Rayven winced, her muscles pulling tight as she rolled over, wrapped in blankets. Breslin’s scent teased along her tongue, creating a flutter in her belly. It lingered on the blankets, on the pillow beneath her head, and for a blissful second permeated every pore in her body, easing her muscles.

She cracked open an eye and swept a glance over the now-cold, dark fireplace.

A quick listen confirmed no breathing, no movement, no assassin waiting for his moment to pounce. If her memory served her right, Breslin had done more than pounce last night. She’d even—she licked her lips, the now-familiar taste of him still lingering and kicking her pulse higher with the memory of him deep inside her as she tasted his skin. His heartbeat beneath—her eyes flew open, memories flooding in as she clasped her fingers against her lips.

Oh Goddess, she’d claimed him. Or were her fantasies intertwined with last night’s reality? Her brain was such a muddle.

With a groan, she sat up. In one glance, she took in the folded pile of clothes on the hearth set beside what looked like her morning meal. But nothing else of him remained.

The connection she had to him was faint, distant. She wasn’t sure how she knew with such a certainty, but it was as if somehow she tracked him with a personal GPS. He hadn’t just left the cabin and the grounds. The dismal feeling in her gut insisted he’d gone far outside the perimeter of this sanctuary.

And that left her where, delivering herself to Deacon Black? She struggled into the clothes and then glanced inside the small container. No doubt the aroma of beef and cornbread was meant to tempt her. However, her stomach rebelled and her head throbbed with a headache that wasn’t going to be appeased by food.

She shrugged on Breslin’s jacket, taking a moment to drop her nose along the inside panel to memorize him. A romantic action and one that left her feeling silly and needy, but there was no one here to judge her, no one to remember.

Then a new scent assaulted her nostrils. Bear shifter? She moved to the front door and glanced out the side window.

Sure enough, there was a vehicle outside with an enormous barrel-chested man leaning against the front fender. Wavy brown hair came to his shoulders and almost covered his thick brows. She gathered he’d been waiting awhile, from the tight cross of his arms over his chest and his bored expression as he tilted his head up with a pretense of counting clouds.

Might as well get this over with, she thought and open the door. “You must be my ride.”

“You must be Rayven Karndottir.” His cold, assessing gaze lingered a bit too long on the bruises still visible from her wrangle with Sam. “My prisoner.”

Well, that put everything into perspective. She didn’t bother responding and instead made her way to the vehicle. Surprise hit her when he held out a hand for hers, followed by shock as he pulled it behind her and fastened a zip-tie handcuff to her wrists. Her arm had healed remarkably well, whether due to her beast or some strange healing from Breslin. But she still felt an uncomfortable ache. However, stubbornness was a part of her nature when dealing with larger, potential threats. She refused to let out a peep over her discomfort.

“I’m considered the local sheriff here, so you’ll be in my custody until Deacon’s prepared to see you. Name is Grizz.” He opened the back door of the SUV and paused with a long sniff. He muttered something to himself she couldn’t quite make out and waited until she’d awkwardly climbed into the backseat. Déjà vu hit her hard as he buckled a seat belt around her, but his attention was nothing like Breslin’s.

He didn’t bother with conversation or explanations during the ten-minute ride. He certainly didn’t look at her with lust in his eyes.

She distracted herself taking in the lovely passing homes that grew more frequent the farther he drove from Breslin’s home. What struck her was how more appeared all the way into a small town—so different from her home. Here, a large open square dominated the center filled with grass and shrubs and trees. Here and there, an occasional bench appeared across the landscape.

Awed by the peace and normalcy, she gazed at all the people happily walking from one place to the next as if companionable activities were the norm here. Obviously, Deacon Black’s territory mimicked human communities more closely than her own clan.

At least she guessed so based on the many business signs dotting the buildings around the town square. A quaint little bakery with decorative cupcakes etched in the logo sat across the way. A bookstore conjoined with a restaurant, the windows filled with people browsing or talking stood on another street. It seemed idyllic, but as envy—or was it regret?—built in her system, she clamped down on her emotions. What other alphas had created wasn’t her problem.

They stopped in front of a building with Black Haven Fire Department/Police Station emblazoned on the shiny black plaque at the side of double wooden doors. At least it wasn’t a dank cellar.

Grizz opened the back door and unfastened her seat belt, waiting as she scrambled her way out of the vehicle. She felt rather lucky not to have tripped and fallen flat on her face on the sidewalk. As happy as everyone in town seemed, having a prisoner fall out of the sheriff’s vehicle would probably unsettle them.

She didn’t need to see Grizz wave toward the opposite side of the room as they entered the building. A modest one-cell jail stood with the door open, waiting for her. Without a glance at her newest guard, Rayven walked straight into the steel-barred enclosure and sat on the bench. She supposed if she stayed long enough, she could sleep there. Here was hoping Deacon Black didn’t keep her here for the entire time before the tribunal.

Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes and adjusted her hands to reduce the tug on her shoulders. Before she had a chance to relax, a phone buzzed in the main room. She heard rather than saw Grizz punch a button.

“When are you picking up Ms. Karndottir?” a deep voice boomed from across the room. At least her hearing was fine, though Grizz did his best to discourage her listening in with a scowl.

“You know I can hear just fine. And she’s already here.”

“She is most certainly not here where she needs to be. What are you doing in town?”

“You know. Sheriff. Prisoner. Jail. Seemed somewhat intuitive to me. Nobody said to bring her directly to the house.”

“Bring her here, now.” After a brief pause and some static in the background, the caller added, “Quickly.”

The phone call ended, and Grizz punched the button on the phone again, glaring at it. “Sure thing, Deacon. Happy to.”