and nothing mattered.

Then awareness seeped in and with it came wrongness. The sheets against my skin were too soft, too clean. They carried the scent of expensive fabric softener instead of my own lavender detergent.

My eyes flew open as panic clawed its way up my throat.

Gone were the familiar cream walls of my bedroom, replaced by an enormous suite drenched in morning light that filtered through gauzy white curtains.

The wrongness of it all hit me in waves—the crystal chandelier catching rainbows in its drops, the delicate furniture arranged just so, the manicured gardens visible through French doors.

Wolf Pack.

The thought shot through me like lightning, sending my heart racing against my ribs.

They must have found me, tracked me down, brought me to one of their safehouses.

But even as the fear threatened to overwhelm me, something didn't add up.

This wasn't Xavier's style at all—he preferred dark woods and leather, spaces that screamed masculinity and power.

This room, with its cream and gold tones and flowing fabrics, felt more like an upscale rental property.

Wolves didn’t own French doors, or...decorate.

I tried to push myself up, but every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The movement sent fresh fire racing through my throat where he'd...where last night he'd?—

No. Focus.

I forced my mind away from the memories, falling back on old habits.

Assets and threats. The bedroom door was closed, with three other doors leading to who knew where.

Second floor, if the gardens below were any indication.

The pristine white sheets tangled around my legs meant someone had cleaned me up while I was unconscious.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. They'd stripped away my mud-soaked clothes and dressed me in a soft cotton nightgown. The implication sent bile burning up my already raw throat.

How long had I been out?

The silence pressed in around me, broken only by the gentle tick of a clock somewhere and my own ragged breathing. I strained to hear movement beyond the closed door, any sign of guards or pack members, but there was nothing. That couldn't be right. Xavier never left anything unguarded.

Especially not his property.

Every movement sent daggers of pain through my body, but I couldn't lie here waiting for whatever came next. I untangled myself from the sheets with trembling hands. The nightgown was expensive, the kind of soft that only comes from high-end stores. It hung perfectly on my frame.

The attention to detail was unsettling.

The plush carpet muffled my footsteps as I forced myself to stand. I clutched the ornate bedpost while the room tilted and swayed around me. Dark spots danced at the edges of my vision.

My legs felt like they might give out at any moment.

Before I could take more than two steps toward the nearest door, footsteps approached from the hallway: light, measured—not the heavy tread of pack enforcers. But that meant nothing. Some of their most dangerous members moved like dancers.

My eyes darted around the room. The lamp on the bedside table was too heavy for me in my weakened state. A letter opener gleamed on the distant desk, but I'd never reach it in time.

Maybe the ceramic vase of fresh flowers. If I could just?—

The door opened with a soft click that might as well have been a gunshot for how it made me flinch. I pressed back against the bedpost, trying to ignore how the room spun around me. If they thought I'd go quietly this time, they were in for a surprise.

I'd die before I let them put me back in that grave.

The woman who glided into the room wasn't anyone I recognized from the pack. She moved like flowing water, beauty and contained power, her golden hair catching the morning light. Something about her made my eyes want to slide away. It was as if she were slightly too perfect to look at directly.

Every instinct I had—human and other—whispered danger. Not pack danger though; something older. Something else.

"You're awake." Her voice filled the room like music, soft and melodious. Wrong. She kept her distance, watching me with eyes that seemed to shift colors in the morning light. "How are you feeling?"

I tightened my grip on the bedpost. "Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe." She moved to a chair near the bed, every motion telegraphed as if dealing with a wounded animal. Which, I supposed, I was. "This is one of my properties. I found you in the gardens during last night's storm."

Last night. Just last night. Not days of being unconscious, not enough time for them to track me.

I hadn’t noticed a home nearby, but perhaps I missed where I was.

It hadn’t seemed like a garden, but I also could barely function by the time I collapsed.

I wouldn’t put it past me to have completely missed details like that in the state I was in.

Unless...

"Did anyone else see me?" The words scraped against my raw throat. "Did you call anyone?"

"No." She settled into the chair, smooth as silk. "No police, no hospital. Just me."

I blinked.

"Why?"

A flicker of something crossed her perfect features. Like a ripple disturbing still water. "Because you were hurt and running from something. In my experience, people in those situations rarely want official attention."

Truth or lies?

I searched for tells on her perfect face.

Designer clothes draped her frame, clearly expensive but somehow wrong for this time and place.

Her manicured hands rested too still in her lap.

Money, obviously, but there was something else, and it was something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Who are you?" I managed.

"My name is Diana." Simple. Direct. "I was meant to be having a peaceful weekend away from work. Instead, I found you half-drowned in my garden in the early morning."

"You cleaned me up?” my voice cracked.

"You were hypothermic and covered in mud. It was that or let you die." She leaned forward slightly, and I fought the urge to flinch back. "I'm leaving this afternoon. Heading back to the city. You're welcome to stay here and recover. Or?—”

The silence stretched between us.

"Or?"

"Or I know someone who is looking for some help. He runs a business, needs an assistant." Those color-shifting eyes held mine. "He's very good at not asking questions that he doesn't need answers to."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, coming out more like a cough. "Just like that? Help the random woman you found dying in your garden?"

"Sometimes kindness is just kindness." She rose from the chair in one fluid motion. "Think about it. I'll have some food brought up. You must be starving."

My stomach cramped at the mention of food, reminding me I hadn't eaten since...since before. I plucked at the borrowed nightgown. "I don't have any money. Nothing but this. I can’t give any ID for an official job."

"He won’t need it. He owes me a personal favor. Consider it human decency." Her lips curved in what might have been amusement at some private joke. She moved toward the door. "There are clean clothes in the bathroom. Take your time, get cleaned up. We can talk more after you've eaten."

I waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before letting my legs give out. The plush carpet caught me as I slid down, my back still pressed against the bedpost. My hands were shaking.

Nothing about this made sense.

Random acts of kindness didn't happen. Not in my experience. There was always a price, always an angle, always teeth behind the smile.

But I was alive. Clean. Safe, for the moment at least.

The bathroom door stood partially open, promising hot water and clean clothes. My body ached for a proper shower, to wash away the lingering phantom sensations of mud and…and other things. But my instincts screamed to run while I had the chance.

Except I had nowhere to go. No money, no phone, no ID. Nothing but a borrowed nightgown and the bruises under it.

And if the pack was looking for me...

Diana returned so silently I didn't hear her approach. She carried a silver tray, the scent of coffee and warm bread making my stomach clench painfully. She set it on the small table near the window, then stepped back.

"Take your time," she said softly. "There's more if you're still hungry after." She moved toward the door with that unnaturally fluid grace. "When you're ready, I'll be in the garden."

I waited until she was gone before approaching the tray: fresh croissants, fruit, and a carafe of coffee that smelled like heaven. Simple food, easy on an empty stomach.

My hands shook as I picked up a croissant. The bread was still warm, flaking apart in my fingers. I hadn’t really eaten yesterday, planning to save it for my dinner.

My beautiful dinner. Burned and gone to waste.

Unless he’d eaten it after working up an appetite burying me.

New, odd magick sparked at my fingertips, singing the wooden table. I flinched, taken aback, and it faded away.

Weird.

Through the French doors, Diana stood among the roses in the garden below, perfectly still, like a statue carved from marble and gold.

What is she?

I could tell she was supernatural, but not exactly sure what. Perhaps I hadn’t run into her kind before?

I ate slowly, methodically, forcing myself not to wolf down the food despite my body's demands. The coffee scalded my raw throat, but I didn't care; it was real, grounding, something to focus on besides memories of dirt filling my mouth.

The shower called to me. I needed to think, and hot water had always helped clear my head.