by Sam Crescent
Go, get the hell out of here, asshole. Know when you’re beaten.
Cautiously, Clark scooted backwards, only standing when a few feet separated them. “Where’s my damn gun?” He looked away for a second to find it—it lay a few metres away—but had a change of heart, returning his sights to Travis.
Yeah, best you fucking forget it.
Clark backed away, clutching his injured hand to his chest. The blood from his ear looked almost as black as his hair in the shadows he’d retreated to, Sarah’s living room lights ineffective this far away.
“You goddamned motherfucker!” Clark shouted. “I’ll be back for you. I’ll remember your hairy ass, you see if I don’t.”
He turned and ran, boot heels almost kissing his ass every time he lifted them from the ground. Travis watched him go, remaining in place until he was sure the man wasn’t coming back. He stood there for a long time, until the moon had shifted some and the rain had gathered speed. Until a giant crack of thunder roared and a streak of lightning fell just short of striking one of the trees.
Turning back to the house, Travis trotted to the French doors and looked inside. Sarah was still reading, oblivious to what had occurred right outside her window. He watched her for a while, mind filled with images of them together, in the past and the future. Memories of her riding the horses, hair swinging, ass raised from the saddle, her thigh muscles prominent beneath her skin-tight jeans. In the future he pictured her much the same way, except he rode beside her and she looked at him in the way a woman looks at a man when she’s in love.
Not going to happen.
The sting of something hitting his foot made Travis yelp before he had a chance to stop himself. Pain bloomed, radiating up his leg and burning through his muscles. A shuffle, barely discernible because of the pelting rain and bouts of thunder, alerted him to the fact that, once again, he wasn’t alone. He twisted around, grimacing at the ache in his foot, and saw the retreating figure of Clark jumping over the fence and disappearing into the darkness.
How the fuck didn’t I hear him?
Too busy entertaining fantasies, that’s why, asshole.
He cursed himself a little more, felt the shift start to take over—and panicked. No, no way could he shift. Not now, not here.
Aww, fuck.
Too late. He slumped to the floor, his foot on fire, the rest of his body burning just as bad. The shift seemed to take forever, and, by God, it hurt. It didn’t usually, so what was different about tonight? He felt woozy, lightheaded, and, as the final vestiges of his wolf vanished, he looked through the French windows to check on Sarah.
She stood staring at him through the glass, a frown creating deep crevices in her forehead, her mouth open in shock. Had she seen him shift?
Jesus, no. Please, not that…
She wrenched open one door and stood in the frame, hands jammed on her hips and fire in her eyes. “Travis? What in the hell are you doing out here?”
“I…” He couldn’t manage much more than that.
“And naked—naked in my damn backyard!” She stepped out into the driving rain, walking towards him barefoot. “Of all the people to label a pervert, I’d never have picked you, Travis Williams. Get the hell up and explain yourself!”
He stood, difficult with the pain in his foot, and opened his mouth to speak.
Before he had the chance to form words, Sarah said, “Oh my God. Your foot. It’s bleeding!” She knelt, hair plastered to her head now, rain running in rivulets down her face. “Oh, shit. You’ve been shot!”
What?
Travis glanced at his foot. A bloody mess marred the webbing between his big toe and the next.
That fucking Clark…
“Who the hell did this?” she demanded, standing and holding out her hand.
“I don’t know.” He took her hand and allowed her to lead him into her living room. “The floor. I’m going to get it filthy.”
“Fuck the floor!” she snapped. “I’m more interested in your foot.”
Normally, he’d have wished she was more interested in his cock, but now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. As though knowing he’d been shot had given his body permission to react, the pain grew more intense. It was only a flesh wound, but, shit, it killed like a mad bitch.
She closed the door, snapping the lock into place. “Get yourself into the kitchen. I’ll clean you up. And maybe you can explain why you’re naked while we’re at it.”
He lowered his head and walked to the kitchen as best he could, wishing other circumstances had led to her seeing him naked. Still, at least she knew what he looked like unclothed now. The best he could do was let her clean then dress his wound and get the hell home. He’d make up some bullshit about why he was on her property at night and hope he convinced her.
He sat on a pine chair at the table and lifted his foot, balancing it on his knee. Sarah bustled in, draping a blanket around him then going to the cupboard under the sink where she kept her first-aid kit.
“So,” she said, dropping it onto the table and taking off the lid. “What the fuck were you doing out there with no clothes on? You got some kind of fetish or something? Enjoy dancing naked in the rain, is that it?”
Travis almost laughed. “No, no, nothing like that. I saw someone walking towards your house with a gun. I’d just got out of the shower…” There, that should do it.
“And?” She took his foot in hand and began cleaning it with sterile wipes.
It stung.
“So, I didn’t think. I went out to follow and—”
“Got shot your goddamned self. Wonderful.”
“That’s about the measure of it.”
“Well, as you know, I can take care of myself. Thanks for thinking of me and everything, but I really don’t need you babysitting me. I’ve lived here long enough alone since my daddy passed away, and I manage just fine. I have a gun in every room and intend to use them if anyone dares to break inside. So, next time you’re naked and you see someone headed here, pick up the phone instead, all right?”
Travis nodded. He hated lying to her, but what could he do? If he told her it had been Clark and she questioned the bastard, he might tell her she’d had a wolf in her yard. It was highly unlikely she’d put two and two together—people around here still didn’t believe in shifters—but he didn’t want to take the risk.
“Now then,” she said, “once I’m done here, I’ll make you some tea and get you some clothes. You can take the spare room for the night, if you like, or I’ll drive you over the field to your place. Whatever you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Yes, well, you won’t be thanking me in a minute. You really ought to have this stitched or it’s going to get infected. So, grit your teeth and hold on for the ride, nude boy.”
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About the Authors
Natalie Dae is a multi-published author in three pen names writing several genres. She lives with her husband, children, and three cats in an English village. She writes full time and is also a cover artist and blog designer. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Sarah Masters and Charley Oweson.
Email: [email protected]
Sam Crescent has always had a love of fiction; through her teen years she would find friendship between the pages rather than in an actual person. By the time she turned sixteen she discovered Mills and Boon and never looked back. She loved the quick happily-ever-after read. A guarantee that, no matter what happened, the heroes and heroines would always find their soulmate. After college and starting a degree, one lonely, bored night she searched the internet looking for a new author to read. On that night, and in the years to come, she discovered romantica and erotic writing.
Email: [email protected]
Natalie and Sam love to hear from readers. You can find their contact information, websites and author biographies at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Natalie Dae and Sam Crescent
Also by Natalie Dae
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Fantasies Explored: Think Kink
Fantasies Explored: Thinking Kinkier
The Coterie: Lincoln’s Woman
Stiff Upper Lip: Minute Maid
With Lily Harlem
That Filthy Book
Also by Sam Crescent
Office Hours
The Valentines: Robert
The Valentines: William
Love and Death: Love, Death and Justice
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