Silver Moraine I took a pill in Ibiza

The stranger might have meant to reassure them both, yet when he explained that he could and would have hurt Wildfire while she slept, the yearling stiffened. Then he called her sweetheart, mentioned her dream (she couldn't remember it at all) and winked lasciviously at her. Wildfire's jaw clenched so hard it audibly creaked. Finally, he referred to himself as a nice guy and she felt her stomach churn, then turn to ice. He reminded her so strongly of Goober that the young scout found herself fighting against her rising gorge.

She wasn't sure what she would have done if not for Luke. But he addressed the nice guy, his expression wary and his voice level as he dismissed him. Wildfire threw him a stricken but grateful glance, shuffling closer to him. He was a man too, of course, but one she knew and trusted. They had a history, after all, and she knew he was a friend of her father's too. There was no higher recommendation than that in her book.

Wildfire needn't have added much to Luke's words, yet the sickening memory of Goober's attack, coupled now with this guy's seemingly good intentions, prompted the she-wolf to gravel out, "Watching me sleep? Calling me pet names? Pretending to be some sort of white knight? Newsflash: that doesn't make you a nice guy." She paused, lips puckering as if sucking on a lemon. "It makes you a goddamn creep." The words felt weird in her mouth and her skin felt too warm and tight, yet even as she spoke, Wildfire felt a strange sense of empowerment and vindication. She only wished she could have said the same to her rapist.