Therian Prisoner: 3 (Therian Heat) by Cyndi Friberg Friberg Page A

by his own pack. There is no place in a modern world for that sort of brutality.”
    She couldn’t defend practices she abhorred, so she just turned away. “I’ll come back for Lexxie and Dhane tomorrow.”
    “I’ll be heading back to Aspen tomorrow afternoon, so I can drop them off. Or if you’d prefer something more discreet, we can meet on neutral ground,” Jake volunteered. “That’s if Dhane wants to return, of course.”
    “Of course,” she muttered. Pressure built behind her eyes, making her temples throb. She was so sick of conflict and danger. Why did life have to be so complicated?
    “You’re welcome to stay here and see how things go,” the bearded man finally spoke. His voice was deep and rumbly, perfectly matching his mountain-man appearance. “I’m Holt, by the way. This is my house and no one will bother you while you’re my guest.”
    “Except my traitorous brother.” She glared at Landon before turning back to Holt. “Thanks for the offer, but Jake’s makes more sense.” She looked at the tiger-shifter and the strangest ache erupted deep in her chest. “I’ll meet you in Idaho Springs. Call me when you’re about forty-five minutes out and we can figure out exactly where to meet.”
    Jake nodded and she left without sparing Landon another look.
    * * * * *
     
    Devon woke up alone before the hearth, warm and relaxed after her first full night’s sleep in nearly a month. The fire had burned itself out and the cabin was empty. She knew Ian wouldn’t have gone far, so she ignored the sudden leap in her heartbeat. He’d probably gone outside to chop wood or—a vivid memory interrupted the thought and made her smile. She would never forget how Ian looked while chopping wood, but now she had other memories to add to the sight. She knew how his lips felt and his mouth tasted. She had felt his muscles ripple beneath her questing hands.
    The front door swung open after a perfunctory knock and Devon whipped her head toward the intruder.
    “Good morning. I’m Dorothy, a good friend of Ian’s.” The woman appeared to be in her late fifties, though age was hard to determine with Therians. Her short gray hair curled in an informal style that perfectly matched her approachable demeanor. Blue jeans and a baggy sweater made her seem right at home in the rustic setting.
    “Where did Ian go?”
    “He wanted to scout out the area, but didn’t want you to be alone. So he gave me a call and I rode on over.”
    “You ‘rode on over’?”
    “Horses, motorcycles and ATVs are about the only way to make it up here. The road, if you can call it that, ends at my place.”
    “And which did you ride?” It was an irrelevant detail, but Devon wasn’t sure how to react to her visitor. She was sitting on a pile of sleeping bags wearing nothing but a black t-shirt.
    “ATV, and I brought some things I think you’ll enjoy. Clean clothes, food, a toothbrush, deodorant, that sort of thing.”
    Devon finally relaxed enough to smile. “Sounds wonderful.”
    “Then I’ll go grab the duffel bag and we can get started.” Dorothy went outside then returned with a backpack as well as a duffel bag. She handed the duffel bag to Devon and kept the backpack. “Why don’t you get yourself put back together and I’ll start breakfast.”
    “Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to wandering around in Ian’s hand-me-downs.”
    “Understandable. You’re a tiny little thing and he’s tall as a tree.”
    Usually comments about her size made Devon feel defensive, but Dorothy was just too likable. Her smile was infectious and she seemed like the perfect grandmother-next-door.
    The duffel bag contained two pairs of jeans and four casual shirts, as well as a variety of personal care products. The sizes weren’t perfect, but the clothes would all fit better than anything Ian owned. Devon had taken a shower the night before, so she selected an outfit and dressed, anxious to see what Dorothy was cooking.
    The smell of