anyway because 60
Marcy Jacks
then they absorbed all the heat from John’s body, and it was like he had a quilt around him, which only made the heat that much worse.
He felt Storm’s human hands come to rest on his fur. They stroked him carefully then moved down to his injured leg.
The burn that followed behind his touch felt like he’d just been scalded with hot oil. Storm’s hand grabbed him by the scruff again to keep him from jumping up.
“You’ll injure yourself more! I’m sorry. Stay still,” he said, stroking John’s neck and ears.
He liked that, and it calmed him enough that he was able to put the pain out of his mind for a little bit. He even managed to smile as he looked up into Storm’s eye. He wasn’t wearing his eye patch, but John’s vision was still too cloudy for him to see any details of the injury. He could still sense the worry coming from the other man as he pet and stroked him.
Storm might want to be stubborn about what they were to each other, but he cared. Even if he didn’t love John yet, he still cared.
Otherwise he would’ve abandoned him, honor debt or no.
“Can you shift back into a man? I don’t think we’re near any more motels yet, but I’m picking up the scent of a cabin somewhere up ahead.”
Just the thought of a bed to sleep in made him all the more drowsy. Storm had to shake his shoulder to keep him awake.
“John, please…”
He was done. He couldn’t go on anymore. “Leave me here . ”
* * * *
Storm put his hands under the fur of his lover and hoisted him into the air. It worried him that the wolf didn’t groan in discomfort or pain, and, carrying his heavy load and the bag filled with their clothing, he ran the rest of the way, following his nose.
Mud and decaying leaves squished under his toes, but he didn’t Hunted and on the Run
61
stop. He didn’t stop when he stepped on a sharp twig, and he didn’t stop when the cramp in his side started up. He’d been running for so long, and not only was the long cut down his side irritating him, but now his muscles wanted to give out as well.
A shifter’s stamina could only get him so far.
Finally, the cabin he scented came into view. He’d known it was somewhere in the distance because the old wood scent and faint presence of humans was still in the air.
The scent of humans was old. Whoever the owners were, they weren’t here.
He understood why the second he got close enough to notice the details of the place.
It was more of a shack than a cabin. Storm’s first thought was that it was used for storage, but there were no other houses nearby that it could be used for. There was a lake behind it, right behind the shack, and the water glowed orange with the setting sun.
He couldn’t believe John had managed to go so long and so far with a silver bullet inside of him, and despite the look of the shack, Storm wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
The door was locked, naturally, but it was a padlock and not a bolt. The wooden door was gray with age, and it was a simple matter of breaking it in and stepping inside.
He thanked God at the sight of a bed and a stove. Shack or no, someone used this place to spend nights. Maybe they only came here for fishing and whatnot, but there were supplies here that he could use.
The bedsheets weren’t even dusty, but the bed itself groaned when Storm placed the heavy wolf on top.
He stroked John’s hair one last time before he went to check the cupboards.
The cabin was small, about the size of a studio apartment, only without a bathroom. Storm figured that whoever owned this place just went and did their business in the trees. The stove was gas, and it 62
Marcy Jacks
worked, and the water ran cold from the sink in the kitchen. Storm filled up a kettle and set it over the burner. There was no telling if the water was drinkable, and they would need clean water anyway for John’s wound.
He searched through the rest of the drawers and cupboards, few
Marcy Jacks
then they absorbed all the heat from John’s body, and it was like he had a quilt around him, which only made the heat that much worse.
He felt Storm’s human hands come to rest on his fur. They stroked him carefully then moved down to his injured leg.
The burn that followed behind his touch felt like he’d just been scalded with hot oil. Storm’s hand grabbed him by the scruff again to keep him from jumping up.
“You’ll injure yourself more! I’m sorry. Stay still,” he said, stroking John’s neck and ears.
He liked that, and it calmed him enough that he was able to put the pain out of his mind for a little bit. He even managed to smile as he looked up into Storm’s eye. He wasn’t wearing his eye patch, but John’s vision was still too cloudy for him to see any details of the injury. He could still sense the worry coming from the other man as he pet and stroked him.
Storm might want to be stubborn about what they were to each other, but he cared. Even if he didn’t love John yet, he still cared.
Otherwise he would’ve abandoned him, honor debt or no.
“Can you shift back into a man? I don’t think we’re near any more motels yet, but I’m picking up the scent of a cabin somewhere up ahead.”
Just the thought of a bed to sleep in made him all the more drowsy. Storm had to shake his shoulder to keep him awake.
“John, please…”
He was done. He couldn’t go on anymore. “Leave me here . ”
* * * *
Storm put his hands under the fur of his lover and hoisted him into the air. It worried him that the wolf didn’t groan in discomfort or pain, and, carrying his heavy load and the bag filled with their clothing, he ran the rest of the way, following his nose.
Mud and decaying leaves squished under his toes, but he didn’t Hunted and on the Run
61
stop. He didn’t stop when he stepped on a sharp twig, and he didn’t stop when the cramp in his side started up. He’d been running for so long, and not only was the long cut down his side irritating him, but now his muscles wanted to give out as well.
A shifter’s stamina could only get him so far.
Finally, the cabin he scented came into view. He’d known it was somewhere in the distance because the old wood scent and faint presence of humans was still in the air.
The scent of humans was old. Whoever the owners were, they weren’t here.
He understood why the second he got close enough to notice the details of the place.
It was more of a shack than a cabin. Storm’s first thought was that it was used for storage, but there were no other houses nearby that it could be used for. There was a lake behind it, right behind the shack, and the water glowed orange with the setting sun.
He couldn’t believe John had managed to go so long and so far with a silver bullet inside of him, and despite the look of the shack, Storm wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
The door was locked, naturally, but it was a padlock and not a bolt. The wooden door was gray with age, and it was a simple matter of breaking it in and stepping inside.
He thanked God at the sight of a bed and a stove. Shack or no, someone used this place to spend nights. Maybe they only came here for fishing and whatnot, but there were supplies here that he could use.
The bedsheets weren’t even dusty, but the bed itself groaned when Storm placed the heavy wolf on top.
He stroked John’s hair one last time before he went to check the cupboards.
The cabin was small, about the size of a studio apartment, only without a bathroom. Storm figured that whoever owned this place just went and did their business in the trees. The stove was gas, and it 62
Marcy Jacks
worked, and the water ran cold from the sink in the kitchen. Storm filled up a kettle and set it over the burner. There was no telling if the water was drinkable, and they would need clean water anyway for John’s wound.
He searched through the rest of the drawers and cupboards, few
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