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But apparently not to Kiro.

It’s the one thing he’s shown true interest in on this whole shopping trip.

Wolves. Family.

All this time wanting to get home. The realization dawns on me that it’s not about the wilderness—it’s about the wolves. They’d said he’d been raised by wolves. Could it be true? The way he holds the stupid little keychain tells me it is. Like Kiro’s version of coming upon a photograph of your long-lost mother.

I nod at it. “Let’s get that.”

“What for?” he asks, not letting it go. “It’s for keys. I have no use for keys.”

“Liking it is reason enough to buy it. Welcome to shopping.”

He closes his massive fingers around it. It makes me feel every kind of feeling, watching him hold onto that thing.

This is the killer detail I’d hang the story around. Kiro, ripped from the only place he was ever happy. Caged, imprisoned, drugged.

He just wants to go home—to the only true family he ever knew. The one place he felt loved.

And he latches on to this fucking keychain.

“We should definitely get it,” I say casually.

We move on to the sleeping bag section. He feels inside each one, asking my opinions, finally choosing the largest, softest one of them. I smile, amused that Kiro likes a little comfort after all.

He looks at me and catches me smiling.

And he smiles.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kiro

I’ve seen manybeautiful things. Unexpected, startling beauty on misty mornings. In the deepest nights. Inside the bloodiest of battles. Sunny, lazy autumn days.

Nothing like Ann, half-naked back in that dressing room. Reaching up to me like she thinks I’m someone good.

I run my fingers over the fabric of the sleeping bag Ann chose, as if to check its softness, but really I’m living back in that dressing room with Ann below me, reaching up to me.

I remind myself I can’t trust her. That she’s only with me for my story.

Still I had to take her in my arms.

Even fake things can make you feel good.

Like Ann, reaching up to me.

Like the wolf in my hand.

It’s just a plastic thing, but it looks like Red, one of the best friends I ever had. My heart twists when I hold it. I’ll see Red again. I can almost feel his warm, coarse scruff. And Sally, with her pointy black muzzle. Fierce eyes. The rest of them, all so distinct.

I used to lie in that bed imagining the moment of scenting my old friends, seeing them, feeling the happiness shiver through them. I never imagined it would come true.

Ann walks through the store with me, pointing out all the things she imagines I might need. “What about rope? A camping water purifier? That would be good, right?”

I say yes to them all because these are the things she thinksshe’llneed.

A woman like Ann is fragile and unused to the wilderness. Having these things will make her more comfortable.


Tags: Annika Martin Erotic