Chirping filled the air. Sawyer yawned and rolled onto her back, hitting a warm object. She froze as her eyes opened. Sun scarcely filtered through the shack. It was morning. She turned to look at Quinn. His body was against hers. He looked young as he slept, the mud on his cheek reminded her of a child.
Sawyer smiled and reached toward his hair before pausing and retracting. She scooted away from him and stood. Brushing off her clothes she reached up and raked her fingers through her hair. The rain made her it a frizzy mess.
She bit her lip. Did she feel self-conscious? She nearly scoffed at herself. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Her gaze fell on the man sleeping before her. “Quinn,” she said. They needed to leave before the pack found them. “Quinn,” her voice was gruff
