Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ava
The wolf's blue eyes hold mine for one more impossible moment, and then it turns and vanishes into the darkening forest.
I sit there on the creek bank, my injured ankle throbbing, my wet clothes already starting to make me shiver in the cooling air, and try to process what just happened.
Two wolves. Massive wolves that shouldn't exist in these mountains. One threatened me, and the other? I think the other protected me.
That's not normal wolf behavior. That's not normal anything.
I reach for my messenger bag with shaking hands, checking to make sure my samples survived the fall.
Most of them are intact, thank god, though my field notebook is waterlogged and some of my labels have started to blur.
I'll have to transcribe everything tonight before the ink becomes completely illegible.
If I make it back tonight.
The thought sends a spike of anxiety through my chest. The sun is nearly down, the shadows deepening into true darkness between the trees. I'm alone in the mountains with an injured ankle, no cell signal, and apparently wolves that behave like nothing I've ever studied.
I try to stand, using a nearby sapling for support, but the moment I put weight on my right foot, white-hot pain shoots up my leg and I collapse back onto the muddy bank with a gasp.
"Okay, think," I say aloud, needing to hear a voice even if it's just my own. "What are your options?"
Option one is to try to hike out anyway. Terrible idea. The trail is rough even with two good ankles, and in the dark? I'd probably get more injured or lost or both.
Option two is to wait until morning. Also terrible. The temperature is already dropping. It's got to be in the low fifties and falling fast. My clothes are soaking wet. I didn't pack for an overnight stay. Hypothermia is a real risk.
Option three is to hope someone comes looking for me. But who? My advisor, Dr. Venkatesan, isn't expecting to hear from me until tomorrow. My parents think I'm safely settled in for weeks of research. The woman I'm renting from barely knows I exist.
I'm mentally running through increasingly unpleasant scenarios when I hear it. The distant sound of an engine. A four-wheeler, from the sound of it, and it's getting closer.
Hope surges through me, followed immediately by wariness. Who the hell is riding through these woods at dusk? And how do they know I'm here?
Unless…
I look toward the trees where the reddish-gray wolf disappeared, and a wild, impossible thought takes root in my mind.
But that's crazy. That's absolutely insane.
Wolves don't turn into people. That's folklore and fairy tales, not science. I blame it on the paranormal romance novels I’ve been reading.
The engine sound grows louder, and then I see lights cutting through the trees. Headlights, bouncing over the rough terrain with the confidence of someone who knows these woods intimately.
The four-wheeler bursts into the clearing, and my heart does something complicated and confusing in my chest.
The man driving it is tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and a commanding presence that seems to fill the space around him.
He's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest in a way that my scientific mind immediately catalogs as indicating significant muscle mass.
His hair is dark with hints of red in the fading light, slightly disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
And his eyes?—
Blue. That same impossible shade of blue I saw in the wolf's eyes mere minutes ago.
"Are you alright?" he calls, cutting the engine and swinging off the four-wheeler with athletic grace.
I open my mouth to answer, but what comes out is: "Who are you?"
He stops a few feet away, and I see concern flicker across his face. Up close, he's even more striking. Sharp features, a strong jaw, and a mouth that looks like it doesn't smile often but probably should. There's something almost predatory in the way he moves, a fluidity that reminds me of?—
Stop it, Ava. You hit your head or you're in shock or something. People are not wolves.
"Hunter Turner," he says, holding up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I live in Willow Creek. I was out checking my property." He pauses, and something shifts in his expression. "When I saw you might need help."
"My ankle," I hear myself say, gesturing to my right foot. "I slipped on the rocks. I think it might be sprained."
"May I?" He gestures toward my leg, waiting for permission before approaching.
I nod, and he kneels in front of me, his movements careful and controlled. When his fingers touch my ankle, I'm struck by the warmth of his hands. He should be cold after riding through the autumn air, but his skin is almost hot against mine.
Like he's been running. Like his metabolism is higher than normal.
"Can you flex your foot?" he asks, his voice gentle.
I try, and the pain makes me hiss through my teeth.
"That's what I thought." He sits back on his heels, studying me with those unnervingly blue eyes. "It's definitely sprained, maybe worse. We need to get you to a doctor."
"My place isn't far," he continues, reaching for my bag and checking its contents with a care that surprises me. "We'll get you bandaged up enough for the ride, and then I'll drive you to Urgent Care in Parkerville."
He holds out his hand to me, and I stare at it for a moment. This is insane. I should be demanding he call for help, or at least questioning how he found me, or running away screaming about the wolves.
Instead, I reach up and let his long fingers wrap firmly around mine as he pulls me up like it's nothing.
The casual display of strength should probably worry me more than it does. I cautiously put my right foot down, testing it, and immediately regret the decision. The flash of burning pain makes me gasp.
"I'm sure I'm fine to hike back," I lie, because admitting helplessness goes against every independent instinct I have.
He shakes his head, and the movement sends a wave of scent my way.
Sandalwood and musk, mixed with something wild and earthy that makes me think of the forest at midnight.
It's intoxicating, and I find myself cataloging it scientifically.
Nothing but pheromones, biological attraction response and the limbic system lighting up with recognition and desire.
Get it together, Ava. You're a scientist, not a character in a romance novel.
"On a scale from one to ten, how much pain is your ankle in?" he asks, those blue eyes studying me with an intensity that feels like it's seeing right through my attempt at bravado.
"A two?" I put a little more weight on it experimentally, and the resulting pain makes my vision gray at the edges.
"That's a lie. Try again." His gaze intensifies, and I swear I see something flicker in his eyes. A flash of gold, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.
Like light reflecting off a wolf's eyes in the dark.
I fight the urge to turn and check if the wolves have returned. "Okay, a five."
"Guessing by the way you flinched, I'd say it's worse than that."
Before I can formulate a response, he scoops me up and carries me to the four-wheeler. His arms are solid muscle, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. Which, at five-foot-seven and definitely not waif-like, I absolutely do not.
Supernatural strength. The thought whispers through my mind, clinical and clear.
He sets me down on the seat with surprising gentleness, but even his care can't prevent my ankle from throbbing with renewed intensity. I groan, the sound escaping before I can stop it.
Hunter picks up my messenger bag from where it fell and turns back to me. "Everything okay?"
I shake my head, suddenly overwhelmed by everything. The pain, the fear, the impossibility of what I saw, this strange man who appeared exactly when I needed him. "Not even close. I need to get those samples back to the lab. I'm already behind schedule, and if I lose today's data?—"
My voice cracks, and I hate myself a little for it.
I don't cry. I don't break down. I'm the woman who presented her thesis proposal in front of a panel of professors without breaking a sweat, who's hiked alone through wilderness areas all over the Southeast, who prides herself on staying calm under pressure.
But apparently, mysterious wolves and injured ankles and impossibly helpful strangers are my breaking point.
"These samples?" Hunter asks gently, pulling several vials from my bag and holding them up to catch the last light.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Tell me what you need."
And so I do. For the next fifteen minutes, I direct him up and down the stream, pointing out specific locations, explaining the protocol for collection.
He follows my instructions with perfect precision, crouching at each spot I indicate, filling the vials with water, capping them carefully, and labeling them exactly as I specify.
He moves with a sure-footedness on the treacherous creek bank that should be impossible in the fading light. He never slips, never hesitates, navigating the rocks with the ease of someone who knows this terrain as intimately as his own body.
Because he does know it. He knows every stone, every pool, every twist of the creek. He's probably run this exact path a hundred times.
On four legs.
I watch him work, and with each sample he collects, I become more certain. The way he moves, the way he seemed to know exactly where I was, those blue eyes, the timing of his arrival, the strength, the warmth of his skin. It all points to one impossible conclusion.
When he returns with my bag, every sample carefully stored and labeled, I can't stop myself from asking. "How did you know where to find me?"
He goes still for just a fraction of a second. Most people wouldn't notice, but I'm watching for it. "I told you. I was out checking my property."