Chapter 22
Alexandria
Gunnar and Torin march into the kitchen, each carrying an armload of metal, which they dump onto the table.
Guns.
I swallow.
I’ve seen what they can do in their bear forms. I’ve seen them take down armed men.
This is something else.
Don’t bring claws to a gunfight.
The thought comes and stays.
Torin starts sorting through them without comment, checking each one, setting them out in a line. Gunnar picks one up, turns it, presses something with his thumb, then sets it down again and reaches for another.
“Can you shoot?” Gunnar asks.
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“No.”
He nods. “Come here.”
I walk over.
He picks one up and hands it to me.
A black handgun. Compact, solid, the grip rough where my fingers close around it. The weight pulls at my hand straight away. I shift my grip, trying to steady it without looking like I don’t know what I’m doing.
Gunnar steps in behind me. His hand comes over mine, adjusting my fingers, turning my wrist.
“Finger off the trigger.”
I move it.
“Good.”
He shifts my other hand into place, presses it there.
“Hold it.”
I try.
“Safety,” he says, nudging my thumb. “There.”
I flick it.
“Back.”
I do it again.
He steps away, leaving me holding it on my own.
“Two hands.”
I bring my other hand up, settling into something that feels less likely to slip.
He watches for a moment, then jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go outside.”
Cold air hits as we step into the clearing.
He points at a tree.
“See that knot? About shoulder height.”
I find it. A dark circle in the bark.
“Two hands. Like I showed you.”
I lift the gun. My arms don’t feel steady.
“Take the safety off.”
I do.
“Look at the knot. Not the gun.”
I fix on it.
“Now squeeze.”
I fire.
The sound cracks through the trees. My hands jump, the recoil sharper than I expect.
“Again.”
I fire a second time. The shot goes wide.
He steps in, adjusts my grip, presses my hands into place.
“You’ve got this, Alexandria.”
I snort.
I take a breath and stop trying to control it.
I let the weight settle into my hands the way he showed me. Line it up properly this time.
Then I squeeze.
There’s a thunk as it hits the tree. I gasp.
He goes over and whistles. “Right on.”
“Truck’s ready,” Torin calls.
Gunnar takes the gun from me, checks it, then hands it back.
“Keep it on you.”
I nod, too overwhelmed by everything to say anything else.
“Let’s go.”
We head back inside to grab jackets.
Tabitha is curled up on the bed. I put out some extra food and water.
If we don’t come back…
I cut the thought off.
Leave the window cracked.
Gunnar takes his keys from the counter and holds the door open for me.
Torin is in the driver’s seat. Gunnar opens the passenger door and looks at me.
“We’ll sit back here.”
I climb up. The seat is cold through my clothes. Gunnar gets in beside me and shuts the door.
Torin pulls away from the lodge immediately.
The trees close in around us as we leave the clearing, the headlights cutting a narrow path through the dim light.
Gunnar leans back in the seat, his gaze fixed ahead.
After a minute, he says, “You remember what happened that night in the garage?”
I go still. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but every moment of that night is still there, emblazoned on my brain.
“Yes,” I say at last.
When I glance at him, he’s watching me. His expression softens, and he reaches out and squeezes my hand.
The warmth spreads through my body, all the way to my heart.
I straighten up and stare at the road ahead, replaying it.
“He came up behind him,” I say. “The other man was already on his knees. Hands up.”
I keep my eyes on the road as I talk.
“He shot him once. It was quiet. Not like in the movies.”
Gunnar doesn’t interrupt.
“He just stood there for a second, looking at him. Then he shot him again.”
I swallow.
“After that, he lowered the gun. Looked at the body first.”
I take a breath.
“Then he looked at me.”
I can still see it.
“He just stood there… fixed on me.”
“What do you mean?” Gunnar demands.
I look at him, startled at the tightness in his voice. “As if he’d already picked me,” I say.
“What?”
I think about it.
“Like I wasn’t getting away,” I say. “He had time.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Then?” he grunts.
“Then he started walking toward me,” I say. “He knew exactly what he was going to do.”
“The police. They were coming up from below. Tires, shouting. He heard them.”
“And then?”
“He looked back at me again,” I say. “Still no panic. Just… recognition?”
I pause, trying to make sense of it all.
“Then he spoke. That Russian sentence—I’ll find you.”
“Goddammit,” he snarls. His knuckles have gone white and he looks like he’s not a million miles from bursting out of his skin.
“He could have shot me,” I say.
My voice sounds strange.
Neither of them answers.
I shake my head, the thought taking hold, spreading fast.
“But he didn’t.”
An icy chill runs down my spine.
“He wanted me.”
“Yup,” Gunnar says through gritted teeth.
Then something else clicks into place.
If that’s true—
I swallow.
“He’s not going to risk killing me,” I say.
Gunnar doesn’t move.
“If I’m there with you, he won’t let them open fire,” I go on. “He’ll come for me first.”
I look at Gunnar.
“That gives you an opening.”
“No.” Gunnar cuts me off. “You’re not facing them, Alexandria. It’s way too dangerous.”
I crook an eyebrow. “Why did you give me the gun, then?”
“As a last resort.”
I hold his gaze. “That’s what this is.”
His jaw tightens. “No.”
“You know I’m right. He’s going to come for me first,” I say.
“That doesn’t make it safe.”
“I know.” I lean forward slightly. “But it changes things.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not putting you in front of them.”
“You think I’m going to sit in the truck while you walk into that?” I say. “After everything that’s happened?”
He exhales roughly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s exactly why I’m not staying behind.”
He gives me a hard look.
“Stay with me,” he says. “Don’t break away. Not for anything.”
I nod.
“If it goes bad, you get behind me. You don’t try anything on your own.”
“I won’t.”
He holds my gaze, then looks away.
The road runs on in front of us, empty. Headlights pick out the strip of tarmac and the trees on either side. Everything beyond that drops away into darkness.
I let my head fall back and close my eyes, but the image comes straight back—his face, the way he looked at me.
I open them again.
Gunnar is still, but a muscle in his jaw is twitching.
After a while, his hand finds mine.
I lace my fingers through his, feeling the mark on the back of my neck pulse.
The road changes under the tires. Less loose gravel, more tarmac. The truck speeds up.
Time passes.
At some point Gunnar lets go of my hand and leans forward, looking through the windshield. He doesn’t say anything, but something in him has tightened again.
I follow his gaze.
The track is narrower now. Trees closer to the edge.
“We’re getting close,” Torin says.
Gunnar nods.
He checks the gun at his side, quick and matter-of-fact, then glances at me.
“You good?”
I nod. Pull the gun from the pocket in the door and stuff it into my waistband.
Up ahead, through the trees, I catch something that doesn’t belong—the dark shape of a vehicle.
Gunnar’s grip tightens. “See that?”
“Yup.” Torin throws him a quick glance.
The road curves to the left and Torin brakes. A vehicle sits across the track.
Torin brings the truck to a stop.
“Stay close to me when we get out,” Gunnar says.
I nod.
“No matter what.” He gives my hand a final squeeze, then picks up his rifle from the floor and opens his door.
I slide across the seats and follow him out.
Gunnar shuts the door behind him.
I stay close at his side.
Torin appears on my other side, rifle up.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then movement—off to the left.
A figure steps out from the trees.
Orson.
He walks toward us, hands empty, shoulders loose.
His gaze flickers from Gunnar, to me, then back again.
Adrenaline prickles in my chest.
“Orson,” Gunnar says.
Orson huffs out a breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You came.”
Gunnar doesn’t move. “What have you done?”
Orson shrugs, too quick, too careless. “Just what I had to do.”
His voice sounds off.
A second shape moves in the trees behind him.
Then another.
They step out slowly. Dark clothing, weapons visible now that they’re in the open.
Orson keeps his eyes on Gunnar. “They just want to talk.”
They spread out in an arc, weapons drawn.
And, it’s him.
The broken line of his nose. The scar down the right side of his face.
For a second I’m back there—the garage, the sound of the shot, the way he looked at me like he already knew me.
My knees buckle.
It’s like the ground drops out from under me.
Then his gaze fixes on mine—those cold blue eyes—and a small smile tugs at his lips.
He thinks I’m his. He thinks he owns me.
And suddenly, I’m mad. I take a step forward.
Alexandria?
I hear Gunnar say my name, but he didn’t speak aloud. It’s like his voice was inside my head.
Yes?
I imagine the word vividly.
Are you okay?
I’m fine, I reply in my head. Just trust me.
I do.
I take another step.
The man’s smile broadens.
“I told you I would find you.” His accent is thick, the words heavy.
I lift my chin. “Well, surprise—I found you first.”
His smile falters.
Then he moves.
He lunges for me, arms locking around my waist, dragging me in.
“Pashli!” he snaps.
I yelp as he hauls me off my feet, pulling me toward the car.
Orson moves before anyone else does. He slams into him, grabbing for his arm, trying to wrench me free. “Let her go!”
I feel my abductor go still. Then he snorts out a laugh.
He snaps something—Razberites s nim.
I don’t need to speak Russian to grasp his meaning: deal with him.
There’s a shot.
Orson’s body jolts like he’s been yanked on a wire.
He staggers, then his grip slips and he drops, hitting the ground hard.
For a split second, everything freezes.
I don’t think.
I twist, wrench one arm free.
My hand comes up from my side—
Holding the gun.
I fire at one of the henchmen.
The shot blows the man’s head back.
He drops.
They all stare.
Then Gunnar shifts.
One second he’s there—
the next he’s not.
A massive grizzly surges up in his place, rearing, roaring, then crashing down on all fours.
Jaws still open wide, fangs gleaming. And—
He comes down on the Russian before anyone can react. Jaws clamp down on his throat. The scream cuts off as Gunnar wrenches him to the ground. Warm blood sprays across my arm. The man’s grip on me breaks.
He drops.
Gunfire erupts to my right.
I drop, swing the gun up, and fire again. The recoil slams through my arm. The man turning toward Gunnar folds, stumbling back.
To my left, Torin shifts mid-charge—fur tearing through skin as he barrels into another man. They hit the ground hard, and Torin tears into him before he can recover.
Then stillness.
The remaining men stare—at the blood, at the bodies, at the bears.
One of them swears.
“Go!”
They move all at once.
One grabs the wounded man, dragging him through the dirt. Another dives for the driver’s side, yanking the door open.
The third backs away, gun raised, eyes locked on Gunnar.
No one’s looking at me anymore.
The driver throws himself inside. Doors slam.
The engine turns—once, twice—then catches.
The car lurches, wheels spinning, then grips and tears down the track, engine screaming as it disappears into the dark.