Page 57 of Cold Foot King

She had no guess who it was, but she knew it was a shifter. The unnaturally enormous size gave it away. “Go away,” she murmured brokenly.

The owl spread its massive wings and dropped off the branch, beat its wings against the air currents, and headed back in the direction of camp.

Sadness consumed her. She’d really liked King. Really and truly, she probably loved him, and she knew that made no sense. They had known each other for that one fucked-up day in Cold Foot, and then just a few days of freedom, but he felt so big to her.

Had Raynah been right? Was their bond just a product of that medicine they’d received at the prison to make them couple up? It had to be, right? If those feelings were fading for King, maybe it was the medicine, but more likely was that she simply wasn’t enough. She wasn’t pretty enough, or funny enough, or interesting enough, to attract someone like King.

A wave of memories took her.

Always being less than.

Always wanting more.

The way Rook had said, “You are nothing, and you will always be nothing,” as he dragged the blade down her face.

The looks on her Pridemate’s faces as he shoved that awful black powder into her cut to keep it open. Rook had to carve just the right scar, right?

The way King had made her feel important, and then in one letter, yanked that away from her.

The pain of burning alive under Wreck’s fire.

The agony of being reborn under the green flames.

The first day of prison, and how many times she’d gotten her ass kicked as the new lioness on the block.

The day at the prison with King, and all the confusion that had consumed her since.

Why was she only remembering the last couple of years as the big events of her life? Was it her growing older? Was it her brain putting value in things that had only recently happened, that she was mature enough to deal with now?

Gah, everything was so confusing and overwhelming. Like this—being outside in the Alaskan wilderness, just free to look at the sky with no one telling her what to do, or where she should be, or trying to punish her for a peaceful moment. Even if this moment felt anything but peaceful, to the snowy owl, perhaps it appeared that way.

Just a girl in the snow in the wide-open space and fresh air of a place that felt nothing like the prison that she’d been trapped in just days ago.

Nothing mattered if she wasn’t sharing it with the man who made her happiest, though.

And there it was.

He made her happy.

Shhhhit.

She pushed off the tree, stood up, and traipsed through the woods toward camp with a goal on her mind and motivation in her heart.

“I want to know where he went,” she announced.

The tents had been emptied and stood barren with their flaps open. The fire was just embers now, and a pot of coffee sat warming on the smoking ashes. Raynah was sitting in one of the camp chairs, facing the woods she’d just come from. When she saw Katrina, she had stood.

“I want to know where he went!” she repeated, louder.

The guys were standing around the fire loosely, all except Cash. Cash the freaking snowy owl! Little spy just wanting to see her cry! What an asshole.

“He’s gone,” Raynah said. “Him and the others who were let go. Cash got the last knife.”

Katrina shook her head. “No.” She lifted the note. “No! Let’s go after them! Come on. Let’s load up. They can’t be that far ahead of us—”

“Katrina—”

“No, Raynah! That’s not all I get!” A stupid sob escaped her. “That’s not all.”