Chapter Eleven
“Wait… did you say puppy?” Stone’s voice broke through the static, low and disbelieving.
Law squinted into the white blur, snow slicing sideways like shards of glass. The wire shuddered under the wind, vibration running up his gloves until his knuckles ached. Thank fuck they’d gone with non-electric fencing.
The howling wind and the swirling snow spinned. The freezing air gave long billowing puffs when they breathed. The air remained frigid, and visibility was almost zero.
“Yup.” Law drawled, shifting the tiny thing, unable to pull it close with the fence still between them. It barely moved. “Get the wire cutters.”
He held it easily; it was too weak to fight. He wasn’t sure it would even make it back to the ranch.
Real knelt beside him, pulling wire cutters from his pack. The storm had iced the metal, his gloves slipping once before he got a grip. Stone stood close, new wire ready in one hand—always thinking two steps ahead, even in a blizzard.
“What the hell’s a puppy doing way out here?” Rip asked, scanning the white nothing that passed for the mountains.
“Maybe got blown off course,” Dave muttered, his voice crackling through the comms beneath the full-face mask and goggles. “If that’s the case, it could have internal bleeding,” Law said quietly, fingers brushing over the pup’s tiny ribs.
“Doc, you copy?” Rip said through the comms.
“Copy,” Doc’s gravelly voice came through.
“We have an injured dog—” Rip began.
“Could be a wolf pup,” Real countered, snapping through the frozen wire and peeling it back just enough.
“Dog, wolf pup, whatever,” Rip said.
“Bring it. I’ve tended plenty of animals on the Nevada ranch while waiting for the vet to show up.”
“Nah,” Law murmured. He wiped snow from the matted fur, revealing the faint pattern of spots under the grime. “Dog.”
He unzipped his heavy coat and tucked the small body inside, pressing it against the heat of his sweater. The pup didn’t move, just trembled once—then went still.
Stone sealed the fence fast, hands steady even in the storm. Then they started the long, slick walk back toward the snowmobiles. The ground shifted underfoot, ice hiding beneath fresh powder, every step a gamble. It took time—too much—plus another few minutes to knock the drifts off.
Law rubbed his coat where the small weight rested beneath it. He thought he felt movement, but hell, he was half-frozen—could’ve been his imagination.
He fired up his ride, the engine coughing before it caught, then fell in behind Real and Rip at point. Dave and Stone closed in behind them, their headlights barely carving through the whiteout.
A faint wiggle stirred against his sweater. Law couldn’t help the smile that broke through the cold.
The pup still had some fight—squirming closer, nosing for warmth. Didn’t know what the hell was happening, but it was alive. And for now, that was enough.
“Still breathing?” Dave’s voice crackled through the comms as they cut down the mountain trail.
“Yeah,” Law said. “It’s alive.”
“Hallelujah,” Rip muttered. “Can you imagine if it wasn’t?”
Law could. He wished he couldn’t. The image hit him hard—Sage’s face if they rode in carrying a body instead of a heartbeat.
The kid wasn’t really a kid anymore—twenty-five, sharp as a blade—but still too damn young for the kind of life they’d all been forced to live.
Too young for Law to be picturing him at all.
But he did. He could see those green eyes go wide, that sharp composure crack just enough to show he still cared too much.
“No,” Law said quietly. “Can’t imagine that.”
Silence settled again—thick, heavy, the kind that rode between men who’d seen too much. The snowmobiles cleaved through the storm, engines growling low.
Then the comms crackled.
“We’re on our way back, babe,” Real’s voice came first—steady, grounding.
“There’s chili and cornbread waiting,” Azrael’s voice followed, soft but sure. “And a huge pot of cider. The heaters are on high.” Relief threaded through his tone, impossible to miss.
Law’s grip on the handlebars tightened. The sound of warmth, of home, cut through the storm sharper than any wind.
Engines snarled against the wind, the snowmobiles cutting a narrow path through the whiteout. Snow hit like shrapnel, stinging every inch of exposed skin and turning the world into static.
It felt too damn familiar—another war, another storm trying to bury them alive. Genesis men had always fought through noise and cold, never sure what waited on the other side.
Then a glow broke through the blur ahead—faint, steady, gold.
The barn lights. Their beacon.
Law hunched lower over the throttle, one arm wrapped protectively around the small heartbeat under his coat.
They’d made it through worse.
They’d make it through this.
Even the fiercest storm runs out of breath.