Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

DAKOTA

D awn's first blush crept through the gauzy curtains, casting a gentle glow on Dakota's slumbering form. She stirred, her consciousness surfacing from the depths of a dream-filled sleep, and she woke alone. The sheets beside her held only the faint warmth of a body that had recently departed, and the room was silent save for the distant crowing of a rooster greeting the day.

Memories wafted back to her like the scent of wildflowers carried on a breeze—vague, yet potent. They had stumbled through the twilight, laughter mingling with the night's whispers, as they made their way from the pasture back to Copper Canyon Ranch. As soon as they were alone in her room, their passion erupted like wildflowers in bloom, matching the untamed landscape visible from her windows.

Her skin tingled at the recollection, each sensation amplified by the solitude of the dawn. Landon's touch still lingered, a phantom caress that set her blood aflame. His kisses had been insistent, tender—branding her with an intimacy she'd never known.

She could almost hear the hushed tones of his voice, those sweet words that had fallen from his lips like blessings in the dark. The way he nuzzled against her neck, his breath warm and steady, left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. And then, in the cocoon of night's embrace, he had roused her gently, a soft urgency in his voice.

"I need to slip back to my own room," Landon had whispered, his words heavy with reluctance. "If anyone finds out about us, it should come from you."

The promise in his gaze held an unvoiced agreement, sealed by the quiet understanding that passed between them. It was a fleeting speck of time, charged with the potential of revelations yet to unfold. Dakota felt the weight of it now, the delicate balance of secrecy and desire they both navigated with care.

As she lay there, the world outside her window slowly awakening, the atmosphere of the ranch infused the room. The rustic charm of weathered wood and earthy textures seemed to echo her own inner tumult—a landscape both beautiful and fraught with unseen perils.

Dakota rose, her movements languid, and padded across the floor to draw back the curtains fully. Morning light spilled into the space, chasing away the shadows of night. What they had shared was more than just a stolen night; it was the kindling of something that threatened to consume them both.

Feeling a bit unsteady, Dakota sought solace in the shower. The water cascaded over her like warm rain in a sunlit clearing, steam curling around her body as if conjured by the same mystic forces that seemed to pulse beneath the surface of the ranch. She closed her eyes, the heat unfurling tense muscles and coaxing her into a state of vulnerability she seldom permitted herself.

Landon's image materialized behind her closed eyelids—tall, dark, and arresting. She could almost feel his presence there in the steam with her, a phantom touch that traced the curve of her spine, igniting a yearning that threaded through her like silver smoke. The patterns of water on her skin became his fingertips, the gentle pressure of the stream his lips pressing against her flesh. Her breath hitched, caught in the fantasy that swirled around her, as tangible as the moisture beading on the shower walls.

Dakota couldn't resist the urge to touch herself, her hand drifting down as she pretended it was his. The memory of his big, calloused hands on her skin sent shivers down her spine and she yearned for them once again. She imagined his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs expertly flicking over her nipples. She longed for his mouth on her, but he had left her. Using her own hand, she traced the path his fingers would take down to her clit. Desperate for release, she let out a moan as she envisioned Landon's hand that was driving her wild and making her wet with desire. She stifled a cry as she felt her climax rush over her, much like the water that sluiced down her body.

"Damn it, Landon," she murmured to the empty room, a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth despite the emotional turmoil roiling within her. Even now, with him nowhere in sight, he left his mark upon her senses, drawing her in with the gravitational pull of a secret only they shared. It was a dangerous game, this dance of shadows and desire they played, yet she couldn't deny the thrill it brought—the searing heat that coursed through her veins, leaving embers in its wake.

As the water sluiced off the remnants of their nocturnal escapade, Dakota braced herself against the cool tile, grounding herself in the present. She would need every ounce of composure for the encounters to come, each step forward entangling her further in the saga of Copper Canyon Ranch and the man who had upended her world without even trying.

Dakota finished her shower and got dressed, her fingers brushing over the denim, a rough and comforting texture that reminded her of Landon's calloused hands. The jeans were new to her but not newly made, each pair worn-in with the kind of love only a dedicated ranch hand could imbue into fabric. She folded the rest of the clothes neatly, appreciative of the generosity the women at Copper Canyon Ranch had shown. With each article of clothing they offered—a sweater here, a shirt there—they wove her deeper into the fabric of their community.

But it wasn't just any community; it was Landon's world she was slowly becoming a part of, and the thought made her tremble with both fear and desire. The feeling had nothing to do with the chill of the morning air. She slipped a sweater over her head. Its fibers caressed her skin, whispering warmth and an illusion of safety that contrasted starkly with the tremulous uncertainty in her heart.

The borrowed sweater draped over her like a protective shroud, Dakota descended the staircase, her senses still humming from the memories of the night before. The jeans she'd acquired hugged her curves assertively, reminding her of Landon's hands, his touch—both tender and commanding. Etta was in the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the crisp morning air, while Briar sat at the table, thumbing through an old seed catalogue.

"Morning," Dakota greeted, her voice carrying the huskiness of sleep and secrets.

"Up and at 'em early, I see," Etta said with a knowing smile, pouring a cup of black gold.

"Couldn't sleep," Dakota replied, accepting the mug and leaning back against the wooden counter, the grains of which seemed to echo with whispers of the past.

"Big day ahead?" Briar chimed in, her gaze not quite meeting Dakota’s.

"Something like that," Dakota mused, sipping the coffee, its bitterness grounding her fluttering thoughts.

She excused herself shortly after, claiming a fervent need to return to her attic explorations. The house's veins led her upwards, away from prying eyes and into the shadows and dust that the attic provided. The space was a time capsule, filled with relics of lives lived and secrets kept, all bathed in the ethereal light that filtered through the cobwebbed window.

Dakota began to sift through the boxes methodically, each item whispering hints of history until her fingers brushed against a leather-bound spine. An electric jolt shot up her arm as she pulled the book from its hiding place. The cover was adorned with symbols that called to something primal deep within her—the curling shapes reminiscent of wolves mid-prowl, eyes showing ancient wisdom.

Her heart galloped as she traced the embossed patterns, the connection undeniable. Her grandfather's words echoed in her mind, a puzzle begging to be solved. Could it be that the Savages were more than their name implied? Were they the very wolves her grandfather had spoken of in tales that danced between myth and reality? But how could that be?

Dakota flipped through the pages, each turn revealing more cryptic symbols, each one speaking directly to her soul. She could almost hear the pack's distant howls, feel the pull of the moon on her blood. Here, in the musty silence of the attic, surrounded by the ghosts of generations, she teetered on the edge of an abyss that promised both revelation and ruin.

"What have you got there?" The voice, low and teasing, came from the doorway.

Landon leaned against the frame, his presence as intoxicating as the night sky. His eyes held a glimmer of amusement and something else—an intensity that mirrored the wildness of the symbols before her.

"Lots of stuff," Dakota answered, her own eyes locked with his. "Whether or not I’ll tell depends on who's asking."

"Someone who knows a little about being wild," Landon quipped, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin.

Dakota's pulse quickened, the charged air between them thick with desire and the tantalizing promise of secrets yet to be uncovered. The book in her hands felt like a key, one that Landon might help her turn—if only she dared to ask.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“Just this,” he answered sweeping in to kiss her breathless before turning to leave her. “See you tonight.”

She watched him go and couldn’t help but smile. There was no question in her mind that Landon Savage was becoming far more important to her than she could have imagined on that fateful day they’d met.

She lingered a while longer in the attic, the ancient tome splayed open on her lap, each cryptic symbol whispering of a heritage shrouded in labyrinth of secrets and lies. Wrapped in a cocoon of dust motes and aged wood, she felt the weight of history pressing close, as if the very walls sought to divulge their secrets through osmosis. The wolflike figures seemed to leap from the pages, beckoning her to delve deeper into the Savage legacy.

A glance at her watch shattered the spell. Time, indifferent to her discovery, urged her forward. With reluctance, she closed the book, its spine creaking like the timber of the ranch. She got up, the floorboards protesting beneath her boots, and descended the attic stairs with the heavy sense of leaving a piece of her soul behind, nestled among the cobwebs and shadows.

Redstone awaited, a town brimming with its own whispers and sidelong glances. As Dakota made her way into the heart of the community, she could still feel the pull of the ranch, an invisible tether that wound around her wrist and tugged insistently.

The diner's familiar aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee embraced her as she tied an apron around her waist. She busied herself with the rhythm of cooking, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs, but her mind meandered back to Landon and the connection they had shared under the star-studded sky.

Midway through her shift, the bell above the door chimed, heralding his arrival. Landon sauntered in, the embodiment of raw charisma, his dark hair tousled by the prairie wind. He found his usual spot at the counter, where he could easily catch her eye, a silent acknowledgement passing between them.

As Dakota prepared a plate for another customer, an inexplicable sensation crept over her, an electric charge that set her nerves alight. A buzzing filled her head, a dissonant frequency that scrambled her thoughts. Nausea coiled in her stomach, and her skin prickled as if unseen eyes scrutinized her every move.

"Feeling all right?" Landon's voice cut through the fog of discomfort, concern etched in the furrow of his brow.

"Something's... off," Dakota managed to murmur, gripping the edge of the grill for support.

"Let's get you out of here," Landon said, already moving toward her with decisive strides.

She nodded and told the others working in the diner that she wasn’t feeling well, and Landon was going to take her home.

With Landon's steady arm wrapped around her waist, the world outside blurred into streaks of color as they left the diner. The sensation of being both hunter and prey pulsed through Dakota's veins with every beat of her heart, a primal dance that entwined her fate with the Savages.

She leaned against Landon, aware now more than ever of the heat emanating from his body, a beacon in the tumultuous sea she found herself adrift in. His scent, a blend of leather and pine, was a grounding force, even as the rest of her senses rebelled.

"Take me home," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar in her ears.

"Anything for you," Landon's words were a vow, raw and unshakable. As he drove her back to the sanctuary of the ranch, his presence was a shield, brimming with a feral intensity that dared anything to come close. The fire in his eyes blazed with promise, searing through the darkness—a silent oath to keep her safe, even if it meant losing himself to the powerful predator she knew instinctively dwelled within him.