10

"Are you crazy?" she shouted as he leapt off the edge.

The last thing she saw before following him was the perfect way the sunlight glinted through his hair, making it shine like gold while the wind ruffled it in all directions. "Better crazy than dead," she muttered then jumped, squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched her jaw together as a scream threatened to rip from her throat. She wouldn't scream. She'd jumped off the cliff into the lake back at her home a thousand times, and even though this drop was miles longer, she braced herself and refused to show fear.

Looking down, she saw Zion straighten his legs and arms, then enter the water with barely a splash. With the surface tension broken, she fell into the water much less gracefully, but grateful it didn't knock her out or smash her to pieces with the force of a concrete slab.

The water rushed up around her as she sunk, the depths murky and cold, and before she could slow herself down, she felt herself being grabbed and propelled upwards. Her face reached the surface, and she gulped down air while watching her mate do the same. His large hands easily wrapped around her waist and kept her afloat while the shock still numbed her system.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, gripping his strong shoulders under her fingertips. "Yeah, I'm good."

Then awareness slunk in, her cold body finally registering a stab of pain in her shoulder, just below her collarbone. Looking down, she saw a hole in Zion's jacket and a stream of red trickling through. A wave of dizziness washed over her.

"I think I've been shot." She'd been clawed, had bones broken, skin ripped by rogues, hair and fur tugged out in fights over the years. Pain was her friend, spurring her to fight harder and smarter. But never before had she been shot, and couldn't say she liked the level of pain and disorientation it brought. Her whole arm and right side of her torso felt like it was on fire.

Zion cursed. He looked up at the bridge above them, hearing shouts from the men pursuing them, then looked back at Savannah with dead seriousness in his eyes. "I need you to take a massive breath, and hold on for your life."

She didn't fully understand him until bullets began showering down around them, zipping past and hitting the water with deadly splashes. She gripped his shoulders and clung to his back, entrusting her life to him. Then he dove, and the water stung the hole in her shoulder like a hundred tiny crabs clawing at the open wound at once.

Biting her tongue to stop from screaming, she buried her face in the hollow between his shoulder blades and felt his powerful body propel them through the water with strong strokes. The muscles of his back rippled against her front, and a strange sense of connection vibrated through her as she hung on, completely powerless yet empowered by the fact that Zion was protecting her. Her life was very literally in his hands, and she couldn't do a thing but let him help her.

When they finally resurfaced, she gasped for air and looked around them, realising they'd reached the other side of the river and were hidden amongst low hanging mangrove branches. The roots provided something to grasp hold of, and she hauled herself up to give her lungs more room to breathe.

Zion was immediately there, lifting her out of the water and carrying her safely to the river bank. His touch was firm, but gentle.

She felt completely safe in his arms. "Thanks," she said to him.

"Don't thank me yet," he grunted, panting slightly. "Not until you don't die from that bullet wound. Silver can be nasty for wolves like you."

She wanted to roll her eyes, but couldn't find the strength to read too much into his comment. He didn't mean it as an insult, and it didn't rub against her like it would have only a few hours ago. She had a new appreciation for his quick thinking and fast actions. But when he scooped her up into his arms, she protested. "I can walk. A shot to the arm doesn't make me an invalid. You know I can—"

"Just stop talking," he cast her an annoyed frown.

"Fine." She pressed her lips together, glaring at him for a moment, but surrendered to his chivalry. Wrapping her good arm around his neck, she hung on and rested her head against his shoulder. From this position, she could hear his heartbeat, and it was strangely comforting. The loud explosions of gunfire still echoed in her ears, but the steady rhythm of his heart re-synced her mind and settled her.

She was calm and the pain only a dull throb when he set her down gently. They were in a quiet street, at the front step of a rather old house with faded paint and lace curtains in the windows. Watching Zion warily as he dug in his pocket, withdrew a long metal pin, and began picking the lock of the front door, Savannah couldn't help asking, "What is this place?"

"A house on the West Side that my buddy lets me crash at whenever I need to." He pushed open the door and motioned her inside.

"And that's why you had to pick the lock?"

Zion chuckled. "I don't think even he has the original set of keys."

"I don't suppose he has the original deed, either," she observed, her eyes quickly taking in the sparse furnishings that looked dated, better suited to a retired gentleman than any buddy she imagined of Zion's.

He gave her a wry grin. "I don't ask questions."

"Typical," she sighed wearily.

He shook his head, looking at her curiously in a way that made her heart speed up, then he grunted in response to her dig. He led her into the bathroom and propped her on the bench. Pushing her legs apart, he stepped closer and tugged his jacket and her own off before sliding her shirt sleeve down her shoulder. The brush of his fingers was warm and soft against her cold, clammy skin.

Savannah swallowed hard, growing flustered with the proximity of her mate. But as soon as he poked at her shoulder, she winced and forgot any desirous notions that their positioning prompted.

"It's in pretty deep," he commented, then rifled through drawers and cabinets, piling wipes, bandages, tweezers, antiseptic, and tape on the bench.

"It's still in there? I would've thought the bullet went all the way through." She held her breath and bit back a whimper when he held her arm up to get a better view of the wound.

"If it's a silver bullet, it would have immediately poisoned your blood, causing the muscle and tissue to seize up around it. Your natural healing abilities are paralysed by the toxin," he explained as if he was a learned doctor and she an ignorant patient.

"Great," she muttered through clenched teeth. "I suppose you're going to pull it out—Ow!"

Zion paused, tweezers held a millimetre from the wound he'd just stuck them in. "I can give you some local anesthetic if you like. There's a tube of lidocaine here."

"No thanks. I don't need it." Savannah bit her tongue and refused to show any more reaction to the pain. She had to keep up her tough Alpha image, after all.

"Suit yourself." Zion got back to work, and Savannah looked away as he dug in the wound.

After a few particularly painful jabs, she began to feel dizzy and instinctually clutched his shirt to steady herself.

A metallic clink preceded his heavy sigh. "Got it. Definitely silver."

She glanced at the basin which held the shiny object, only a few millimeters in diameter and stained red with her blood. "So doc, will I live?" she asked wryly, meeting his eyes that were still trained on her shoulder.

"That depends," he mused, tapping a finger on his chin thoughtfully.

"On what?" For once, she wished he'd give her a straight answer. She wasn't in the mood for riddles.

"On how fast you metabolise. Your body should be filtering the acute toxicity out now, and you'll be back on your feet in no time, my little invalid."

"I'm not an invalid," she argued.

"Says the one with her body sagging into mine. Having trouble staying upright? Or do you just want to snuggle because I feel so good?"

"Shut it," she instantly jerked her head up, only then realising she'd rested her forehead on his chest while he wiped her arm and sterilised the open wound. Now caught in his gaze, she felt a blush stain her face. She hated this vulnerability that she seemed to always feel around him. He had a way of stripping down her strong exterior and exposing the little girl inside. But she was a fierce Alpha, and had no time for romantic notions when her life was on the line. While a part of her daydreamed of childish giggles and stolen kisses, she knew Zion was not the type for that. He was all man, and had a provoking way of making her feel small and inadequate.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, hoping this time of weakness would soon be over. "You've helped me so much, and all I'm doing is being difficult." She couldn't lift her eyes above a particular smudge of blood on his shirt.

"Don't mention it. You saved my life. The least I can do is repay the favour. Now we're even."

Though he said it so nonchalantly, she had to hope this was more than just favours between them. He was her mate, so of course she was going to save his life. But is that why he did the same for her? Did he feel this same connection growing stronger between them? She could no longer deny it, not that she ever had.

She was just still so scared of where it might lead if he never turned from his roguish ways. There was much she'd give up to be with him, but turning her back on her family, pack, and Alpha status was too much. They had to find a middle ground, and she was determined to search until she found it.

Leaning forwards, she lifted her eyes and found him already staring at her. The hazel and forest green lights in his eyes sparkled, shifting to something deeper like emerald. Curious, she rose on her seat and came so close she could feel his breath skate across her face. "Your eyes are so beautiful." Then, before he could see the blush that ensued her trauma-induced words, she closed the distance and kissed him.

It was the first kiss she'd instigated, besides their first in the forest which didn't count since it was part of a stupid deal. This time, she was finally prepared for it and wanted to make the most of it. Sliding her hands further around his torso, she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss, loving the way his firm lips molded perfectly against hers. He seemed to know what he was doing, while she felt stranded at sea, adrift on a current of feelings she'd never encountered in her life. While she moved her lips awkwardly, he made up for it by expertly adapting and making her feel incredibly safe and desired.

She could taste his desire in the kiss, and when his hands tenderly yet persistently caressed her body closer still, it flicked on a switch of reasoning in her mind that should never have gone off.

"What are we doing, Zion?" she breathed against his lips.

His breathing had increased, his heartbeat pulsing in her ears as he replied, "Kissing. Or does this feel like killing?"

"Yeah, you're definitely killing me."

"Sorry," he chuckled, the movement sending vibrations through her lips and all the way down her body.

"Did you just apologise?"

"Is that so hard to believe, a rogue apologising?"

"I don't know. Until this week, I've never spent more than five minutes with a rogue."

"Is that so? You just kill them all straight away, hm?"

"That about sums it up," she looked down at her hands as she slid them to his chest and patted lightly. His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips.

"Pity."

Looking up, she saw his raised eyebrows. She swatted his arm. "Don't look at me like that! You know why I do what I do." When he still looked sceptical, she added, "Feel free to come to my pack and watch me at work, then you might understand me better."

He stepped back and laughed, then looked at her knowingly. "I'm not going to join your pack and become a docile little follower, if that's what you think."

She shrugged. "Well, don't expect me to throw away all my values and join your gang of rogues."

His eyes took on a wearied expression as he sighed. "I don't have any expectations of you, Savannah."

The words hurt her in the chest more than she was prepared for. "So...it seems we're at an impasse." She let her hands fall between them, staring at the chasm they did little to hide.

"If you say so."

His casual response, as if it meant nothing to him, sparked a surge of anger in her chest. "You're infuriating, you know that, Zion?"

"Yeah? Well, you're incessant," he replied defensively.

"You're incorrigible," came her childish reply.

"You're impossible." He crossed his thick arms and looked down at her.

"You're unbelievable." She jabbed her finger in his firm chest.

"You're adorable."

"You're infuriating!"

"You said that already." Stepping forward again, he caged her in with both arms on either side, resting on the benchtop.

"Then you're..." she took a breath of air, managing to inhale nothing but his dizzying scent. "You're exasperating! And irritating. And inconceivable. How's that?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you trying to write a thesaurus?"

"Yes, filled with all the endearing terms that describe you!"

To this, he smiled. "Then don't forget to add obnoxious, deadly, chivalrous, and devastatingly handsome," he finished with a wink.

Savannah nearly forgot how to breathe. "I don't think devastatingly is a word."

"But you don't deny I'm handsome?"

"Ugh!" She threw up her hands, trying to swat his annoying face away. "What were we even talking about again?"

"You were about to thank me for my expertly sewn stitches. Shouldn't leave a scar," he pointed a finger at her shoulder.

She instantly pulled up her sleeve to cover her exposed skin. "What if I want a scar? You know, proof of all the fun we've had together." She watched him intently, surprised by her own bold words.

Zion held her gaze, the muscle in his jaw tightening, then his eyes flickered to her neck. "I can give you a scar."

"That's not what I meant." She hopped off the bench and pushed past him out into the hallway before their conversation grew any more heated. There was no way she was going to let a defiant rogue mark her, mate or not.

"I wasn't going to mark you now, so don't worry about it," he followed her out to the living room, his tone bordering on apologetic.

"Why not?" she spun to face him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Am I not good enough for you?"

He stepped closer, eyeing her like a skittish animal. But there was something else in his gaze, something melancholy. "The opposite. You're too good for me."

"That's not—"

"Let me finish," he held up a hand to stop her. "I would say sorry for this," he waved his hand at her gunshot wound. "But it was your choice to follow me and get caught up in my mess. My life is a mess, Savannah, and you don't want to get taken down by it."

"You have no idea what I want," she huffed, looking away from his searching eyes. They were about to see deep into her soul and uncover her darkest secrets.

"I know you hate rogues. And I can't change that. It's in your DNA. I know you want a stable life, a home, a pack who listens to you. And I can't give you those things."

"Maybe I want adventure and excitement? And a stupid love between Alpha and Rogue that makes no sense? Life doesn't always have to make sense or be stable."

Zion shook his head and gave a wry laugh that did nothing to ease the churning in her stomach or the thudding of her heart. "Trust me, that's not you. So before you get any more hurt, I suggest you stop and think about what you're doing." He crossed the room to a desk in the corner and pulled out a cell phone from the drawer. "Here. Call your parents. Tell them you're in Hierapolis City and to come pick you up. I'll drop you and your Gamma off at the city's edge. You can go from there."

She stared at the phone, at his hand that held it, then looked up to meet his eyes. She clearly had a decision to make. He was her mate, but he was also a rogue—the very thing she lived to fight against. He might be mysterious and exciting, but the throb in her shoulder reminded her of the dangerous life Zion had to offer. Did she really want to risk everything for a moment of fun?

"Fine." She grabbed the phone and began dialling.