Wolves at the Door

by Skye Jones

  “Don’t go getting lost,” she said.

  “Got my map and my compass.”

  “Oh, right, if you have the compass, then you’re covered.” She rolled her eyes.

  Cindy and the great outdoors weren’t the best of friends. She hardly exercised, ate whatever the hell she wanted, and still looked beautifully willowy. I, on the other hand, worked my butt off and wore a dress size four times bigger.

  Today, though, I ran for reasons other than fitness. To shake off my hangover, but also to try to shake this awful, aching need I’d been filled with since we’d pitched up here. It figured the minute my boyfriend left me, I’d turn into the horniest woman on the planet. As soon as we’d arrived in the clearing and set the tents up, it began. Desire. It unfolded low and heady in my belly, making me ache, hot and damp, between my legs. I couldn’t even take care of myself with Cindy next to me. So I’d tossed and turned half the night, squeezing my legs together and enjoying the momentary frisson it gave.

  Why I’d turned into this needy thing, I had no clue. Perhaps because Jason had left me, cruelly shutting off the hot-sex tap? And now I had days stuck out here with the gang, pretending to feel…nothing. Ugh. I should have said no to this trip and gone out with my biker friends. People were always shocked a girl like me rode a badass motorbike, but I’d gotten into it when young through my dad. Before he’d dropped all his hobbies in favor of the drink.

  Time to discover some inner peace. I set off at a jog. I made sure I carried a map, compass, water, and snacks in my lightweight backpack. Heading down the trail, leaving our campsite, and into the woods beyond, I listened to the birds in the trees. No traffic sounds ruined the moment. We’d picked this place as it perched right on the edge of a vast wilderness. We’d needed the off-roaders we’d hired to even get this far. Any farther, and we’d only be able to hike in over rough terrain. We’d still faced a three-mile walk to the campground after parking the cars. From this point, another twenty or so miles of wild nature lay between the sea and us.

  I remembered my surprise when we’d looked into where to go, to find such a vast area of unspoiled land. The UK is hardly a big country. We are a small island and densely populated, so the idea of so much untouched nature appealed to the romantic in me. In us all. Hence our trip out here.

  I wanted to come back one day. With a friend or two, but without the lads who only wanted to get drunk. I’d like to bike up here, then hike the trail to the Knoydart Peninsula and spend a week there. Maybe it should be a trip I’d save for and do next year. This wild place called to my soul.

  After twenty minutes, I stopped running and sat on a rock, letting my heart rate slow down. I’d covered a fair bit of ground and didn’t want to get lost. Rummaging in my bag, I grabbed the water bottle, took a swig, and stowed it away again. A twig snapped to the right of me, and I jumped. I turned around and bit back a scream. A man stood not two feet away from me. Watching me.

  Man being the operative word for him. He was no boy. Not pretty and young with artfully styled hair like the guys I knew. Nor did he have the stuffy, academic vibe of most of the older men in my life. This specimen was like nothing I’d seen before. Tall, at least six four or five, and broad, he radiated raw, primal masculinity. Christ, the width of his shoulders…

  He stared at me with an unfathomable expression on his harsh face, and my legs went weak. I struggled to breathe. I didn’t want to die here in this wooded copse, and something about the way he looked at me terrified me. Like a predator watches its prey, his focus never left me.

  Should I speak? Wait for him to speak? Stand up and make a run for it? If I bolted out of here, I’d look stupid. Then again, I remembered how so many people got hurt because they didn’t listen to their instincts. Instead, they gave in to societal norms about how to act. They put those social norms—seeming normal, polite—above their own instincts and safety. Being a qualified psychologist meant I came stuffed full of random facts about human behavior.

  The way this guy observed me was way weird. I needed to act on what my gut told me and get away.

  A plan formed in my mind as we remained locked in place, our eyes glued on one another. His were green. Stunning, emerald green, in fact. They contrasted with his dark hair and almost glowed in his rugged face. A long, jagged scar cut through one side of his mouth and down his jaw. A shiver tore through me. I needed to get away.

  My ace plan went something like this: start to talk, act completely normal, casual even. Stand and stretch, move around some…and then run like hell once I’d meandered a certain distance away from him.

  “Nice weather.” How British. About to be murdered by a freaky, silent man in the woods and I talk about the weather.

  “It is.” He nodded.

  If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I think I’d have found him attractive. Not my usual type. Too big and brawny. Too male. I liked them slender and pretty…boyish. Maybe it’s because you feel safe with those boy-men. I certainly wouldn’t be safe with this specimen, even if he didn’t mean me actual harm. An image flashed into my mind, searing itself on my brain. Him above me, big arms either side of me, trapping me beneath him. Holy hell! Adrenaline spiked my system, and it held more than fear. A sharp edge of arousal mixed in with my panic and growing worry.

  I understood the psychology of fear. How it could at times lend itself to other feelings. Arousal being one of them. I needed to get a grip and get the hell out of there.

  “I like days like this.” I edged around him, meandering as if I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. I looked down at the flowers and then back at him, schooling my face into a relaxed smile. “Warm, but not so hot you can’t exercise.”

  “You’ve been running?” His accent puzzled me. Not the normal Scot’s inflection I’d come to know and love. It held a hint of something else. Something harder edged. Almost…Nordic sounding. Like the actress from the gloomy, Norwegian TV show whom I’d seen interviewed the other day.

  “Yes. Getting some exercise in. My friends are lazing around at our campsite.” I shrugged, aiming for casual, but letting him know I wasn’t alone. There were people who’d miss me if I didn’t get back, and he needed to understand as much.

  As I edged around to the right of him, I looked back toward him and my heart stuttered. Livid, jagged lines ran down his neck too. One heck of a scar, it made his air of danger even more threatening. I stared at him. Wondered how the hell anyone got marked in such a way? Then…I ran.

  Something snapped within me, and I turned tail and pounded back through the woods. My feet flew over the ground, sure and steady, thanks to my years of trail running. I didn’t look back, only wanting to get away and reach the safety of my friends. His laughter drifted after me.