Chapter 5
Zeke stood over the carnage, blood dripping from his claws as the new presence in his veins hummed, wordless and alien.
It pulsed through his veins like a second heartbeat, stronger now than it had been even an hour ago.
Whatever had awakened in him when Michelle was taken, it was growing.
Making him into something he’d spent his entire life trying not to become.
Michelle stared up at him.
Her face was pale, expression unreadable in the swirling snow. She didn’t speak, didn’t move… just watched him with those dark eyes while his claws slowly retracted with soft clicks. Even now, with her eyes wide and snow clinging to her hair, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Mine. The thought slammed through him, making him clench his hands into fists. Every instinct he possessed screamed that she belonged to him, that he should protect her, claim her, keep her safe. The presence roared its agreement, sending heat racing through his veins.
But she wasn’t his. How could she be, after what she’d seen?
Monster. Monster. Monster.
The word echoed in his skull.
A violent shiver wracked her, snapping him back to the immediate danger. Her lips had gone blue, her breathing coming in shallow puffs of vapor that hung in the icy air. She’d wrapped her arms around herself, the thin jacket torn and ragged from whatever the ferals had put her through.
The storm howled around them, wind cutting through the trees like knives. The temperature was dropping fast, and she was already shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Draanth. She wouldn’t last much longer. Time was running out.
He yanked off his shirt, the icy air trying to make his muscles lock up, but he ignored it. Michelle’s eyes widened as he moved toward her, pupils dilated with shock and cold… or fear of him.
The thought made his heart ache.
“What are you—”
“You’re freezing.” He wrapped the shirt around her shoulders with quick, efficient movements. The fabric was still warm from his body. Her scent reached him then—that light floral and something uniquely her, overlaid with the sharp smell of fear. “We need to move. Now.”
Before she could argue, he swept her up against his chest. She was lighter than he’d expected, her frame delicate in his arms, and the feel of her pressed against him made every nerve ending sing with awareness.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The word pounded in rhythm with his heart.
Her arms came around his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as she held on. Her breath ghosted against his neck, warm and rapid, each exhale a small puff of moisture against his throat. Electricity raced along his nerve endings.
“Hold on,” he murmured against her ear, fighting to keep his voice steady. She shivered and tightened her grip around his neck, and he felt her nod against his shoulder.
The trust in that simple gesture nearly undid him. After what she’d seen, she was still holding onto him like he was her salvation instead of her doom.
He ran.
The snow crunched under his boots as he pushed through the deepening drifts. She pressed her face tighter against his shoulder as the storm whipped up stronger around them.
He burned, aware of every point of contact between his body and hers.
The curve of her hip against his forearm, the way her breasts pressed against his chest with each step.
His body responded despite the cold, despite the danger…
despite knowing that she’d probably never look at him the same way again.
Red eyes gleamed in the storm ahead.
He slowed, tensing automatically and ready for a fight. The darkness within him stirred, but after a moment, it settled back into watchful calm as the eyes ahead split into eight, then sixteen, more…
Not ferals. Krevasta.
A pack of them moved through the blizzard ahead, their eight legs carrying them over the snow like they were walking on solid ground. Every so often, one of them would look back, as if waiting for them.
His instincts screamed at him to follow. If they were heading somewhere in this storm, it was for a good reason.
Shelter.
He adjusted his hold on Michelle and picked up the pace, following the red gleam of eyes through the white-out conditions.
Snow lashed at his bare shoulders and back.
The cold should have been brutal, but the presence in his blood kept him warm, kept him moving when any normal Izaean would have started to slow.
Michelle’s breath had steadied against his neck, but fine tremors ran through her body.
Her skin was too cold where it touched his.
Her scent wrapped around him, tinged with blood and exhaustion.
The smell should have bothered him. Instead, it only made the possessive urges rolling through him stronger.
Monster, he thought again. He was nothing but a draanthing monster.
The Krevasta moved through the storm like ghosts.
He dug down and pushed harder, his legs pumping through snow that was now past his knees.
The wind picked up, driving snow into his eyes and making it even harder to track them.
For a heart-stopping moment, he lost sight of their red eyes completely.
Michelle pressed closer against him, seeking warmth. He felt the rapid flutter of her heartbeat where her chest touched his. The warm, soft scent of her hair cut through the sharp bite of snow and wind.
Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.
Then he spotted the krevasta again, clustered near a dark shape emerging from the storm.
A cabin.
It was small, primitive, but looked solid. Log and stone construction, but old. The windows were dark, and snow had drifted against the door. Abandoned, but intact. He wondered who had built it. This area of the Northern Continent should be uninhabited.
The krevasta disappeared into the storm as suddenly as they’d appeared.
He didn’t waste time being polite. Dropping his shoulder toward the door, he pushed. It swung open easily, and snow swirled in through the opening.
The cabin was basic… one room with a stone fireplace against the far wall, a few pieces of crude furniture. A narrow pallet in one corner, a rough table, and stools in the center. The walls were solid, the roof intact, and most importantly, it was dry.
He pushed the door shut, latching it behind them and cutting the sound of the storm outside off abruptly.
Carrying Michelle to one of the stools, he set her down gently. Her legs trembled as her feet touched the floor, and she swayed against him for a moment before finding her balance. He couldn’t help looking at her. Even pale and shivering, she was breathtaking.
Beautiful. So draanthing beautiful it made his chest ache.
In the dim light filtering through the windows, her lips were no longer just blue—they were going gray. Her skin had a waxy pallor, and her movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
Panic rolled through him. She was worse off than he thought.
Her clothes were soaked through from the snow, the wet fabric clinging to her skin like ice.
He could see the outline of her body through the material, the curves that made his blood heat despite the cold.
The shirt he’d given her was already wet from contact with her clothes underneath, and her hair was plastered to her head.
He had to get her out of those wet things, or she’d freeze to death right here in his arms.
But that meant stripping her. Seeing her naked. Touching her skin while she was vulnerable and dependent on him for survival. The thought sent heat pooling low in his belly, making him hate himself even more.
His throat went dry as she looked up at him with trust in her dark eyes, shaking so hard she could barely stand, her breath coming in shallow gasps that misted in the cold air.
She trusted him. Despite everything she’d just witnessed, despite the blood still staining his hands and the savage violence he’d displayed, she trusted him. When they were out of this, he would have to have serious words about human survival instincts.
Mine, the darkness whispered. Ours.
He didn’t deserve that trust. But right now, he was all she had.
And if he didn’t act fast, she was going to die.
Her teeth weren’t chattering anymore.
That was bad. Really fucking bad. Her body had given up trying to warm itself, which meant she was sliding toward the kind of cold that killed people.
The knowledge sat in her brain, something that she’d read in a first-aid course somewhere, distant and clinical, while her thoughts moved through thick syrup.
The cabin walls blocked the wind’s shriek, but cold radiated from the floorboards through her boots. Zeke had carried her here. Through the storm. After he’d...
Blood spraying across white snow. The wet crack of bone breaking. Scarface’s scream cutting off mid-breath as–
He’d torn those ferals apart like they were made of paper. No struggle. No effort. Just brutal, efficient violence that left steam rising from torn flesh and red eyes finally dark.
The man who’d always been quiet around the garrison, who’d checked her splint with gentle hands and brought her drinks at the wedding, had killed without hesitation. Without mercy.
And she’d never felt safer in her life.
“Sit.” He guided her to a stool, his hands steady on her shoulders. The contact burned through her wet clothes, the only warmth in a world gone arctic. His yellow eyes swept over her face. “Your lips are gray.”
She tried to nod, but her neck muscles ground like rusted machinery. Her fingers wouldn’t bend properly when she reached for the jacket’s zipper.
His hands covered hers, stopping her fumbling attempts. “Here, let me.”
He worked the zipper down smoothly and peeled the wet shirt from her shoulders, tossing it aside where it hit the floor with a soggy slap. Her work shirt underneath was soaked through, the fabric clinging to her skin like ice.
“This too.” His voice allowed no argument, but his hands paused at her collar. Waiting.