“What’s your name?”
Remi shot a look back over her shoulder. The sandy-haired man was following. Kamp the 1010 Destroyer.
She ignored him and made it to the tree line, but she could still hear him following behind her. She tried to growl, but the bear inside of her wouldn’t cooperate. Weird and obnoxious.
“Hey, wait up a sec,” Kamp said, pulling her elbow gently.
She spun and shoved him in the chest. “Don’t you touch me.”
Hands thrown up, he backed off. “You’re hurt.”
“And naked and annoyed, and I don’t want to be here anymore.”
His shoulders lifted with the big gust of wind he inhaled. “Look, it’s getting dark. We have an extra trailer with a bed and everything. We’re shitty at being a Crew, but we’re all good at doctoring.”
“And why is that? Because you fight all the time?”
He flashed her a ghost of a smile and covered his dick with his hands, then shook his head at the ground. “Look, none of us want to be here. I get you wanting to go, but I don’t feel right watching you leave, bleeding because of me. Let me fix you up, you can get some good sleep tonight, and let me check the bandages in the morning, then you can go. No one will try to stop you.”
The rock music cut off suddenly in the distance. He glanced back at the woods and yelled, “Don’t touch my machine!” His voice echoed through the mountains.
“I’m changing your splitter blade like you asked, you cock-sucking-thunder-twat!” came the echoing reply.
Remi snorted, but cleared her throat to hide it because Kamp was definitely growling.
His jaw twitched with how hard he was clenching his teeth. He really did have a model face, and an intensity to his gaze that would buckle most woman at the knees. She was trying to keep her eyes north of the border, but his dick was so big he was having a hard time keeping it all covered up.
“Look,” he said, “I can offer you first aid and a chili dog.”
“You shouldn’t have hurt that trailer,” she gritted out softly.
A frown tainted his striking features. “Why do you care?”
“Because the number is 1010. You could’ve thrown that blade through any other trailer here, but you picked that one. You shouldn’t have done that.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“Remington Novak.”
His face went totally slack, and his lips parted in shock. Oh, he knew who she was all right. Most shifters had that reaction when they heard her last name. Daughter of Beaston, one of the most well-known shifters on the planet. One of the most well-respected. One of the most terrifying if anyone laid a finger on a person he loved. She’d always been under the umbrella of her father’s protection, and it intimidated most.
Kamp swallowed hard and cleared his throat, gestured to her leg. “It’s bleeding pretty bad. Come on.” He twitched his head and turned on his heel. He didn’t look back as he walked away, as if he expected her to follow. Normally, she wouldn’t follow a man. Normally, she would’ve flipped him off behind his back, made her way to her truck, and sprayed gravel as she peeled out just to spite his bossy ways. But he was bleeding really bad, too, and hadn’t winced or complained, wasn’t even favoring it.
“You’re hurt, too.”
“Not really.”
“Is this the part where you’re going to lure me into your singlewide and get me to doctor you back? Because I have to tell you, I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Good,” he called out simply. “I don’t like people touching me. You’re safe from me.”
Remi frowned at his receding silhouette. Well, that was an unexpected answer. And what had he meant about none of them want to be here? Why would they form a Crew then? Crews were usually groups of friends who depended on each other, but these three men didn’t fit that bill. A shifter who didn’t like touch? Well, that was shocking. Touch was important to their animals. It was a security blanket.
But her dad had told her to come here and breathe. She didn’t know what that meant, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay the night, just one night, and then she could leave in the morning.
“Light the fires and kick the tires, Novak,” Kamp called over his shoulder. “If you bleed out, your dad will skin me alive.”
Remi looked down at her throbbing leg. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Beaston hadn’t gotten that nickname because he was tame. Plus, Kamp had a very appealing hide, she thought, checking out his muscular ass as he made his way to one of the trailers. It would be tragic if he got skinned.
So, she limped along behind him.
One night, no more, and she could get some of her questions answered.
Just one teeny tiny miniscule little night, and then she could get back to her life as a city bear.
Chapter Four
“That’s Rhett,” Kamp said in a growly voice as he gestured to the man dragging a pillow, a blue comforter, and a bag of cool ranch potato chips from 1010 to 1009.
He didn’t have any tattoos and looked fit as fuck with perfectly spiked hair and a devil-may-care expression. He was more like a model than a logger. Rhett winked at her just before he made his way into 1009.
Kamp huffed a pissed-off sound and dragged his attention back to the first-aid kit he was rifling through on his porch. Kit was a bit of an understatement. It was a huge plastic bin with bulk medical supplies.
He’d brought her a pair of ripped-up jean shorts that fell past her knees and had to be belted and a plain blue T-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent and cologne. Not that she was sniffing, but it smelled really good. She couldn’t look any frumpier if she tried. Going commando in denim was downright uncomfortable, and her nipples were all perked up thanks to the soft fabric rubbing on them and the cool October breeze.
“Do you use that first-aid kit often?” she asked as she sat down on the single brown lawn chair beside the front door.
“If you were a normie, I’d lie and say ‘Nope, it’s only for rare occasions.’ But you’re a Novak, which means you were raised in the Gray Back Crew.” His lips twisted in a smirk. “Which means there’s no need to pretend monsters don’t exist with a girl who was raised by them. I’m guessing you’re pretty good at first aid yourself.” Locking her up with a bright gaze, he challenged her, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Huh, he really did have bi-colored eyes. The green one stayed nice and steady, and the other changed from gold, to green, and back to gold with his emotions. He was really handsome, kneeling there, a roll of bandages in one hand, clad in only a pair of old jeans and a belt with a bald eagle on the belt buckle. His muscles weren’t just for show. He was a worker. She could tell the difference between a gym rat and a man who built his body on work for pay.
“You’re not wrong,” she murmured. “The Gray Backs have the reputation for being one of the most volatile Crews in the world, right?”
He nodded and opened a water bottle, then positioned the lip of it over her clawed-up leg, a washrag held under the gashes. “That’s what I’ve heard. I was raised on tales of the shifters of Damon’s Mountains. My mom followed the Crews like the humans did. Every news story, every article, every post online…”
When he poured the water over the marks, she winced and stared off into the woods. With stuff like this, it was better not to look until it was cleaned and done.
“Tough giiiirl,” he murmured. Was that a purr at the end? Just a split second of one? Or had she imagined it?
Next was the bad part. Whatever cleaning solution he used burned like she’d stuck her leg in a fire, but like he’d said, she was a Novak, and Novaks didn’t show weakness. So she kept perfectly still and clasped her hands in her lap primly. More water, and then he was bandaging her up with quick, skilled, confident motions. A few strips of purple tape to keep it in place, and she was right as rain. Still hurt, but not as bad.
“I won’t touch you,” she promised, gesturing to his bleeding shoulder.
Kamp looked at his injury and backed up a couple of steps. And then he poured the bottle of cleaner over his arm without even a grimace. “All done,” he murmured. “Don’t fuss. You’ll waste your time.”