I groan as searing pain lances through my ribs, fairly certain that at least a few are broken from the impact. Gasping for air, I blink through the haze of confusion, trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding .
Derek is slumped over the steering wheel, a grotesque trickle of blood oozing from his hairline. In the backseat, Jeremy lies crumpled in a disturbing, bloody ss, unmoving and alarmingly still.
For one hysterical second, I muse that this is precisely why seatbelts exist. Should've worn a seatbelt, Jeremy.
I grit my teeth against a wave of pain as I claw my way into the passenger seat.
My shaking hands fumble with the door handle, but the door remains stubbornly jamd. Peering through the cracked windshield, I realize this side of the car has collided with a tree. A few inches of trunk are all that's blocking my door from opening.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I muster what little strength remains and kick the door with everything I have. Before I can kick again, the door flies off.
I don't stop to question my luck. As I tumble out of the wrecked vehicle, gasping for fresh air, a strong hand suddenly grips my arm, yanking upright. I whirl around, my heart pounding, only to find myself face-to-face with a stranger—a tall, imposing man with chestnut hair and piercing green eyes.
His gaze sweeps over , assessing, before he speaks in a deep, authoritative tone. "Are you injured?"
I sway into him, my battered body screaming in protest as I fight to remain upright. A dizzying wave of nausea washes over , and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning.
That's when the scent hits —ocean fresh, with a woodsy scent lingering just beneath, along with sothing that can only belong to one of my kind. A shifter. My eyes fly open, locking onto the stranger's intense gaze, and I instinctively flinch away from him.
A mistake.
My legs buckle beneath , and I brace myself for the unforgiving impact of the ground. But instead of hitting the hard earth, I find myself enveloped in a strong embrace, cradled against a broad chest.
The stranger—no, the shifter—has swept into his arms with an ease that belies his impressive stature. I tense, every fiber of my being screaming at to fight, to flee, but I'm utterly powerless against his hold.
His chiseled features are set in a grim line as he studies intently. "Are you injured?" he rumbles, his deep voice laced with concern.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. The events of the past few hours have left reeling, and I can't seem to find my voice amidst the chaos.
He frowns, his brow furrowing as he takes in my silence. "We need to get you to safety," he declares, his tone brooking no argunt.
Panic seizes , and I struggle feebly against his iron grip. I can't go with him!
But my efforts are futile. He rely tightens his hold, cradling closer to his chest as if I weigh no more than a child.
"Easy now," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you. Rowan, take care of the rogues," he orders over his shoulder as he strides away from the scene of the accident, carrying with ease.
I struggle against the waves of pain crashing over . "Who are you?" I rasp out, my voice hoarse. "What's going on?"
His green eyes find mine, calm yet intense. "I am Alpha Clayton Shadowpine of the Aspen Pack. And you are?"
I hesitate, unsure if I should give my real na. I feel safe for the imdiate mont, but I know my future is now even more uncertain. Selene remains silent in my mind. "Ava," I finally say.
"Well, Ava, you're safe now." His tone leaves no room for argunt as he continues walking, heading deeper into the trees. "Those rogues won't be a problem anymore."
I shiver, the adrenaline ebbing and leaving chilled in the crisp evening air.
"Are you cold?" the alpha asks.
"No, just—" I shudder as another tremor wracks through , my teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Clayton tightens his hold, pulling closer against his solid fra as we approach a sleek black SUV. His presence is both comforting and unsettling—a paradox that leaves reeling.
Part of wants to burrow deeper into his warmth, to soak in the reassurance of his strength, to lean on an alpha. It's been so long since I've been in a pack, and I guess sowhere deep inside, sothing's been craving it.
Another part remains wary, a voice in the back of my mind whispering that I can trust no one, especially not another shifter.
He shifts effortlessly in his arms, freeing one hand to retrieve a set of keys from his pocket. With a deft flick of his wrist, he unlocks the SUV, and the rear door swings open silently.
"Here, let get you inside where it's warm," he murmurs, his deep voice a low rumble that vibrates against my cheek.
I tense as he moves to deposit in the backseat, my fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt. A strangled noise escapes my throat—a silent plea for him to wait, to give a mont longer before he pulls away.
Clayton pauses, his sharp gaze assessing with a penetrating intensity that leaves feeling stripped bare. His nostrils flare ever so slightly, and I know he's scenting , picking up the nuances of my fear and uncertainty.
"You're safe, Ava," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
I swallow hard, forcing myself to loosen my grip on his shirt. Slowly, carefully, he lowers onto the plush leather seat, his movents asured and controlled. As soon as I'm settled, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over like a blanket, cocooning in its warmth and the lingering traces of his woodsy scent.
"Thank you," I whisper, clutching the jacket tighter around . It's a small comfort, but one I cling to nonetheless.
Clayton gives a solemn nod, his expression inscrutable. "We'll get you looked at by our healers," he says, his tone leaving no room for argunt. "And then we can figure out what to do next."
A flicker of unease stirs within at his words. What does he an by "figure out what to do next"? Is he implying that I'll be staying with his pack? The thought is terrifying.
Before I can voice my concerns, the sound of approaching footsteps draws my attention. I tense instinctively, my heart rate spiking as a tall, lean figure erges from the shadows.
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