He can’t be trusted. I know that, but at the moment, I’m helpless to stop him.
∞ ∞ ∞
If anything positive comes from my second failed attempt at escape, it’s that Collin seems to be making good on his promise. An hour later, I’m outside sitting on the cabin steps as Collin finishes putting the tools away that he used to change the flat tire.
The small spare is on the back of the sedan, and the blown one is propped against the cabin. The car is now missing its back door—thanks to Collin wrenching it off after his wolf attacked me. It looks totally ghetto.
“Ready?” he calls.
He turns toward me in the sunshine, his expression hopeful, then apprehensive. His hair is loose, and the blond wavy strands rest lightly on his shoulders.
For a moment, my breath stops, and that strange flutter runs through me again. The man is pure masculine perfection with his cut muscles, dazzling blue eyes, and magnetic presence. He reminds me of one of my favorite actors from those superhero movies.
But then a sneer lifts my lips. He’s no fucking Thor.
I stand but don’t move any closer to him. Instead, I narrow my eyes. “You’re really going to take me home? No tricks?”
“No tricks. I promise.”
Despite his promise and hot-as-hell appearance, I’m loathe to get in the car with him even if it’s the only way he’s willing to let me leave.
I eye the backpack in the backseat. He’s latched it with the seatbelt so it won’t fall out. “What if you just give me that backpack of supplies and cut me loose? I can walk back. There’s enough food and water in there.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, his bicep bulging in the process.
Dammit, Bri! Don’t notice stuff like that!
“I have no doubt you’re a very capable woman who could probably walk a thousand miles if she was determined to do so, but how do you know you won’t get lost? There’s no cell phone reception for miles, so you can’t use your phone’s GPS. And even if you take the pack of food and water, it won’t last more than a week, and that’s if you’re rationing. So then what? You’ll be on your own with nothing but your own survival skills to keep you alive. And you may make it a few weeks by drinking dirty water from streams and eating berries—if you know which ones aren’t poisonous—but you still have to contend with exposure. This heat is unforgiving during the day, and the nights can get cold. So tell me, after knowing all of that, how are you going to survive?”
I cross my arms and look away. I had hoped to follow the road to a city, but he’s right. What if there are intersections? And there probably aren’t any streams near the road. Where would I find water? Under my shoes, a few pebbles sift in the dirt. I roll them a few times before kicking them clear to the trees.
Dammit. He has a point.
Grumbling, I begin walking toward the car. He’s still looking at me expectantly, as though waiting for my reply, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing and letting him know that he’s right.
The only comfort I take is that he hasn’t been talking to his alternate personality since we returned to the cabin, and his eyes haven’t glowed since his wolf attacked me. I’ve come to learn those glowing eyes mean his wolf is close.
Too close.
He opens the front passenger door for me.
“Such a gentleman,” I mutter under my breath.
His lips quirk up, and I have a sneaking suspicion he heard me. “We’ll be out of gas soon, but with any luck, we’ll make it to a gas station before that happens.”
I pause before sinking into the seat. I wipe the sweat from my upper lip. It has to be at least ninety degrees even at this altitude. “You don’t have any gas here to fill the tank?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t bring any.”
“Cause you didn’t think we’d ever be leaving?”
My scathing comeback makes his eyes dim. He shuffles his feet before saying quietly, “Something like that.”
Before the realization fully sinks in that he intended to kill me all along, he leaves my door open before darting around the front of the car to the driver’s side. He moves silently, his large form unnervingly graceful, before he slips into his seat and slams the door.