Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“He was headed back already,” Jensen says. “Like I knew he would. A smart horse knows when to return to safety.” The emphasis on the word smart isn’t lost on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though a part of me isn’t. “I couldn’t just wait there, not knowing. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
Jensen’s jaw tightens for a moment, intensity building in his eyes, and I think he might do something brash, like kiss me. But then he shakes his head. “Reckon I should be flattered. Let’s get back to the others before something else decides to take an interest in us.”
He pulls back and I realize how badly I was actually yearning for his touch. I’m usually pretty good at just sleeping with a guy and keeping it casual, but after last night I worry that maybe I’m starting to feel things for him that I shouldn’t. Not just in a physical way, which is a given, but something…more.
But I know how stupid that is. Things are already complicated enough.
We walk in tense silence, Jensen leading Duke through the trees, me following a step behind. The relief of being found quickly gives way to a prickling awareness that we’re still not alone out here. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, of eyes tracking our movement through the forest.
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the mountain lion crouched in our tracks, ready to pounce. Nothing but trees and shadows meet my gaze, yet the sensation remains—a weight on the back of my neck, the instinctive knowledge of a predator’s focus.
“Stop looking back,” Jensen says gruffly, not breaking stride. “Just keep walking.”
“I feel like something’s following us,” I whisper.
“I know,” he replies, and there’s a grimness to his voice that chills me more than the cold. “That’s why we keep moving.”
We continue in silence, each step taking us closer to the relative safety of the open basin. Yet with every yard gained, the sensation of being observed only intensifies, as if whatever watches us is growing bolder, more certain of its advantage.
When we finally emerge from the tree line, I nearly sag with relief. The others are where we left them, horses saddled and ready, faces anxious as they spot us approaching.
“Found her wandering in the woods,” Jensen announces, his voice carrying an edge that makes me wince. “Had a close encounter with a mountain lion.”
“Lord,” Cole mutters. “You’ve got a death wish, lady.”
“Are all city folk this dumb, or just you?” Red adds with a smirk.
“Shut the fuck up, Red,” Jensen growls.
But I ignore them, too focused on the forest behind us. I turn to look again, one last time, scanning the shadows between the trees.
Nothing moves. No tawny shape, no amber eyes reflecting the sunlight. Just still, silent forest.
Yet the certainty remains—we’re being hunted.
But by what, I’m no longer sure.
“We’re heading back,” Jensen announces, handing Duke’s reins to me. “Now.”
To my surprise, no one argues, though they exchange confused glances and shrugs. I check Duke over carefully for any sign of injury before mounting. He seems calmer now, though his ears still flick nervously toward the trees.
As we ride back across the basin, I can’t stop myself from glancing repeatedly behind us. The forest stands silent and watchful under the afternoon sun, revealing nothing of what it conceals.
But I can feel it watching us go. Waiting.
And something tells me, deep down, it isn’t a giant cat.
17
JENSEN
The wind rips through the cabin, slinking through the thin panes and rattling the shutters like it’s trying to get in. I’ve been sitting by the window on watch for the past two hours, rifle across my knees, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on us. After what happened at Cedar Creek, I’m not taking any chances.
Hank is on watch outside, keeping an eye on the horses in the lean-to and checking the perimeter. I told him to stay close to the cabin, to come back inside if the weather turns. From the look of things, it’s gotten a hell of a lot worse in the last hour, and once again I find myself swearing at the weather service for leading us astray. I should have known better, but sometimes I’m an optimist.
It always bites me in the ass.
I check my watch—2:17 a.m. Hank should have checked in fifteen minutes ago. The rules are simple: every hour, the person on watch outside makes contact. No exceptions. This far up in the mountains, you don’t take risks. Especially after today. I told the others we can’t afford a mountain lion to swoop in and kill one of the horses, even though the big cat is the last thing on my mind.
I rise from my chair, muscles stiff from sitting motionless in the cold. Across the room, Aubrey sleeps on the bearskin rug by the hearth, her sleeping bag pulled tight around her shoulders. The fire burns low, casting dancing shadows across her face. Everyone else is upstairs in the loft—Cole, Red, and Eli, all dead to the world after the day’s events and a hearty dinner of pasta and what was left of the rye whiskey.