Chapter 9 Sable

• Sable
• The cabin is calm and silent after Ridge leaves. I finish the bacon before moving on to the scrambled eggs, and even though the meal is as simple as it can get, it’s delicious—the bacon just the right amount of crispy, the eggs fluffy and moist. It hits the spot for me in a way no food has in a very long time.
• From what I’ve been able to tell, Ridge definitely lives alone in this small cabin. I’m touched that he went out of his way to cook me breakfast and to bring it to me in bed. He also wasn’t half bad at trying to be as non-threatening as possible. And I appreciate that too.
• That doesn’t mean you should stay, I think as I finish off my cooling coffee and put the empty mug back on the tray.
• But I’m torn. On the one hand, my fight-or-flight impulse has taken up what feels like permanent residence in my gut, and every nerve-ending in my body is screaming at me to run. Ignoring that self-preservation instinct that’s become so ingrained in me after life with my uncle feels like the stupidest thing I could possibly do right now.
• But on the other hand… I’d be safe here. Safer than anywhere else. I truly believe that now, at least.
• After I finish, I carry the tray into the kitchen and spend a few minutes washing and drying the dishes, before I open every cabinet and drawer in the room to put them away in the right place. I figure if Ridge is going to cook for me, the proper thing for me to do is at least clean up after myself.
• His kitchen is small, tucked in a corner adjacent to the living room with one small window over the metal sink and a back door that opens out over a small empty plot of grass. The cabinets are mostly empty—just a handful of plates, bowls, cups, and mugs, which tells me he doesn’t have company over often. The fridge is sparse too. A gallon of milk, eggs, bacon, and lunch meat with a few generic condiments. Because I’m nosy, I also open the freezer and find it packed full with different kinds of meat, which I guess shouldn’t be surprising given he’s a wolf.
• A wolf.
• Holy fuck, I still can’t quite believe that.
• Closing the freezer, I walk through the living room and poke around a bit. There are three magazines on the solid wooden coffee table—two copies of Men’s Health and a single copy of Popular Mechanics that advertises “How to Survive the Next Great Disaster.”
• Funny. I could use some advice in that regard in my own life.
• Other than the couch and coffee table, the living room area is sparse, but with a clean, masculine feel. The hardwood floors look freshly varnished and shine beneath the rays of sunlight slanting through the double picture window. I pass back into the hallway where a coat rack holds several jackets.
• I hesitate for a second before pressing my face into a blue jean jacket lined with flannel and taking a deep breath of Ridge’s unique woodsy scent.
• Then a flush creeps up my neck, and I glance guiltily toward the door as if expecting him to come bursting through demanding to know why I’m sniffing his clothes like some kind of creepy stalker.
• I wouldn’t have an answer for him. Not one that makes sense anyway. I just know that I can’t get enough of the way he smells. The way his voice sounds. The way his amber eyes burn like two steady, reassuring flames.
• Even just the lingering scent of his jacket in my nostrils brings me a kind of calm I never knew existed.
• I take one more surreptitious sniff, promising myself this is the last one, before continuing on in my exploration of the house.
• A woven throw rug in shades of brown and tan rests by the front door, and I pause, the soft weave plush beneath my bare toes as I tiptoe to peek out the high decorative window in the door.
• At first glance, the street outside looks empty. The bedroom is on the opposite side of the house, and I ran down a small dirt road lined by other houses when I ran for the woods yesterday. On this side, a larger gravel road runs just beyond the small front yard, and other similar cabins sit on the other side of the street.
• I’m tempted to slip on shoes and step outside to get a better look at this little settlement. It looks like a miniature version of Big Creek, which is a small town in its own right, and I wonder how it functions so far from civilization.
• But before I can make a move, I notice a group of big, burly men striding through the village.
• I duck, my heart rate jumping. I saw no indication they were coming here—the five or six men looked as if they were deep in conversation, faces and movements relaxed as they navigated up the road. But something about them pokes the fear that’s lain right beneath the surface in me since the moment I awoke in Ridge’s house, never entirely fading away no matter what I do.
• Those men passing by the cabin are huge, powerful, dominant. Just like the ones who burst into the house yesterday.
• Just like all of these people.
• These wolves.
• These shifters.
• I don’t quite understand what it means for someone to be a shifter, besides the fact that they can change from human to animal and back. I don’t know what it all means.
• But I recognize strength, power, and dominance when I see it.
• And all I can think of is Uncle Clint.
• For so long, I was kept captive in his house. I had no identity or autonomy. Even as fearful as I’ve been during my time here, I’ve never felt as scared as I was living under Clint’s roof. I’ve tasted the possibility of freedom and the possibility of finally being my own person, and I absolutely refuse to give that up. I refuse to be my uncle’s captive any longer.
• But I refuse to be a captive here either.
• I can’t stay.
• I jam my feet into my shoes—which Ridge has left by the door—and then race toward the kitchen, my laces trailing on the ground. I slam through the back door and out into the tiny backyard, veering away from the garden shed and toward the dark line of forest beyond the dead end road. The same escape route I tried and failed to take last time.
• The men out front are speaking in loud voices, and I cringe as I halt by the edge of the road and look around for anybody who might see me sneaking away.
• A small part of me knows this is asinine. Ridge doesn’t want to hurt me. He promised he’d keep me safe, and his cabin is definitely preferable to a cave in the wild.
• But I think of that group of furious people barreling into his living room and the new men I saw striding past his cabin. I think of the way that wolf’s teeth glinted as it growled. I think of how fucking out of my depth I am in all of this, how outnumbered and vulnerable I am here, and my fear ramps into unnatural, uncontrollable, completely illogical territory.
• I see nobody, so I fall into a sprint, one hand wrapped around the waistband of Ridge’s shorts to keep them from falling off as I hurry toward the forest. Too late now to go back and find my own clothes, which are likely clean in Ridge’s laundry room because he’s just so damn kind.
• I don’t have time for going back. I have to move forward. I have to be free.
• The woods beckon like a shadow beacon of hope. I’m nearing the edge of the road, about to leap off the flat dirt and into the grass, when a hand like iron wraps around my bicep and yanks me back.
• I let out a squeaky yelp as my body comes to a vicious halt before I’m jerked back onto the road. Everything whirls around me as I’m yanked around, and then suddenly, the man called Lawson is looming over me, his fingers cutting off circulation in my arm.
• Terror makes my legs weak, and I collapse to the dirt on my knees, dangling from his grip.
• He glares at me, looking every bit as intimidating as when he challenged Ridge yesterday.
• “I knew you couldn’t be trusted, you fucking liar,” he spits, giving me a shake that rattles the fillings in my teeth. “You spying on us? About to run back to your little coven and tell them our secrets?”
• “P-please. Please let me go.” My words come out small and shaky, wobbly from the force of his shaking, and I try to pull away from his rock-hard grip.
• His eyes narrow. This man is the complete opposite of Ridge, with dusky blond hair and blue eyes. He has a face that would be attractive if it weren’t filled with so much vicious anger, and he’s the size of a small house. I swear he’s channeling the strength of ten men in his grasp on my arm.
• “No, I don’t think I will.” He scowls. “I think the council needs to meet you. I think you need to be made an example of to all your bitch, wolf-hating friends.”
• “Please.” My voice is hardly more than a breath, and I feel a rush of shame at how terrified and tearful I sound. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m leaving. I just want to go.”
• He sneers. “Yeah? Tell that to your executioners.”
• Without another word, Lawson literally drags me through the village by my arm as my legs scrape uselessly against the ground. Thank God the roads aren’t concrete, and only dust and gravel grates on my bare skin, but the pain still brings tears to my eyes. He’s moving too fast for me to get my feet beneath me, and my heart beats wildly in my chest as I struggle against his hold.
• By the time we reach a metal barn on the outskirts of the village, I’m sobbing. His grip has made my arm numb, and I’m almost certain he’s wrenched it hard enough to pull muscles and ligaments. I’m wishing I never left Ridge’s house, that I’d been smart enough to stay put and keep out of sight.
• If Lawson has his way, I’ll be lynched on sight.
• He slams open the door to the barn with more force than necessary, and I yank against his hold in a last-ditch, desperate effort to get away. His other hand sinks into my hair and he grabs a handful, dragging me by the roots into a large open space rimmed by astonished faces.
• We reach the central area, and Lawson throws me onto the concrete floor. I slam into the ground, barely keeping my head from making contact with the concrete as a hoarse cry falls from my lips.
• The room is silent. Dozens of faces stare at me, just as surprised at my arrival as I am.
• Shifters, I realize with another wave of terror. I’m surrounded by shifters.
• Nobody moves, nobody even seems to breathe, and all I can hear is the rushing in my ears and the unnatural pounding in my chest.
• Today is the day I die. After everything Uncle Clint did to me, I never thought it would end like this.