Kodiak's Claim Read Online Free PDF Page B

stretched and didn’t panic until she remembered her last moments before sleep.
    Wolves!
    Panic infused, she scrambled to a sitting position. The fog in her mind cleared fast, and she quickly noted that not only were there no wolves in sight, but that she seemed whole of body—although her mind remained debatable. One odd thing though was she wore only her T-shirt and long johns.
    Someone stripped her!
    Someone brought her here, although where here was she didn’t have a clue.
    And someone drugged her.
    Um, yeah, that last part kind of trumped all the rest.
    Placing her bare feet on a rug beside the bed, she took a better look around. I am in a bedroom. A brilliant observation given the double bed with brass head rail, wooden night stand, straight-back chair draped with her missing clothes, and a tall wooden dresser, which had a kerosene lantern sitting atop it and a carved figurine of a bear standing on its hind paws, snarling. The walls were timber, not plaster, smooth wood logs with the cracks in between filled. If she were to guess, she was in someone’s home, but whose?
    The first door she opened led to a closet with only empty hangars. The next door she tried to a washroom. Locking it behind her, she made use of the toilet and then the sink to splash water on her face. Only as she patted her skin dry did she take a peek at her reflection. Freckles, messy hair, and perky nose; check. No sign of attack.
    She took stock of her other body parts, running hands over her frame, noting that she was still wearing the same bra, panties, and sexy long johns she’d picked up in the men’s section at Walmart. It relieved her to note no evidence of soreness in any of her girly places.
    It didn’t seem she’d suffered any kind of assault. So what happened? She knew her sleep wasn’t a natural one, but why exactly had Boris—had to be since she distinctly remembered Travis outside the truck stripping, which was a whole other weirdness—drugged her? Was he part of the truck sabotage, trailer-stealing ring?
    A ton of questions, and yet none would get answered while she stared at her reflection. Exiting the bathroom, she ensured the door to the bedroom was locked before she stripped out of her long johns and other garments to put on fresh ones.
    Then, sucking in a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves, she went looking for answers—and her phone, which wasn’t in any of the piles in the room. Then again, neither was her coat, boots, or purse.
    Once again, she really wished she’d spent a day arming herself. That’s the last time I leave home without a gun.
    The door opened soundlessly, the hinges not making the slightest squeak, and she eased out into a shadowy hall lit only by the glow of light coming up some stairs. Her feet, clad in socks, didn’t make a sound on the carpeted floor as she inched along, practically holding her breath, her ears straining to hear.
    So when a low voice from behind her, said, “Going somewhere?” was it any wonder she screamed and did what any self-respecting city girl would do? She spun and swung.
    Her closed fist hit a brick wall.
    Ouch!
    With a yelp, she drew her hand back and then stared at the chest she’d tried to smoke, less chest and more like impenetrable barrier. And a wide one at that.
    Glancing upward, then up, up, and holy fuck, up some more, she caught the less-than-amused expression on the giant’s face.
    Way to go. Piss off the big, scary dude. “Um, hi?” she offered tentatively.
    “If that’s how you say hello to strangers, I’d hate to see how you say goodbye. Is it a city thing to hit your hosts?” he asked, his sarcasm evident.
    “Only when the hosts have a nasty habit of sneaking up on women and scaring the pants off them,” she retorted.
    “Seeing as how you’re still wearing your pants, and I was hardly sneaking, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    His size, not to mention his attitude—bristly with a side of arrogant—threw her off