It was bringing anxiety instead. The kind that twisted her stomach into knots and made her regret ever leaving the city.
“Come on, Max. This isn’t funny,” she muttered, eyes scanning the woods, dread blooming inside her like a storm cloud.
Then—just faintly—came the sound of a bark.
She turned sharply.
A deep rumble followed.
Cordelia froze.
That wasn’t Max. That was an engine. Loud. Raw. Powerful. The kind of sound that rumbled in your bones and warned you that whatever was coming… wasn’t tame.
Leaves rustled behind her, and she turned just in time to see a large matte-black motorcycle cut through the gravel near the trail entrance, spitting dust and dominance. The rider slowed, the engine growling low like a beast that refused to be leashed.
And sitting beside him, tail wagging a
