No one hurt Skye.
His heart whispered that he had.
He sneered and tried to ignore it, but gods, it was true. He wanted to deny it, had spent two years pretending it didn’t bother him, but every damned day he had to live with the knowledge that he had hurt her. There was no doubt about it. The way he had left her, it could only have hurt her.
Some part of him had done it to protect her.
The rest had done it because he had been scared.
Now, as he watched her courageously crossing the icy river with four males armed to the teeth following her, he hated himself for being so weak. If he had been strong, had found the balls to face his fears, then maybe Skye wouldn’t be in this mess.
He might have been there at the bar to protect her, or she might have been living with him at the Ridge, far away from Karl and the danger they represented. Safe.
Knox cursed and pushed those thoughts away. There was no use wondering what might have been. He had to deal with what was happening now. He would get Skye safely away from Karl and his men, and then he would apologise a thousand times over, until she forgave him for being a monumental dick.
Maybe being her knight in shining armour and saving her would be enough to make her forgive him.
He could only hope.
The last of the men made it across the river and Skye led them into the trees. Knox gingerly stepped out onto the ice and carefully shuffled through the dense layer of snow, sending up a prayer a second to any god who was listening. He had screwed up with Skye, and this might be the second chance with her that he didn’t deserve, so he had to make it across the ice in one piece and catch up with her. He had to be there to protect her.
As he should have been.
Knox breathed a sigh of relief as he made it across the river and was quick to pick up the pace. He ran into the forest, reaching out with his senses, trying to pinpoint Skye. The moment he sensed her, that relief grew stronger and his bear side grew calmer, allowing him to focus again. He raced through the trees, closing the distance between them, each step that brought him closer to her easing his tension. When he was within one hundred feet of her, he slowed to match her pace and listened hard. If they talked, he wanted to know what was being said.
The men remained quiet as they walked though. He tracked them for another half a mile, slipping from tree to tree, trying to come up with a plan. He couldn’t do anything while it was light, not unless an opportunity that was too good to pass up presented itself. The risk was too great.
He needed to get Skye away from these men as soon as possible though.
Every second she was with them gnawed at him, had him growing increasingly restless with the urge to save her. By the time they began to slow, he was ready to forget the part about holding his nerve and waiting for nightfall and storm in there to grab her.
“We should rest.” Skye’s sweet voice teased his ears and the tremble of nerves he could hear in it pushed him closer to the edge.
He fought the part of him that needed to rescue her right that moment, told himself that it wouldn’t end well for either of them, and eased down behind the trunk of a fallen pine a good eighty feet from her. He peered over the log, his heart beating harder at the sight of her as she bravely turned to face the males and pushed her hood back, revealing a dark green woollen hat and chestnut hair tied in two braids. Those braids grazed her neck and the collar of her black jacket on both sides, and he wanted to groan as he remembered how soft her hair had felt in his fingers when he had sifted them through it.
When he had stood over her and watched her sleeping as he made the hardest decision of his life.
At the time, it hadn’t felt difficult. In fact, it had felt easy. It was only afterwards, once he was back at the Ridge, that what he had done had struck him—and it had struck him hard. Gods, he still hated himself for what he had done that night, and what he had done every day that had followed it.
Staying away from her had been hell.
But facing her again had felt as if it would be a hell far worse than the one he suffered daily.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and silently cursed himself. If Lowe knew what he had done, his brother would laugh in his face and then he would sober and say some sage shit like how could he know without trying? His twin would be right too. Knox couldn’t know whether Skye would reject him and turn her back on him, not without trying.
Not without taking a risk.
But, gods, it felt as if he would be risking his heart and that heart felt sure she was going to break it.
Damn, maybe he and Lowe weren’t so different after all. The only real difference between them was the fact Lowe didn’t try to hide his emotions. His brother was braver than he was and had proved that with Cameo. He had risked getting his heart broken and this time Knox knew it had paid off, and it had paid off big time.
Lowe had his fated mate.
Saint had taken a risk and now had his too.
Knox watched Skye as she turned towards the one he suspected was Karl.
“Five minutes.” Karl’s grey eyes slid from her to the men. “Five minutes and then I want to get moving again.”
“Yes, boss,” the youngest of the males drawled and shrugged out of his red pack, letting it fall to the ground as he sank against a tree and exhaled hard. He turned to the one with the New York accent. “You need some water?”
Knox scowled at the young male. He sounded mid-west somewhere. Texas maybe? Hell, he could be from Louisiana for all Knox knew. There was a definite twang to his voice though. He had only heard an accent like that in the TV shows and movies that Lowe liked to load his tablet up with whenever he was in town with a good internet connection.
New York shook his head. “Stop fatso from guzzling it all too. We need that water.”
The one who looked like a bouncer shot him a glare and took a hard step towards him. “You got a problem with me?”
He sounded Canadian like Karl.
“Yeah, I got a problem with your fat ass. Being squeezed into the back of that truck near you was hell, and you’re slowing us down.” New York squared up to him and lowered his assault rifle to his side, letting it hang from the strap over his shoulder.
“Patrick. Wade. Shut the fuck up,” Karl barked.
Both men locked up tight. Which was which? Knox studied the two men and noticed Skye was too. Was she trying to figure out which name went with which guy too?
“Wade, can you give me a hand with my pack?” She smiled in the direction of the males and Knox wanted to vault over the log and launch at all of the bastards, even when he knew she was only doing it to disarm the males.
The one with the assault rifle and the blue camo jacket huffed and went to her.
Knox grinned.
He always had thought her clever.
She had found out a way to determine which was Wade and which was Patrick without rousing suspicion.
Knox still wanted to growl when the far-too-handsome Wade stopped close to her and she turned her back to him, and the damned human pawed her shoulders as he helped her remove her backpack. He really wanted to growl when the male lingered after taking the pack from her, his dark gaze roaming over the back of her head, heat in it that said he didn’t mind her asking him to help her because he wanted to be close to her.
Because he wanted her.
Son of a bitch.
Knox was going to kill him first.
Skye turned and took the pack from him, daring to smile at the male again. She was quick to move away from him though, walked to a spot a few feet away from all of them and set her pack down against a log. She sank onto it and watched the males, her gaze wary. As soon as they were all occupied with discussing something in low voices, she eased to her feet and slipped towards the bushes.