Heart's Desire

Chapter 4 - Kit

I'm not dead.

That's my first thought when I awaken and find myself in an enormous bed, covered by a tattered blue quilt, in a drab room that reeks of Wolf.

I'm not dead, and 'not dead' means still alive, and still alive means still not free.

My next thought is that if I want to stay 'not dead,' I need to play my cards right, and play them carefully.

I don't remember much, after stepping off the bus at the edge of town — the first bus I ever rode, with a ticket I bought with money I stole.

All I had to go on was 'Hunter Pack,' and 'Spring Lakes.' I knew I'd have to Shift if I hoped to track them down, and I'd known Shifting was a bad idea, given how hurt I was.

I'd also known I had no choice.

So I'd walked into a wooded area, stripped out of my ragged clothes, unwrapped my soiled bandages, and shed my human form.

After that, all I remember is the pain, and the single conviction driving me on — find the Hunters, or die trying.

I'd actually expected the second outcome — maybe even hoped for it — but given that I am, as previously noted, not dead, it seems I've succeeded, after all.

Not only that, but I feel better than I have in weeks.

Lifting the quilt with a shaking hand, I peek beneath, expecting to see fresh bandages, or stitches at least. Instead, I'm shocked by the sight of smooth, healthy skin, and no sign of injury at all. Carefully, I touch the places where Ferrault's teeth had sunk deep into my flesh, but the wounds are gone.

How long have I been out? I wonder, sitting up. I'd thought the dire's bite would never heal.

The sound of voices startles me from my self-inspection, and I jolt and freeze as the door opens and two giants walk in.

The larger one has closely shaved hair, gentle brown eyes, and a softly handsome face.

The other is bristly and fierce, with a bunch of long thin locs tied in a big knot at the back of his head. His features are all chiseled and masculine, and a pair of amber eyes gleam at me from beneath thick, sharply angled brows.

It's obvious which one is the alpha Hunter, Dane, and I can't believe I mistook the soft-looking one for him before — as I now vaguely remember having done.

"Alpha," I whisper, locking eyes with him, and then quickly lower my gaze and bow my head in submission.

I startle when a large hand settles on my shoulder.

"Kit? Are you okay?"

It's not the alpha, but the big soft one, kneeling at the side of the bed, and I freeze, uncertain what to do.

This isn't how Wolves greet strangers. The alpha should speak first, and welcome or challenge me, reject, or tear me to shreds. I can't address his Pack until he acknowledges me either way.

"Can you speak?" The big guy goes on, like he's oblivious of the peril he's putting me in.

Maybe this is a test.

I keep my head lowered, holding as still as I can, though my weakened muscles tremble with the effort.

"Kit?" He repeats my name softly. I must have told it to him when I was out of it.

Then he rests his hand on my back. No one's touched me for any reason but to hurt me in a long time, so I flinch. He withdraws as if I'd snapped at him.