And I see her. Long, lean limbs, flawless mocha skin. She's barefoot at her kitchen counter, weight on one hip, pert ass encased in cutoff shorts. Her elegant neck curves as she looks down at what she's doing.
Unable to stop myself, I push the door open and enter silently. I'm back in the jungle, a soldier, a predator stalking my prey.
Her head turns slightly.
My lips move to form her name.
Her chocolate brown eyes flare to blue-grey. "Nash?" she chokes.
I walk toward her. She rears back.
"It's all right, Denali." I stop and lift my hands. "I'm not here to hurt you." That's the truth, even if my lion is a crazy mo-fo.
A tremor runs through her. Once, twice, and the spiced scent rises between us.
Mine, my lion snarls. My mate.
"Denali, I-" my voice cracks but it's too late. She whirls and runs out the back door.
DENALI
I RUN WITHOUT THINKING. I've been hiding so long; my first instinct is to bolt.
The kitchen door slams behind me. Whenever the weather is nice, I keep the doors and windows open to let in the scent of wildflowers. And to alert me to anyone approaching.
But my lioness was sleeping. Or, perhaps she caught the subtle scent of the soldier she once knew and decided not to tell me. Or I ignored it. Too long I've carried the memory of Nash, the ghost. I see him in my dreams, wake up with the smell of him hanging over me like a cloud. I eat sleep and breathe Nash, even as I ran from him.
That's what happens when you're mate marked. You can't escape. You're bonded on the deepest cellular level.
Even after they die.
I thought he was dead.
The screen door bangs behind me, and a gust of wind hits my back, spurring me on. Nash is coming after me. The lion is on the hunt.
Glad I'm barefoot, I call on every muscle in my legs, pounding up the hill. I chose this house for its seclusion. Not many people want to live out in the hills, but I found the beauty irresistible. The warm sun, the neat rows of vineyards cutting across the land. Nothing like the grey cell I was trapped in for nine long weeks.
I should've known he'd come for me. I saw it on the news. The Data-X lab burned to the ground-the one that held us. Oh, the news didn't call it Data-X. In fact, after the initial report, no news could be found on it at all. Like it got hushed up quickly. But I recognized the location. That wasn't a random wildfire as they later reported. It was a fire set to destroy a prison.
So I waited, breath held. Surely, if Nash was alive, he would come for me. Hadn't he been whispering it every night, in my dreams?
But he didn't come. I figured he was dead, after all. And I'd done nothing to prevent it.
Now he's here. His hot breath reaches the back of my neck and I feint right, then dodge round the scrub brush. The lion follows me easily.
Nash was military. He was one of the strongest, fittest shifters I ever met, and the years did nothing to dull his prowess. I won't get away. I don't even know why I'm running, except that seeing him brought up too much, too fast. He was part of my experience at Data-X. But I know he's not the enemy.
"Denali. Stop."
I put on a burst of speed, dodging around boulders. The one thing my lioness is best at-running.
Only she doesn't want to run. She wants to stay and face the charging lion.
I go too fast and slide on some loose gravel, scraping my hands on the ground as I find my feet again.
"Dammit-you'll hurt yourself."
My chest tightens. Still the gentleman.
Not as much as you'll hurt me. My ears ring with my shout. I said it out loud.
"I won't. I promise."
At the pain in his voice, my calves spasm, my feet fumble. My lioness has had enough. She forces me to slow, just enough for the hunter to catch up.
He tackles me and drives me down to the ground, but twists to cushion the fall with his limbs. Oh, this is familiar. Nash on top of me, straddling my body, turning me to face him.
"No, no, no." I whimper. "You're not real. You're not here." If I can't see the monster, he isn't real. Except Nash isn't the monster.
He pulls my hands down roughly. I'm pinned, his body on mine. Mine responding with alacrity. My lioness in awe.
Foolish, wanton animal. I can't just throw caution to the wind. To give myself up to a male I barely know.
"Denali," he rasps. Face to face, I see he hasn't changed. Maybe a little leaner, a little harder, but same smooth cheeks, military cut hair, scar in his eyebrow. He's so beautiful he makes my chest hurt. Of course, he's also on top of me-but that feels right. My hips lift without my permission.
"It's you. It's really you." His eyes blaze gold. The lion came out with the chase. I make myself go limp under him. I can't best him in a one-on-one fight. If he does mean me harm, my only hope is to get him to let his guard down, and escape.
He doesn't mean you harm, my lioness whispers. But I see a wildness in his eyes and my body tenses with uncertainty.
He brushes my face with the backs of his fingers and I let out a whimper. I can't do this. It's too painful, too raw.
"Why do you think I'll hurt you?"
I shake my head as if to jostle my thoughts into place. Get my twisted emotions out of it. Running was just a PTSD related reaction. After what I survived, who wouldn't have post-traumatic stress? It wasn't fueled by thought. I took one look at the male who's haunted my dreams and bolted.
"I'm not going to hurt you."