Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
T error slashed like knives through his veins as he ran through the snow-covered Alaskan forest, gasping for air. The claw marks on his face burned as if they’d scoured straight to the bone. Blood seeped from the wounds, hot at first, then cooling into icy trails. Tears leaked from his eyes, blurring his vision as he veered left in the sheer darkness, feet slipping out from under him in the heavy snow.
He hit the ground hard, tumbling and rolling until he came up covered in snow, a raw patch, barely visible in the night, of red marking where his face had hit the frozen earth. Pain flared in his arm—broken, useless—but he pushed through it. The wind shoved him forward, fierce and relentless, driving him deeper into the wilderness. Above him, clumps of snow fell from the trees, crashing down like warnings.
He groaned and blinked against the swirling snow. His brain screamed at him to stop, to lie down and give in. Just a few seconds of rest. But instinct, stronger than reason, shoved him forward. His boots punched through layers of snow, each step heavier than the last. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the empty forest, but somewhere behind him—closer than before—a branch cracked. His pulse spiked. He wasn’t alone.
This isn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Why the hell did he come to Alaska? He could’ve stayed in California, safe beneath the sun, where things like this didn’t happen. But he’d wanted adventure—something different. Now, he would’ve sold his soul for warm sand beneath his feet.
Another snap echoed through the darkness. Panic licked up his spine as he stumbled again. The biting cold gnawed at his bones, but the fear was worse. The woods pressed in on him, silent witness to his desperation.
The trees thinned ahead, their outlines swallowed by the night. His heart pounded as he thought he caught a glimmer of movement in the shadows, but he refused to look back. There wasn’t time. He forced himself to focus on his goal—the river.
His only chance was to dive in and let the current take him down to Knife’s Edge, if he didn’t freeze. Hypothermia was his last concern right now. He’d rather die in the river than on the unforgiving ground.
Pain coiled like a vise around his broken arm, sending sharp shocks of agony through his body until his vision blurred. The river wasn’t close—not yet—but it had to be near. It had to be. The faint memory of rushing water tugged at his fraying mind, but the only sound pounding through his skull was his own hammering heartbeat. The fear of dying out here—alone, hunted—gnawed at the edges of his sanity like teeth sinking into flesh.
His foot snagged on something—a branch, a root, who the hell knew? He went down hard, his body skidding across the snow-crusted ground. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and the sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he bit down to keep from screaming. Panic surged hot in his veins, but he swallowed it back.
Screaming meant giving away his location.
The cold seeped into his core. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled under the weight of exhaustion. The river had to be close—so close he could almost feel the icy spray. But was it real? Or just a cruel trick his mind played as his body shut down?
Finally, he forced himself to his feet and broke into a run, adrenaline fueling his strength.
The snap of another branch shattered the air behind him, louder this time. Closer this time.
Then a crash sounded behind him, loud and deliberate, something massive plowing through the forest. His tears spilled over, scalding the fresh cuts on his face. The bastard behind him wasn’t just hunting—it wanted him to know death was coming.
He pushed harder, faster, willing his limbs to obey. But his legs were leaden now, each step slower than the last. His breath hitched with panic. The storm raged around him, beating at his body, battering him down—but the storm wasn’t the worst thing out here. Not even close.
Through the wind’s howl, he heard it—a new sound, low but steady: the click and gurgle of water against rocks. The river. Relief surged through him, stronger than the cold, stronger than the pain. If he could reach it, maybe, somehow, he could cross it. Maybe the current would sweep him away before his pursuer reached him.
He didn’t have a plan beyond survival. He wanted to live.
Memories swamped him. His first crush in high school. His wedding day. The first day he’d learned how to ride a snowmobile. All of the special moments that came in between that he didn’t spend enough time enjoying.
The sound of rushing water grew louder, just ahead through the trees. He could almost see the faint shimmer of the river through the dark. He sprinted toward it, arms pumping, lungs straining?—
The blow hit him from behind like a pissed off linebacker.
He flew forward, airborne for a breathless second before he crashed face-first into the icy ground. The impact snapped his head back, his nose breaking with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded across his face, hot and sharp.
He slid forward, limbs splayed, body scraping against the frozen ground. Blood gushed from his nose, warm against the cold, spreading in a dark stain beneath his face.
His arm flailed out, desperate to reach the river. His fingertips skimmed the snow-covered ground, grasping, digging.
He didn’t make it.
A crushing weight pinned him down. His ribs groaned under the pressure, barely able to expand as he sucked in short, ragged breaths. He tried to kick, to twist free, but his legs wouldn’t move. The cold and pain had drained the last of his strength.
Above him, the storm screamed, but the world around him felt eerily still. His heart pounded, thudding slower now, fear curdling into something else—resignation.
No.
He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t come all this way just to die here, alone in the dark, with no one to even know how he’d fought.
The weight on his back shifted, and he felt hot breath against his neck. He clenched his fists, snow slipping between his fingers. The river was right there—so close it may as well have been miles away.
Please .
He didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore.
The last thing he heard wasn’t the storm or the river. It was the low, guttural sound of something victorious. Something fucking evil.
And then there was nothing.