Her True Savior (Furever Shifter Mates #1; Shifting Hearts Dating Agency Book 4)

by Kiki Howell

  She had to believe Sylvia had no idea in calling him her savior that this would all happen. In fact, from the message from Ian, she believed he was in on it from the start, dating her the whole of the two weeks because Jacob himself wouldn't make a move. But, still, surely Sylvia had meant Jacob to be her savior in love, not her actual savior, as in life or death shit.

  If Sylvia knew now, as she had to figure Ian would have filled her in, then her poor mom knew, too, and had to be losing her mind with worry. Serves her right, Sam thought for a moment, her anger, her frustration, her fears getting the best of her emotions which swung on a pendulum, back and forth in her churning stomach.

  To calm her breathing, having turned frantic again, despite her lungs being too tired to do that, she concentrated on the immediate need. A shower. Fresh, warm running water to clean as well as soothe her sore muscles.

  "I'm filthy, Jacob. I really want a shower. Are we going to do that cuffed together, too?" she asked, the long sigh obvious in her voice if the shrug of her shoulders hadn't already shown her sentiment as to this idea away.

  "No," he barked at her before letting out a sigh and starting again. "Forgive me. It's not you I am upset with. I am trying my best here, Samantha. I am. Honestly. I don't want to keep you cuffed to me. But, I ask again, if I take it off, will you stay with me, run with me, as I and Ian feel necessary to keep you safe, or will you run away from me, determined you can save yourself?"

  "I'm not sure it is as bad as you both think it is," she said. "Everyone ended up all right from the studio."

  "They came in easy, thinking they could just grab you and be done with it. They were not looking to hurt anyone, just kidnap. But, now they've failed. Now they are pissed. Trust me, I'm not being overcautious here. These types, they only go easy once. Next time they come in all guns ready. They don't take defeat well, which is what got us all into this situation in the first place. They lost out on a deal to Ian."

  "Really?" she said, suddenly exasperated and pissed. "This is all about some business deal? My whole life upset, my business destroyed, my future who the hell knows what, and I'm cuffed to a man for who the hell knows how long because I agreed to date Ian? This all comes down to the mighty dollar? Really?"

  She just wanted a shower, and she wanted to take it alone, and then she wanted to go home.

  "Yes, really," he yelled, making her jump, her eyes grow wide, her body wake up to the fact she was too exhausted to handle being afraid again.

  His wide, dark eyes, mixed with his tight jaw and gritted teeth did nothing to calm her fears. She looked down to make a study of the stained carpet in shades of orange and brown, and not good shades either.

  "This is far from over," he hissed. "We set up a decoy. When I took you into the wall at your studio, we released a woman and another guard, to leave out the back with Surge and Will. You met them, right?"

  "Yes," she muttered, more than aware of his mounting anger and pain, etching across his face, making each muscle in his body taut to the point of vibrating.

  His breath let out long and fast as he shook his head before continuing. His voice changed suddenly to a solemn tone that brought out a cold sweat along her neck, shooting a chill down her spine. She shivered and looked away again. Just as she began a diatribe in her head about the fake wood on the seventies style dresser that stood in front of her, his voice, softer, yet still deep and angry, began again.

  "The men who were after you took the bait. They followed, leaving only the few we heard through the walls behind to double check the studio."

  "Okay, so you did well then. You saved me, and everyone else there. You took those guys on a wild goose chase, I assume, so I should be in the clear, right?"

  "Wrong, Samantha. They are all dead. The hired woman and fake guard, Rita and Steve, along with Surge and Will, they are all dead. These men don't play around. They would have held you for ransom, and when they got what they wanted from Ian eventually killed you, too. And, now that they know they don't have you...have figured out Rita isn't their intended target, they will play dirtier, and they will play for keeps. You will stay here with me, by any means necessary, or you will die, too. You got that?" he semi-yelled, his eyes tearing up it seemed, confusing her a mere second before he lifted his arm where the restraints attached to hers and pushed the cuffs toward her face.

  "Jacob. I'm sorry. I don't know what to say...I didn't know..." She sat down beside him where he'd practically fallen into a seated, hunched over position onto the bed behind them.

  She couldn't take a man crying, especially one like Jacob: so big and tough, and who always seemed to have it all together. Though, she feared him now, so tightly wound, if anything undid him—the loss of his friends, his co-workers, his pride mates— who the hell knew what he'd do. Surely not her, the girl who had been trying hard not to give into her lust for the man she'd only known two weeks and had had limited conversations with at that.

  "How could you know," he mumbled, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper. "I kept it from you. I didn't want you to be terrified out of your mind, but if that is what it takes to show you why these are necessary," he said, again pushing their bound hands up to her face, though not with as violent a motion as he had moments before. "These, and more will be necessary until I can get you somewhere safe, somewhere so far off the grid, their radar, that they will never find you."

  "Never?" she asked, the squeak in her voice making her jump. "Never... As in, I can never go home?"

  "I'm not saying never, but you've been reported dead as a precaution anyway. Some shit story made up of an accident when rushing you out of the studio. They knew they had the wrong girl, killed her, so we had to make them think you were dead, too, so they wouldn't continue to come after you. I doubt Ian will set the record straight until this war is over. In the meantime, we have time to run."

  "Dead? My family...my friends...they think I'm dead?"

  "It is horrible, I know, but it will hopefully keep them safe as well. The men won't go looking for you where any of them live or work. Since killing any of them doesn't hurt Ian enough, they should leave them alone, not even think of it as they recoup given the loss of their main target. I'm sorry all of this is happening."

  "I'm sorry, too," she managed, "it is you who have lost family trying to save me. Mine only thinks they've lost me. God, my poor mother. But, she will have me back one day I hope. You on the other hand... Listen, I will behave. I will try to do as you ask."

  She took her other hand, placed it on his, which still clutched to hers, in a death grip.

  "I'm not letting you go. I appreciate the sentiment, and I believe you meant it sincerely, but, until I know for one hundred percent sure, you are staying cuffed to me."

  "Okay. I understand," she soothed. "At this point, being cuffed to a bodyguard might just help me feel safe, though I'm not sure that is possible anymore."

  She stopped talking when the tears made her voice crack. She tried hard to prevent them, holding her breath, closing her eyes tight, yet still they seeped through. A small sob here, a few drops there. He gathered her up again, held her tightly, which made her sore muscles worse, though at this point she didn't care. She couldn't get close enough to him, and even that didn't make her feel safe. Suddenly, every sound, every shadow, held danger. She'd never felt like this before in her life, and wasn't sure where to go from here. Things like sanity and serenity were not even words on her radar.

  "But, the shower," she managed after crying in his arms for who knew how long. "I hate to sound insensitive to your loss, but we both need to get cleaned up and then maybe some sleep, though I'm so tired I don't even know how I will even manage a shower."

  To be honest, she also wanted the escape from not knowing how best to soothe this savage beast beside her who held her despite his own pain. No one needed magic powers, and hers were still gone, to read him, every fiber of his being screamed rage and sorrow. From his flushed, shaking skin to his corded neck and his hands
clenched onto her, the man broke her heart despite her own grief, her own loss.

  Guilt made her continue on, change the subject for lack of anything better to say or do. "How are we managing the showers and then what are we going to wear?"

  "There is a suitcase in the closet over there. Ian had clothing bought for us both. New identities in a way, I guess, or at least the start of them. We go tomorrow to get the official makeover from a friend, along with official new identifications. But, for now, you can grab what clothes are in there for you to sleep in, then grab a shower. I will uncuff you and then let you into the bathroom. There are no windows in there, so I will be on this side of the door waiting for you to finish. Then cuffs again, sorry. Please, cut me a break, just for tonight, and let it go, as in, willingly comply and make this easier on us both, please. Though I can't imagine it happening either, I need to at least try to rest, if not sleep. I can't do that until I know you are literally attached to me. Safe."

  "I will. Just let me in to shower," she said, her voice quiet, as she held back another onslaught of tears suddenly burning her eyes.

  She refused to get upset with herself. With all she'd been through, this level of exhaustion could make the strongest of humans weepy, as one could see in Jacob's face. Hell, the man had almost broken down into tears in her presence, that granted her the right to a few tears of her own.

  Once she'd grabbed clothes, trying not to react to the fact that whomever Ian had sent out had bought her some long t-shirt with a stupid saying on it about dreams or some shit, she held up her hand to ask to be released. While pettiness had somehow emerged in her brain, she knew not where it had come from or why, just that it unsettled her, seemed out of place. Of course, right now, she didn't know what protocol was on emotions and thoughts. Nothing felt right. Nothing seemed right. Defeated, she stood with her shoulders slumped and her eyes downcast. Jacob held up their shackled wrists and began to unlock her cuff. Once free, he held her hand and opened the door as he waited for her to walk in.

  Once inside, the door snicked closed quietly behind her, her shaking escalated. The sudden loss of his presence, even though she knew him to be just outside the door, literally shook her to her core. She managed, with weak, trembling fingers, to remove her clothing, letting each ruined item fall into the wastebasket. Never had naked caused her more vulnerability, and yet, no one could see her. Looking around, checking twice to see if anyone stood in the dingy, dimly lit bathroom that fit maybe two people at best, she shook her head at her lunacy. She stepped into the shower wanting to get it over with and get back to being cuffed to the large man outside. How that suddenly seemed like a good thing, she had no idea, but she wanted to be back beside him for more reasons than she could manage to define.

  Her savior, indeed, she mused as the tears began to fall in earnest. She had no idea how they'd come to this so literal point, and she wasn't up to reliving the horrors to figure it out. She could no longer blame Sylvia, or anyone else. She could only imagine the two women, Sylvia and her mother, possibly huddled together in sorrow. Sylvia, no longer the spitfire, helping her mother deal with her grave loss.

  As the hot water sluiced down over her sore muscles, ones she all the sudden listened to the complaints of, she slid down to seated in the tub. Ignoring the uncleanliness factor, she went limp, her legs and arms resting against the sides her only means of staying upright. Water streamed down over her head, mixing with the tears she let flow in earnest now. The sobs ripped from her overused and abused lungs with pain, though she couldn't stop them. She only hoped the water covered the sound, lest Jacob come in to check on her.

  When she'd exhausted herself, each and every emotion, she used the horrible, flowery scented soap to scrub herself clean, several times over, moving with a sudden influx of panicked energy, before finishing up, drying off as quick as she could manage, and then fighting the stupid nightgown down over her moist skin. Silly, stupid, sad, and spent, she stormed to the door with the last ounce of her strength. Opening it, she put up her wrist for him to bind her to him again. She wouldn't take the time, nor had she the inclination, to deal with the why of the comfort in that act.

  At the simplest level, he'd become some kind of savior, not of her love life, but of her actual life. The fact that she still moved air in and out of her lungs and all of that shit, she owed to him. She couldn't manage a way to thank him other than to simply obey him, and she took comfort in the new normal, the only thing she had to hold onto—being close to him kept her alive.

  Him walking into the bathroom without her, her arm pulled toward him, awoke her from her stupor.

  "Wait? What now?" she asked, as she found him looking down at his arm and hers, the thick chain that linked them together.

  "This time you have to come in. I'm sorry, but I can't leave you out there alone."

  "Where am I supposed to go, in here, while you shower?"

  "Again, my apologies, but..." he said, looking down to the exposed pipe under the sink.

  "Fine," she sighed.

  She didn't even have it in her to berate herself for not fighting him on this newest nonsense. He unhooked his wrist, attaching his cuff to the exposed pipe, and threw a towel onto the floor. He motioned for her to sit down on it.

  She plopped down hard, the impact of it vibrating throughout every limb. Mad at her eyes for threatening tears again, she lowered her head into her hands. Stronger than this, an independent business woman who handled all sorts of issues in her life on her own, this almost killed stuff, cuffed to a good guy and shit, this had reduced her to a babbling, sniffling, weak woman. Or, she thought, she was just too tired to deal with anymore anything for the day. Her body had no energy left. She couldn't remember that last time she'd even eaten, as her stomach both growled and ached with a wave of queasiness.

  She looked up then, willing to be whatever her body needed.

  "Are you going to watch," he said, waking her blurring eyes up as he removed his shirt, tossing it onto the basket already overflowing with her yoga clothes.

  "Serves you right for cuffing me to a sink," she spat, trying to sound like she meant it though in reality no anger had surfaced, nor had her tone indicated any.

  "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug as he undid his belt, the button, and then the zipper on his dirty jeans.

  He had no qualms about undressing in front of her, and her stomach began to flutter at the sight of the muscles she'd only imagined many times being exposed. She couldn't look away, though some inkling in the back of her mind told her to do so. She turned her head away while, despite her, her eyes stayed fixed on him, on the skin slowly being revealed, on each hill and valley it covered over large muscles.

  When his erection, semi-hard, sprang free from his underwear, she inhaled sharply before she realized she had even made a sound.

  "A beautiful woman is watching me undress. How is a man not supposed to react to that?"

  She looked down at her full legs, exposed underneath the ugly, pastel blues and grays of her nightshirt. The beautiful woman thing, especially at this moment, she just couldn't understand. Looking back up at him, her eyes wide, her face drawn in exhaustion, she watched his brows furrow. Completely naked, he crouched down in front of her, his hands going to her arms, making her gasp at the contact. She cursed her eyes for tearing up again. She'd obviously lost control of her body, her mind, her last shred of sanity.

  Some sleep, you just need some sleep, she told herself. Everything will be better in the morning. It has to be.

  "Samantha, you have to know how beautiful you are?"

  When she just sat there, dumbfounded, unable and unwilling to dare words, he continued on.

  "Maybe it is the day clouding my judgment, but faced with losing you today, tasked with your safety, I won't hold back what I feel any longer. I won't burden you with it right now either, but I am going to be honest. You are a beautiful, very special woman that it has been a privilege to protect. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that. Wei
rd day, huh? Even for me. Anyway, guess I'll get that shower now," he said, looking away from her as if suddenly bashful.

  She sat there, the flush of her cheeks and neck warming her as he turned on the shower, sent more steam into the already humid room. Having been so close to this amazing specimen of a man, who obviously had a huge heart, she let herself realize that he'd stolen hers whether she wanted to admit it or not.

  In her fatigue, she still managed to counter to the fact that she needed him. In this moment, like in every moment she wasn't physically attached to her savior, she sort of panicked. Natural, given the day. Had to be.

  Hell, she didn't just want their arms cuffed together, she wanted his arms around her again, like they had been in the wall and in the truck. As he'd finished with his shower, got out, dried off, and dressed, she'd kept her head down, afraid to really look again, though the bathroom small, and him a very large man. Besides, the image of him naked had been seared into her brain. It wasn't something she'd soon, if ever, forget. How her life had changed so dramatically since this morning, she'd no idea.

  Once he had her cuffed to him again, he led her into the room and opened up the dorm room sized fridge that doubled as a TV stand.

  "Ian had it stocked by the same person who rented the room, bought and delivered the clothes. I'm starving, though not sure I can actually eat anything. How about you?"

  "Same, I guess."

  "We should at least try. He has some basics, turkey on wheat, a few sodas, a few beers, a couple of candy bars. Nothing elaborate. Bag of chips here beside the TV, too."

  She looked over, having not even noticed them before as they'd walked to the bathroom.

  "I'm good with any of it. Although, I'd rather have a soda than a beer, right now. As much as I need the alcohol to calm my nerves, I'm not sure my stomach would be too happy with it."

  "Seems someone anticipated that, kept to bland like a turkey sandwich, plain chips, and a regular old soda. The candy bar is about the most elaborate thing in here with both nougat and caramel. How about I just toss it all on the bed? We can turn on the TV if you like, too. A distraction, maybe all of it together."