Trigger

20

Inside, she rolled him onto several blankets she had placed next to the fire. She stripped off her layers of clothes and stoked the fire, then tended to Trigg.

She unwrapped the shirt she had put around him and was relieved to see his wounds were closed, and he wasn’t bleeding any more. She looked him over, feeling the tips of his fingers to see if he was warming up. She put her cheek against his chest and listened to his heart beat strongly as his breathing got deeper and steadier. She felt a moment of utter helplessness as she stared down at him. The kind of futile, stagnant need that easily becomes fury.

“You f*****g jerk!” she cried, wiping tears from her eyes. “How could you let this happen? You’ve left me all alone out here!”

She was so afraid that he wouldn’t wake, she wanted to scream at him, to pound on his chest until he opened his eyes. It wouldn’t do any good, though. Her anger was only hiding her fear ... and her gratitude.

He saved me.

She was under no illusions about what the creepy woodsman would have done to her. Trigg had sacrificed himself to save her. Feeling this truth in her heart, she cried even more.

After crying for so long that her eyes were raw, she clumsily got up and set water to boil. She was just coming back to check on Trigg when she saw his eyes flicker open.

“Stormy?” His voice was low and rough. “Stormy!” he cried louder!

“I’m here,” she said, sitting next to him. He fought to get up, and she held him down easily with one hand.

“Stay down. You’re hurt. I’ll bring you some tea.”

“You’re okay?” he asked urgently. He raised a hand, letting his knuckles trail down her cheek. She smiled. “I’m okay.”

Hurt, sore, in desperate need of a massage and a chiropractor, but okay.

She hurried to get the tea and sat beside him. He sat up carefully, holding his wounds.

“Thank you,” he said, looking at himself. “You did well.”

Stormy took a long, slow sip of tea. She watched him, questions crowding her mind. She couldn’t hold them in any longer.

“Trigg?”

“Yes?” he asked, sipping his tea.

“Who are you?”

TRIGG

Trigg sat by the fire, watching Stormy. The light flickered across her beautiful features, making her eyes seem to dance. Her hair curled against her pale cheeks, and her lips looked full and red.

He leaned forward, groaning a little. He still couldn’t get up, and being so weak was not something he could endure for long. He took another sip of tea, hoping that Stormy would stay where she was so he could watch her.

If I have to be bed-bound, at least I have a good view.

He was astonished at her strength. He couldn’t quite believe she had dragged him back here by herself. She seemed so delicate, so fragile, yet she had a strength inside her like nothing he’d ever seen.

She put her cup down on a nearby table and winced. His eyes went to her hand immediately.

“Stormy!” he cried. “Your hands!”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “I got a bit torn up while I was dragging you here. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay!” he snapped. He put his cup down and tried to rise. His head swam so hard that he fell back down again.

“Stay down, you dork,” she muttered. “You lost a lot of blood.”

He sighed, pointing across the room at the backpack.

“There’s a jar of green salve in there. Make sure your hands are clean and dry, then smear some on the cuts. Try to find some clean gloves or mittens. You must be in so much pain.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through,” she said. He shook his head, annoyed.

“I’m a tough guy. I’m used to it. Besides, I’m already healed. You see?”

He lifted the blanket to show her the smooth skin. Her eyes lingered, her tongue creeping to the edge of her lip. His head swam, and once again, he realized he had not recovered from the blood loss.

Not enough juice to run both the brain and a full c**k at the same time.

He laughed softly to himself, pleased to have Stormy’s attention no matter the circumstance. She blinked and looked up quickly, blushing.

“Yes, I can see how good you look ... I mean, how well your wounds have healed,” she said, a little bashfully. Then she frowned. “You’ve gone quite pale, Trigg. Are you okay? You did lose a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” he nodded, willing his c**k to go down, so he had enough blood to run his last few brain cells. “Get the salve, please. I’ll help you treat your hands.”

She hurried over to the pack, getting out the jar, then coming back to him. She had clean wool gloves in her coat pocket, and she set them in her lap while Trigg rubbed salve gently on her cracked hands.

He hadn’t known that paying such careful attention to a woman’s hands could be so powerfully erotic. He became entranced by the curve of her knuckles, the sweet shiny crescents of her fingernails, her soft palms. When he was done with one hand, he looked into her eyes to see her watching him intently.

The moment hung between them. The s****l tension in the air was so strong that he felt like he was struggling to breathe.

Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her …

He looked down, clearing his throat as he started on the other hand.

“So, these mafia guys who kidnapped me … They’re the real bad guys, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” he answered, focusing on her hand. “The worst.”

He didn’t want to get too deep into this conversation. It was enough to tell her that he had come to rescue her, but he didn’t want her to know he had been in the Supermax. He sure as hell didn’t want her to know he used to work with these bad guys.

“And you’re a shifter,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question. She already knew. It was as if she was holding the information in her mind, weighing it.

“Yes,” he said, glancing up at her with a grin. “White wolves are quite rare. Even though I might look the part, I’m not crazy about the name Snowflake.”

She giggled, and he laughed too. He thought that her laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. When he looked up, her smile had lit up her face, and he stared into her eyes, entranced.