by Amy Pennza
Her gaze went to a small cliff that jutted from the nearest mountainside into the valley. “If I owned this land, I’d put a castle right there.”
Ben replied, a smile in his voice, “I’ll tell my dad to get busy building one.”
She jerked her head toward him. “You mean—”
“This is my family’s land.” His eyes were steady as he turned toward her. “I wanted to show you why you should stay.”
The air between them seemed to grow thicker. She swallowed.
Eyes locked on hers, he spoke in a low voice. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m deeply sorry.”
Oh no. This was getting out of hand. “Ben—”
“I owe you an apology, Haley. So does my mom, but she’s too stubborn to admit it.” He drew in a deep breath. “She’s an Alpha’s daughter.” He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “If werewolf society wasn’t stuck in the dark ages, she would have followed in his footsteps.”
He was sincere in his apology. Haley didn’t have a Tracker’s ability to sniff out lies, but his words had the ring of truth. She gave a small laugh of her own. “She managed to be intimidating while holding a stack of pancakes. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”
His smile eased some of the tension. Then he sobered. “Everyone assumed she would make a powerful match. But against all expectations, she fell in love with my dad and moved to the most isolated, powerless pack in the country.” He looked across the valley, his gaze distant.
“Do they . . . love each other?” It felt like a weird question to ask. The lux catena was supposed to guarantee mates cared for each other. At least that’s what she’d been told as a child. Then she’d met Sophie, who had fled an arranged marriage to be with Remy. Judging from the things Sophie said about her ex-husband, not even a metaphysical bond could have made her love that creep. Although, Sophie had run away from him before they completed their bond.
Before he could force it, more like. Sophie didn’t talk about it much, but Remy had filled in the gaps.
“They do,” Ben said, turning his gaze back to her, a smile playing around his lips. “They balance each other. My dad is like the calm surface of a lake. Not even my mom’s occasional tempests can disturb it.”
“That’s a poetic way to describe how opposites attract.”
The smile turned to a grimace. “My mother put aside her own ambitions for love. Unfortunately, they resurfaced when she had me. I used to think she’d be content with me taking over the bed and breakfast and my father’s ranch. Now I worry she won’t rest until I take over all of Elder Lake.”
The hair on Haley’s nape lifted. She lowered her voice. The turn of the conversation seemed to call for it. “She wants you to be Alpha?”
“No. I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his head—as if his nape tingled, too.
“That’s serious, Ben. You’d have to challenge Bard.”
He dropped his hand. “I don’t want that. I mean it.”
“I believe you.” And she did. The truth was there in his eyes. Maybe she was naive to think she could read a person by gazing into their eyes, but the mix of anguish and determination in Ben’s made her confident he had no desire to kill Bard.
Because that’s what it would take to fulfill his mother’s ambitions.
He stared out at the valley. “I learned a lot from Max when I trained with the New York wolves. It takes a special kind of person to make a good Alpha.” He shook his head before turning to her again. “I don’t have it in me. It’s not just about the time commitment or the responsibility. It’s”—he seemed to search for a word—“lonely.”
Yikes. He had that look in his eye again—the dangerous one that made her want to toss her reservations out the window and give him a chance.
“I don’t want to be lonely, Haley,” he said.
She tried for a smile. “You don’t have to be. Yes, you were a latent, but you have a rare Gift. I’m sure any number of territories would accept you.”
“You don’t understand. My mother would never forgive me if I left Elder Lake.”
“Then you’ll just have to settle for a local girl, I guess.”
He held her gaze. “I don’t want to settle. I want to be with someone I care about.”
Don’t say love. Don’t say love. It was too soon for that. Much too soon.
She licked her lips, her shoulders tight. “Ben . . .”
“Don’t look so nervous.” His mouth quirked up on one side. “I’m not going to propose or anything.” He tipped his head toward the mountains. “Although this would be a great place to do it.”
Some of her tension drained away.
Without breaking eye contact, he took one of her hands and held it between his. “Just tell me I’ve still got a chance.”
Words stuck in her throat. What about his mother? What about Bard? The territory? “I . . .”
“I’m not asking for any kind of commitment, Haley.” His eyes warmed with humor. “Maybe just three dates or something.”
“Three dates.” She tried to ignore the way his hands warmed hers—and how good it felt. Solid. Like a comfortable blanket.
He nodded. “We can start now. Let me show you around the valley. Are you up to shifting? We’ll move faster that way.”
Deep inside, her wolf perked up its ears. It had been over a week since she shifted, and the beast was restless. The prospect of shedding her human skin and running full tilt across the valley made her blood pound in her ears.
Ben must have noticed, because he smiled and squeezed her hand. “I can show you a lot more in wolf form, including the spot you picked out for your castle. If we include a turret or two, you’d be able to see the whole valley from your bedroom.”
She let her gaze wander to the ledge. Ooh, he didn’t play fair. It was one thing to feed a girl pancakes. But promising her an honest-to-goodness castle? That was downright devious.
Pride was thick in his voice as he continued. “The Ruperts have occupied this land for centuries. Legend has it we were some of the first wolves to migrate from Europe. Family lore claims we arrived before the Spaniards and their horses.”
She jerked her gaze back to him. “Horses?”
He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “It’s possible a Rupert once stood in this very spot, watching the ancestors of the wild herd that still roams this valley.”
Excitement pumped through her. “The horses live here?” She twisted, struggling to see in every direction. “Where are they? Can we see them?”
He laughed, putting a hand on her arm to stop her from swinging around. “Easy. You’ll make yourself dizzy.”
“Sorry.” She couldn’t contain her smile. “I’ve never seen wild horses before.”
“The herd can be elusive. I was hoping—” He whipped his head toward the valley. Then he tensed, like he was listening to something.
“What is it? Do you hear them?” She clutched at his arm, more excitement bubbling in her chest.
“Hush.”
Wait. Did he just shush her? She opened her mouth, but then she heard it, too.
A . . . rumbling.
Tension rippled through him. His face paled, almost like he was afraid. He kept his gaze fixed on the green space between the mountains.
Watching for a stampede of horses?
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Ben?”
He ignored her.
The rumbling grew louder. Gunshots cracked in the air.
She ducked down, her fingers digging into his skin as her heart burst into a gallop. “Ben—”
“Avalanche.”
“What?”
In one movement, he grabbed her arm and ran, pulling her with him.
Everything clicked into place in her brain. The rumbling wasn’t horses. And the gunshots weren’t gunshots.
No, some of that sparkling snow was coming down.
“Run,” Ben yelled, spurring her down the trail. Their boots pounded against the dirt, flinging up rocks.
Behind them, the rumbling became a roar. She started to look over her shoulder, but Ben tightened his grip on her arm.
“Don’t look back! Just run!”
She gasped, half sprinting and half stumbling as he pulled her down the incline.
The roar became a jet engine, the sound filling her ears and rattling the ground under her feet.
Faster, faster, faster. Was Ben saying it? Or maybe the chant came from her brain. Maybe it was both.
Wind whipped in her face as they hurtled ahead, hitting speeds no human could achieve.
Her side burned. Sweat streaked down her spine.
Ben lost his grip on her arm, then flung out his hand and grabbed her again.
She pitched forward, pulled off balance by his momentum.
Cold air kissed her back.
Something hit her shoulder blades, shoving her forward.
Her feet left the ground.
Blackness.
9
Bard flung himself from the Tahoe without bothering to put it in park. It didn’t matter, anyway. The SUV wasn’t going anywhere with a wall of snow in front of it.
He limped to the edge of what looked like a white sea and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Rupert!”
A dark brown head popped up about twenty feet away. “Here! Over here!” Rupert waved an arm around, his red jacket like a splash of blood against the white.
Bard swore under his breath. Twenty feet. Twenty feet through packed snow as high as his waist.
There was no time to think about the consequences.
Haley needed him.
Gritting his teeth, he plunged into the powder. Immediately, cold enveloped his lower half. He lifted his right leg as high as he could get it, then pushed himself up. If he could walk on top of the snow—
—The white collapsed under his weight, and he dropped like a rock tossed in water. His left leg took the brunt of the impact. Fiery pain sizzled up his thigh to his hip. Snow clumped around his ribs, burying him from the waist to his toes.
“Fuck.”
“Bard?” Rupert’s tone was frantic.
Bard raised his voice. “Coming. Keep digging.”
“Hurry!” Rupert’s voice was even more urgent than it had been over the phone, when Bard had taken his call from the main desk at work.
That had been less than ten minutes ago. It was a miracle Bard had gotten up the mountain that fast.
But maybe not fast enough . . .
He shoved that thought from his mind. At the same time, he drew on every bit of strength he possessed, then leaned into the snow, kicking out his good leg as he went. If he was too heavy to go over the damn stuff, he’d just have to go through it.
Snow crunched as he fell into a pattern: heave right leg out, then pull left leg forward, heave right leg out, then pull left leg forward. On and on it went, his progress painfully slow. Minutes seemed to tick by, each one seeming to weight him down, pushing him deeper into the remains of the avalanche.
Icy fingers clawed at his hips and thighs, but he kept going, using his gloved hands to sweep away as much snow as he could. Rupert’s grunts and panting breaths grew louder as Bard approached. Snow flew through the air as if it was shot out of a snowblower—which meant Rupert was drawing on his Gift.
He couldn’t keep it up forever, though. Gifts weren’t inexhaustible. Sweat droplets flung from Rupert’s temples, and his chest rose and fell as he worked.
Bard reached his side. Without saying a word, he ripped off his gloves and dug. The snow was heavy and uneven—most of it formed into icy chunks that had spent months being compressed on the mountainside. Its tumble down the mountain had broken it into pieces the size of small boulders. Bard seized these in both hands, twisted, and tossed them behind him.
Rupert did the same, only his pace was twice as fast, and he grabbed even larger chunks like they were no heavier than marbles.
They dug like a couple of terriers going after a bone, the hole in the ground as deep as a grave.
Alarm shot through Bard. This was not going to be a grave. Not on his watch.
Not with her in it.
His wolf roared to the surface, and he dug faster, scooping the snow until his hands went numb. Dammit, he had things to say to her. Like how he was sorry for grabbing her at the airfield . . . and for the sad, haunted look in her eyes as she left his study.
He wanted to know what he’d said to put it there—and why he had a feeling he wasn’t the first one to make it appear.
Then he was going to yell at her for disobeying his order to stay in the house. Right after he got done ripping Rupert a new one for taking her up the side of the damn mountain on the warmest day they’d had since October.
His gums ached, and his mouth filled with saliva as his fangs threatened to descend.
Rupert seized his arm. “Wait! There.” He pointed.
A lock of curling, light brown hair fluttered against the snow.
Bard’s heart skipped a beat. He shrugged off Rupert’s hold. Voice an octave below human range, he ordered, “Keep digging.”
They tore into the snow, clearing it from Haley’s face. She was pale, her lips tinged blue.
His heart stuttered again. Werewolves could survive a lot, but they weren’t immortal. If she dies . . .
“NO.” His wolf’s denial clanged through his brain like the gong of a bell. The beast didn’t have the power of human speech, but it knew how to make its feelings known.
Bard ignored the beast. Sending a mental reply required focus, and he needed every ounce of concentration to stay upright.
Rupert stopped and sucked in a breath. “I got this.”
Bard met his gaze.
The other man took one look at him and quickly glanced away, his head bowed. His voice shook. “Please.” Head down, he held up his fists. “I’ll get her out.”
Bard stepped back. “Do it.”
Hands still tightly balled, Rupert pulled his arms back, then punched his fists into the ice on either side of Haley’s head. Snow flew like it had been hit with a torpedo, icy spray pelting Bard’s face and jacket.
He swiped moisture from his face.
Rupert bent and pulled Haley from the debris. Loose snow clumped in her hair, which trailed over Rupert’s arm like a brown flag, the long ends brushing the ice.
“Put her down,” Bard said, his wolf in his voice.
Rupert trudged clear of the hole, then lowered her to the surface of the snow. Her arm flopped onto the white, her fingers limp and blue. Her head lolled to the side. She had no color, but she was still beautiful—like a sleeping princess on a bed of ice.
Except she didn’t have a heartbeat.
Leg on fire, Bard dropped to his knees without worrying about how much he’d pay for it later. Right now, Haley Michaels’ heart wasn’t pumping.
Rupert crouched on her other side. “What can I do, Alpha?”
Bard unzipped her jacket and ripped her shirt open, buttons popping. “Stay out of the way.” He dipped his head to her chest and put his ear against her sternum.
Nothing. Not even the telltale quiver of a heart in fibrillation.
“She’s asystole,” he muttered. In a human, the treatment was epinephrine, chest compressions, and a whole bunch of swearing.
But Haley wasn’t human, which meant he had another trick up his sleeve.
He wiped his hands on his pant legs, brushing off the cold and snow. Then he placed his palms on her bare chest. Her bones were delicate under his hands, her rib cage like a fine sculpture.
But her skin was as cold as the snow spread around them.
Hurry.
He wasn’t sure if the admonishment came from him or the wolf. Maybe it was both. But the origin didn’t matter. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and summoned his Gift. Pressure built in his chest—as if a storm gathered there. He’d seen videos of tornadoes forming, of the ominous, swirling clouds coming together and then whipping faster and faster. He imagined the same happeni
ng in his core. It was like some metaphysical combination of heat and pressure.
The force grew, somehow both squeezing and expanding, until his own ribs ached and he thought the top of his head might blow off. When they trained, Healers learned to recognize the pressure as both a sign and a warning.
Those who couldn’t release it risked cooking their insides. Literally.
Clenching his jaw, he pushed the force out of him. At the same moment, he pushed his palms hard into Haley’s chest. Energy collapsed inside him, then burst out like a star exploding. It sizzled down his arms and into his hands, burning his palms.
Someone gasped. Rupert.
Bard opened his eyes.
Haley’s were open, too. And locked on his.
Never had eyes been such a beautiful color.
His lips parted.
Under his palms, a sluggish beat.
Then another.
Another.
Her brow furrowed, and she coughed.
“Holy shit,” Rupert breathed. Or maybe it was someone else. For all Bard knew, ten thousand people could have been watching.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered were the sky-blue eyes staring into his and the slow, steady thump of the beating heart beneath his hands.
Something touched his face. Her fingertips.
She brushed them over his cheek, her touch featherlight against his scars. Her brow furrowed more, and her lips moved like she was trying to speak.
He opened his mouth to tell her to save her strength.
But then her eyes cleared even more, and it was like she saw the answer to a puzzle she’d been trying to figure out for a long time.
Voice barely above a whisper, she said, “You’re so tired, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. She said it like she was stating a fact.
This time, it was his heart that stopped.