The back of my neck tingles, prompting me to pick up the pace. A twig snaps. I don’t turn. I don’t look. I’m not that girl in that movie who walks toward danger while calling out, “Who’s there?”
I cut around trees with fast and steady footsteps. My car is a spot of gray obscured by the greens and browns that separate it from me. Almost there. I will make it out of these woods—bear spray or not.
Another twig snaps. Something moves through the underbrush behind me. Not charging. Not attacking. Following.
Hunting?
A cold shiver snaps down the length of my spine, and I can no longer control the instinct to look. To know.
My feet don’t stop moving as my head whips from side to side, searching. With arms stretched out in front of me, leading the way around the trees and brush, I walk as fast as I can without breaking into a run. To run is to ask for death.
A blur of movement to the left startles me, and I stumble. I fall to my knees with a hiss.
I get up quickly and spin around, prepared to stare down whatever is hunting me before it determines I am easy prey. Dad taught me that trick. Make eye contact. Don’t show fear. Let it know you will put up a fight.
I’m not surprised when I see a bronze wolf with black ears trailing me. What surprises me is that it doesn’t seem to care about me what-so-ever. I watch as it leaps over a fallen tree and trots closer. Its head swings in my direction briefly, then it slows. Sits. Licks its chops. Looks at the fading sun in the sky.
I inch backward, maneuvering around a narrow tree in my path. My hands tremble and my knees nearly buckle with every other step, but I never take my eyes off of the wolf.
My already racing heart nearly explodes through my ribcage when a second wolf wanders up to join the first one. They’re nearly identical, aside from their ears. One with black ears; the other with white. Both regard me with boredom.
Luckily for me, they’ve recently eaten. That’s the only explanation for their indifferent behavior.
I know I’ve reached the edge of the woods when the sun warms my back. A few more steps and I will reach my car. One foot crunches down on the gravel that covers the road, and I release a long breath.
Both wolves stand as if one. The black-eared wolf howls a short, haunting note that lingers long after they turn and disappear from sight. I stare into the shadows that blanket the forest in disbelief, reluctant to turn and continue the rest of the way to my car with my back to the trees.
No movement. No sound.
“They’re gone,” I whisper under my breath. With a shake of my head, I add, “Unbelievable.”
Two more steps backward bring me within reach of the passenger side door, and the bear spray that waits for me there. Confident I am finally safe, I turn around.
And scream.
My hand clamps over my mouth, but the sound echoes through the valley long after my fear morphs into shock, then confusion, and finally mortification.
Luca leans against the rear bumper of my car, arms folded at the chest, legs crossed at the ankles, and a sly grin on his lips. He lifts one dark brow at my reaction.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“I was about to ask you the same,” he counters.
My mouth opens automatically, but no words of defense rush out. I have none. We both know it.
He stares at me for a moment before he realizes I’m not going to attempt an explanation. Then his grin widens. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
No sense denying it. I stand up straight, trying to appear taller than my five-foot-six height. It doesn’t help. I feel minuscule next to him.
“Not exactly,” I mumble.
He pushes off the car with a grunt and looks down at the ground between us with a soft shake of his head. I can’t read him. I have no idea if it’s an angry shake, or something else.
“You know . . .” He finally looks up, and I’m surprised by the flash of sadness I see in his eyes. “All you have to do is ask. Whatever you want to know. You ask, and I’ll answer. That’s typically how it’s supposed to work.”
My feet shift uncomfortably in response to his surprisingly soft tone. “What if I don’t know what I should be asking?”
“Then I’ll tell you anyway,” he says.
“Tell me what?”
He holds my gaze for a long time. I hold my breath as I wait, and I fear I’m unprepared for whatever it is he may say.
He finally looks away with a sigh. “We need to talk.”
“That’s what we’re doing.”
“No. I mean . . .” He looks at me again—really looks at me. “Not here. Not for what we have to discuss. We need to go somewhere else.”
I walk around him with a scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Nor am I interested in being assaulted in the woods. I’m going home.” I pause at the driver’s side door and look over the roof of the car at him. “I’ll have you know I have a black belt in taekwondo, so don’t try anything stupid.”
“No, you don’t.” He laughs.
He’s right, of course, but I don’t admit it. I climb into the car and take my spot behind the steering wheel. I realize I left the doors unlocked a moment later when Luca helps himself to a seat beside me.
He leans across the console to put those startling blue eyes in front of me. “You have questions.”
I spare him a glance but admit nothing.
“I have answers,” he adds, dangling the bait he knows I won’t be able to resist.
I clench my jaw and stare out the windshield. Anything to avoid looking at him. The nerve endings in my skin are frustratingly aware of how close he is to touching me. They rise to the occasion as if straining for the contact. They’re silly, and I’m not about to let a bunch of tingly nerves dictate what I do, or don’t do, around this guy.
“Things are happening to you, and you don’t know how to explain them,” Luca continues. “I do. I can explain it all, Savvy.”
I narrow my eyes at his casual use of that nickname, but I don’t correct him.
“You were just followed through the woods by a couple of wolves,” he reminds me. “That’s not normal, and you know it.”
“You expect me to believe you have an explanation for that?” I roll my eyes.
“I do have an explanation. For everything.”
He doesn’t admit to anything—not yet—but I suspect he is referring to the attacks. My curiosity demands to hear what he has to say, and he knows it.
Smug victory spreads across his face. “Do you know where Silver Lake is?” he asks.
I shrug. “I have a general idea.”
“Drive. I’ll get us there,” he tells me. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Oh, no.” I sit back in my seat with a snort. “I’m not stupid. You live there. I will not be the first kidnap victim in history to drive herself into . . .” My wary gaze swings to him.
His lips curl into a sly grin. “What? The wolf’s lair?”
I swallow hard.
“Sav . . .” He bows his head, breaking eye contact. “I’m not going to hurt you. If that was my intention, you would know it by now.” When he looks up again, his eyes are soft and pleading—a sharp contrast to what I have come to expect from him. “I’m hoping that there’s a tiny voice in your head, an instinct, telling you that you can trust me.”