He hacked a piece of frozen venison from the slab and tossed it in a bowl. Then he gathered some carrots and potatoes, adding them to the bowl.
After his root cellar was secured against scavengers, he walked back into the yard, sniffing the wind. The sky above was steel gray and stillness covered the land. In the darkness of the trees, he could only make out the faintest scent of forest life. In human form his senses were not as keen, but they were still far more sensitive than a typical human.
He didn't quite know what it was, but he could sense something was coming, something dark and unwelcome. Something that would change his life forever. He turned inside and closed the door.
He tamped off his boots and placed the bowl of food on the table. Makayla was dressed and bustling around the cabin. She only had the slightest limp now. His first reaction was irritation. She was touching his things, making herself tea, putting her fingers in his herb jars.
His second reaction was pleasure in seeing her moving about with a smile on her face. When she had left yesterday, he had been angry. He knew she'd never make it. But when she laid down to sleep in the snow, his world felt like it would crumble.
The sight of her body curled up in the frozen air, tore him apart. She was so stubborn she could have gotten herself killed. He didn't know if that trait was adorable or completely infuriating. There was a time and a place for being obstinate, but walking with a wounded ankle in knee deep snow was not one of them.
She turned to him with a tea mug in her hand, looking fresh and clear eyed. He was glad the near hypothermia from the day before hadn't left permanent damage.
"You got food. Good. I'm starving!” Her eyes brightened as she looked at him.
"Trying to kill yourself works up an appetite?"
"I wasn't trying to kill myself. And I never would have gone out there if you could manage to be more civil. I know you spend a lot of time alone, Ronan, but you must have some social skills buried somewhere under your intractable exterior."
He brushed past her silently. Her words stung. She was right of course. He hadn't been entirely welcoming. But why would he be? He'd saved her life and was stuck with her. No good deed goes unpunished, as the saying went. Now he wasn't entirely sure she was a punishment. If only he could behave differently. It was probably too late now.
"I haven't had to share my life with anyone for a long time," he said with his back to her. He peeled the vegetables and put them in a pot. The words on his lips were so foreign, he couldn't bring himself to articulate them. Silently, he thought, "I'm sorry."
"Well. That's understandable," she said in a mild tone. “Everyone gets out of practice on things they don't often do. I can understand why having someone around your cabin might be awkward for you. And I want to thank you again for your hospitality." She took a sip of tea and turned to stare out the window. "It's snowed again, hasn't it? I'm never getting out of here." She sighed and sank her cheek into her hand.
The thought of her never leaving both excited and irritated him. How could he hold such contradictory feelings at the same time? It was the most confused he'd been since he left society as a young man. Confusion like this was the primary reason he'd left in the first place. Confusion and women, a woman to be precise.
Before Ronan had dedicated his life to being a hermit, he had been deeply, unequivocally in love. He'd been so head over heels crazy about the girl, he couldn't think straight. Her name was Nelly Fitzpatrick, a wolf shifter with shiny red hair and an hourglass figure. How he adored to lose himself in Nelly Fitzpatrick's body for hours. He'd have married her if she hadn't betrayed him.
Memories of Nelly opened the deep wound in his heart he thought had been closed off forever. He'd forced himself to never think of her again. He was ruined for love, ruined for the world.
"The snow will melt soon enough. It's late in the season. The storm of the century is holding on tight, but it will soon be gone. It will thaw soon, and we can get you back to the road."
"Why don't you just carry me back like you did when I was frozen?"
"Can't be half shifted anywhere near humans. I'm not going to end up in a cage."
"Fine. I'll wait. I wonder what they are doing at the magazine without me or if my parents are looking for me. I'm sure someone is searching for me."
"Maybe, but your car will surely be hidden under the snow."
"I know. It's hopeless. I simply cannot sit in this cabin another moment longer. I'm going to burst. If only you had wifi." She giggled. Ronan had no idea what wifi was. "What can a man and woman do when trapped alone in a cabin with no TV and no Internet? It's an interesting question. Don't you think?"
Ronan wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he had a clue. After last night, he wasn't going to give in to Makayla's teasing. One minute she wanted him, the next she didn't. It was enough to turn a man half mad.
"I'm making venison stew," he said over his shoulder.
"Can I help?"
"No. I'm fine. Read another book if you are bored. I don't have this wifi. Might as well keep yourself occupied."
She heaved a dramatic sigh and pulled the book box from under the bed to rifle through his collection. "These are so outdated," she moaned.
"That's why they were free."
She pulled another paperback from the box and collapsed on the bed like a disgruntled teenager. Her angst-ridden behavior had an unexpected effect on him.
The last time he'd loved a woman, she'd been little more than nineteen and was given to boredom and moodiness. Makayla was probably not that way under normal circumstances, but the behavior turned him on nonetheless.
He turned to watch her reading on the bed. Her body was laid out before him, prone while she flipped the pages. He looked at her round ass under the form fitting jeans she wore. She caught his glance and smirked before looking back at the book.
"Do you want something?" she asked.
"Yes. No," he said, correcting himself. He stifled the urge to pounce on her, and pull down her tight fitting jeans to expose the round, pump flesh that promised sweet redemption and exquisite release.
"Just let me know if you do,” she said merrily.
"You do the same, Makayla," he said over his shoulder. She looked up at him and caught his eye. He turned to her and they stared each other down. It was an instant of shared intimacy. Neither would say what they both wanted—another chance at what they'd started last night.
"Maybe I will," she challenged.
"Be my guest."
"I am your guest."
He snorted and went back to chopping cold venison. He put the meat in a pot to let it slow cook while the vegetables waited in a separate pot. When the venison was almost done, he'd transfer the vegetables to finish cooking with the meat.
He washed his hands and made himself a cup of tea to take to the table with a book in his hand. He sat down, but couldn't take his eyes off the rise of Makayla's round behind. She turned over and sat up, crossing her legs while she faced him.
"What do you do all the time? Don't you get bored and lonely?"
"I hunt. I tan the pelts of my kills and take them to town several times a year. That’s how I earn money to buy supplies like candles and kerosene. Survival is a full time occupation."
"Would you be hunting now if I weren't here?"
"Probably. But a human hunter took a shot at me yesterday while I was stalking a rabbit. I should have gouged his eyes out on the spot. Humans are prohibited from hunting in this part of the woods."
"What about you?"
"I have special tags. And I own this land, even though it's technically in the national forest. My family has owned it for many, many generations. There are numerous shifters in high levels of the Forest Service Department. We need to indulge our animal selves, and we can only do it if our habitat is available to us."
"I see. So do all shifters hunt like you?"
"No, not all. Most of the shifters I know live in Mystic Harbor and have normal jobs. They go to
the grocery store and have televisions. For them the hunt is much like the human tradition of going to church on holidays."
Makayla laughed, a tinkling laugh that filled the cabin and his heart with its song. Her cheeks were rosy from the herbal tea she'd made. Perhaps she'd gone a little overboard with the passionflower.
"That makes sense," she said as her laugher died down. "I can see it now. A bunch of shifters take to the forest on Easter Sunday to catch rabbits." She broke into laughter again.
"Usually it’s at full moons and the solstices and equinoxes. Most shifters may have left the wild ways, but the turning of the Earth and the moon is in our blood."
"That sounds almost romantic."
"I suppose."
"What's it like? Being a shifter? Can a human become a shifter like in werewolf movies?"
"I know nothing else so I couldn't describe it to you. And yes, humans can become shifters. It's a simple process, yet the human is never the same."
"That sounds a little intimidating. How does it work?"
"It's a bite. A very special bite."
"Yikes, that sounds like it hurts."
"It can, but if done right it feels good. Or so I've been told."
"Hmm. Interesting. Have you ever made a shifter?"
"It never came up."
"Would you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm done with this conversation."
She turned over and went back to reading her book. He tried to read, but his mind was a fog. He couldn't concentrate on anything with her butt right in front of him like that. He slammed the book closed and went to check on the venison.
The meat had become tender so he added the carrots and potatoes to the water and stirred everything together with herbs and salt. He looked back out the window and noticed it had started snowing again.
Anxiety gripped his shoulders. He couldn't take much more of this. His inner struggle was a losing battle. One side or the other was sure to win, and that meant that no matter what, he lost.
If he gave in to his lust and seduced the woman, she would inevitably leave and he would be heartbroken once again. If he simply ignored her the rest of the time she was in his cabin, he would miss out on something that the animal inside of him desperately wanted. He rarely denied his inner lion what it wanted.
To take this woman would mean to mate her. Shifters mated for life. Once a mate was chosen, the couple stayed together forever. Shifters could have relationships without mating, purely for enjoyment. But the lion inside of him was not asking for a purely physical experience with Makayla. No, his inner lion roared for the woman to be made his. He wanted to claim her, to keep her, to put cubs inside her.
Ronan pushed his hand over his head, ruffling his hair. The heat from the stove warmed his skin and brought him back to himself. He remembered the heat between Makayla's legs and had to stifle himself again. If there was only some way to know what she wanted, or what she would do.
But he did know. She would leave. That was that. He had to let her go. She could never stay with him, and he could never go with her. They were too far apart, too different, from two different world.
CHAPTER NINE
Ronan set a plate for Makayla at the table and she sank into one of his wooden chairs. It was wild meat stew once again. What she wouldn't give for a plate of pasta or some light fish. Eating the same thing every day was wearing thin.
She accepted the plate and bit into a tender potato, reminding herself to be grateful for something to eat and a roof over her head in this horrible snowstorm.
They ate in silence, listening to the sound of the wind howl outside the door. Ronan flipped open a book and completely ignored her. Boredom had long since taken over her senses, and she was beginning to feel like a trapped animal. Not only that, her cravings for sugar and caffeine were making life a living hell.
She kicked herself for stopping Ronan last night. If they had at least made love, they'd have something interesting to do to pass the time. Sex with Ronan had the promise of something wild and carnal, yet tenderly intimate. She'd had a taste of it already.
Still, she didn't want to lead him on. They could never work. She definitely was never coming back to this hellhole, and she doubted he'd visit her in Portland. Even as a casual thing, it would have to be limited to here and now.
No matter how rough and gruff Ronan acted, she could tell there was something soft and breakable underneath. She wasn't going to be the one to break him. She'd leave it alone, even though the thought of sliding her hand up his muscled thigh made her squeeze her legs together.
He shoved a chunk of venison in his mouth and chewed wordlessly while reading his book. She studied his face, watching the shallow lines around his eyes as his jaw worked on his food. He was handsome, that was for sure. He seemed to have a permanent five o'clock shadow, and she'd never seen him shave. It only made him look more wild and rugged in the most gorgeous way possible.
She sighed, realizing that she was torturing herself with that train of thought. She needed to think of something else, do something else. Yet there was absolutely nothing to do.
"Do you have a chess board?" she asked, attempting to find something to keep her mind off the idea of Ronan's fingers inside her.
"No."
"Checkers?"
He looked at her sideways. No, she supposed he wouldn't have games. He had two chairs, but she assumed he rarely had company long enough to play games. Ronan didn't seem the game playing type in the first place.
"How do you stay out here all the time and not lose your fucking mind!"
He glared at her and slammed his water cup on the table.
"What?" she shouted.
"Just relax."
"Isn't there a word for people who get cooped up in cabins and go bonkers? Cabin fever. That's it. Can someone get that after four days?"
"Maybe you can,” he said, looking back down at his book. He flipped a page.
"I'm sorry but I'm used to a great deal more stimulation in my life. I have a high pressure job, friends, an active social life. I'm not cut out for all this...this…nothing."
"Learn to be still." His eyes didn’t leave the book. Anger grew in her chest.
"So now you’re a yogi?" she snorted.
"I don't even know what a yogi is," he said, shoving a piece of potato in his mouth.
"Surely you've heard of yoga. You’re from Oregon not somewhere in the Amazon!"
"Yogi like yoga? I suppose I do. I thought you were talking about that goblin from the space movie."
"That's Yoda. Oh my God! You really need to come back to planet Earth, my friend. You're pitiful." She snorted.
"I have no need for any of that. I don't need a yogi to be still. Unlike you." He finally looked at her, giving her a superior looking expression.
She glared at him, crossed her arms, and sat back in her chair. He was getting on her nerves big time. She didn't know if she wanted to scream at him or throw herself in his lap.
The idea of grinding his lap while he sat in his homemade wooden chair crossed her mind. That was definitely the best bad idea she'd had all day. Damn it. She was going to need medication by the time she got back to civilization if this kept up.
"Ronan," she said, rubbing the wood grain in the table. "Do you remember what we were doing last night?" She let it slip out. She wasn't going to talk about it, but there it was. He glared at her, his eyes growing dark.
"I do," he said blankly, glancing at her.
"So do I,” she teased.
"Well, at least we know your memory still works." He looked back at his book.
She rolled her eyes. "What I meant to say was, what did you think of it? I know I stopped you but..."
"You were right to stop. It was a bad idea." He turned another page.
"Oh." Disappointment fell over her shoulders and a black fog rolled through her mind. So much for that idea. Now that he'd said it was a bad idea, she felt angry, but she wanted it even more. "Why do you
think it was a bad idea?" she asked haughtily.
He set down his book and sighed. Taking his plate, he stood tall and broad above her as he stared her down. "Because you and I are a bad idea." His eyes burned into hers and moved down to rest on her lips. They glided to her breasts and she could feel the heat of his stare as they moved.
"You're probably right," she said, crossing her arms over her breasts against the heat of his gaze.
He lifted her plate and took everything to his sink to wash, pouring melted snow water over the dishes. She wished he'd at least let her do some chores around the cabin. That would take some of the boredom out of her existence.
"When was the last time you, you know, had a girlfriend?"
"None of your business."
"Oh come on. I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours,” she teased.
"I don't care." His back was to her and she could feel the darkness pouring off of him.
"Ronan. I'm dying here. I'm going to start throwing things soon."
He turned around, his expression far too serious for her joke. "Don't break my things," he grunted.
"And if I do?" she threatened. There was nothing to do but resort to the most childish behavior. She couldn't even believe she said it. It was like watching a stranger walking into a snake pit.
"I don't know. I'll punish you." His tone was so serious she believed him.
"Punish me?" Lust and fear swirled around her stomach and nipples. Her pussy twitched. Was he serious? No matter what Ronan tried to pretend to be, she knew he wouldn't actually hurt her. Yet his threat was too enticing to pass up. Would he spank her. She giggled inside. She had to find out.
She took the paperback she'd been reading and chucked it at his chest. It barely made it across the room before it grazed his body and fell impotently to the floor.
"Don't. Makayla. I mean it."
"Or what?" she picked up an empty glass canning jar and lifted it in the air.
"I said, don't." His tone sent shivers down her spine. She watched herself hurl the jar. It flew across the room as if in slow motion, crashing against the door and falling to the floor in a dozen sharp fragments.