Chapter 4
VESSA
As a performer, one might assume that my greatest fear was rejection or forgetting my lines onstage, but neither of those things come close to the harrowing forest. For hunters, Shanoah is a playground. For wild beasts, a shelter. For me, it’s nightmare fuel.
My breath dissipates in a thick cloud. I am no stranger to the cold.
For the last ten months of my residency with Glacier Meadow, most days resembled this one: pale skies and perpetual subfreezing temperatures with windchills that practically gnaw on your bones.
By now, my blood has thickened to endure the snow, the lashing winds, the pulsing pink throb in my nose.
And yet, I’ve never felt more vulnerable than here in the untamed wilderness.
There’s a multitude of deaths waiting for me beyond the thick wall of granite cliffs at the border.
Apart from the desperate lycans, there are bears, mountain lions, and native lesser wolves that travel in packs.
My daily lavender ritual should be enough to ward off my scent while keeping other curious predators at a distance.
While I am armed with a knife, what I really need to make my way out of this alive is a rifle. But that would draw too much attention.
The entire marked course extends about twelve miles, so even with an hour’s head start, I will have to move quickly if I want to avoid any lycans before I reach shelter.
Thinking back to my previous briefing of the terrain, Maurleen had said to avoid the rocky clearings and keep an eye out for an isolated log dwelling around mile number eight.
A series of creeks flow just east of the house which I can follow to a main road if something goes awry.
Once the sun sets behind the evergreens, my chances for survival will plummet.
Beneath my shawl, the zipper of my powder grey suit chafes against the underside of my chin.
I note a series of boulders coming into view, indicating the fourth mile marker.
Since I am making decent pace, I pause to take a swig of water from the canteen clipped to my corset.
The frigid rim of the bottle stuns my lips as the liquid seeps down my throat.
Several yards away, a doe grazes, using her snout to search for any vegetation that may be holding on for life amidst the frost. If she is aware of my presence, she is unbothered by the crunches of my feet disturbing the carpet of decaying leaves.
Twisting the lid of the canteen, I suck in a breath. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. Can I even trust my senses out here?
A howl ripples through the treetops, startling the deer.
Shit. How long ago did the bells ring?
The detection of danger sinks into my stomach, driving me onward.
With every step, slick rubble slides beneath my boots.
As my stride accelerates, the air chafes my lungs like sandpaper.
But the cold is the least of my worries now that the hunt has begun.
Light as a field mouse, I vanish into heavy brush.
My hands reach for the shawl, and I coil it tighter around my neck.
After a silent stretch of meandering through the pines, I force myself to rest a moment.
I curse at the pastel sky, astounded by how it could possibly drop ten degrees in the span of two hours.
This suit provides some insulation, but at this point, the only thing that might give me the energy to continue is the food in my pack.
I wasn't planning to eat the snack until finding the cabin, but my body is on the verge of fainting.
With shaking hands, I open the pouch and toss back a handful of nuts.
Just in time to realize that I've made a mistake.
I never should have trusted the silence.
A predator has keyed in on me. The wolf cocks his head curiously, eyes sweeping over me. I straighten my spine, keeping my gaze trained on his burgundy hide as I reach for the hunting knife . . . and break into a full sprint.
A flash of fur and I'm suddenly cut off, tumbling downhill. Shins stinging, I pop my head up, heartbeat spiking as the lycan starts to descend, licking his lips.
I scan the area. How far have I strayed from the course? None of the markers are anywhere in sight . . .
With a huff, his red-brown ears perk up, denoting that someone else is on our heels. He growls, turning away for the moment. The distraction is all I need to get back on my feet.
Ten seconds elapse before I come across a series of toppled trees.
While a wolf could easily hurdle over them, I have to throw my entire weight over the massive trunks.
The last one throws me off balance as my shoelace snags against a protruding root, catching me.
I curse, tearing off my gloves. As my trembling fingers work to free myself, panic begins to claw its way up my throat.
Peering up, I see only the brittle remains of grass, hearing only the chattering of squirrels.
I steady my breathing and quickly recover.
Blood pumping, I veer to the right, towards a path that appears to be littered with less debris.
My stride quickens, weaving in and out of the skinnier trees.
It is still too quiet for my comfort, but I press onward, looking for any sign of shelter.
Soon, a narrow cave system comes into view, but before I can slow down to investigate, I am swiftly brought down by the sweep of a bushy tail.
My head makes hard impact with something solid.
I groan, rolling to my side. Blinding pain flares as I reach behind my head. For a moment, it’s as if I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Mom’s car again, gasping from the violent whiplash. My vision goes splotchy, the past blurring into the present.
A sharply acute pitch screeches through the agony. Ves! Snap out of it!
My snowy surroundings abruptly come back into focus.
In my periphery, the hunter has slipped into human form.
Tiny stars flutter along the edges of my gaze, but I am able to make out a few of his features.
Naked features. Well over six feet in height, he has shoulder-length auburn hair with a matching beard.
If this male is anything like the lycans I encountered in Wyatt’s pack, I must keep my fear bottled in, for if he detects it, it will raise further suspicion—or arousal.
Kneeling beside me, he finally speaks. "What's your name, baby?"
I attempt to sit up using my forearms, but the pounding in my skull intensifies, and I drop instantly. Panic suddenly unleashes when I realize the hunting knife is no longer in my corset sheath. Shit.
"You did hit your head pretty hard there. Maybe it'll come back to you in a little while."
The lycan lowers himself so that we're chest to chest. With a smug grin, he runs a hand over my hip, and I let out a small whimper. He wastes no time removing the shawl and lets my true scent waft into his primal nose. “Mother above . . . Where did you come from?”
I gag as I feel him press against my stomach. The heels of my boots dig into the snowy mush as I wiggle beneath the heavy mass of him.
This isn’t him. It can’t be. There’s nothing electric in those brown eyes. Only plunderous intent.
I’ve got to get to that cabin.
Hyperventilation sets in. I harness my defense training and butt my head straight into his sharp nose. It’s the worst idea that’s ever crossed my mind. My head is rattled with red-hot stars.
“Cute,” he snickers pompously. He roughly pulls on the zipper at my neck, exposing the pale flesh of my cleavage. “Don't worry, I'll make this quick. You might even enjoy it.”
Bile rises in response to his touch. Even driving my knee into his side proves useless.
With one last desperate attempt, I press my wrist against his neck.
While the scorch of silver startles the male, it only provokes him into clamping a sweaty hand over my mouth.
I claw at him, nails digging into his skin, deep enough to draw blood.
I frantically feel around me for any kind of object to strike him with. Only to come up with nothing.
Don’t panic, Ves. Don’t give up.
The beast lowers his head next to my ear and with a rasp, says, “Well, well. There is a feisty little she-wolf under there."
Those words trigger a click in my cognition, stilling me. For the moment, I allow the male to think I’ve submitted. Wyatt’s counsel spills out of my memory: You’re not a wolf, therefore your attacker won’t be expecting you to fight back like one. Sometimes you have to bite first.
I buck my hips as hard as I can, inching him higher up my torso. With a grunt, I propel myself upwards, teeth finding his earlobe. Chomping down hard, blood trickles into my mouth as I finally seize my leverage.
“You bitch,” he sneers. When his weight shifts backwards, I knee him right in the eye.
A thunderous howl echoes from a short distance behind us. A battle cry.
The lycan stumbles to his feet, growling. I quickly take the opportunity to find my bearings and spit out the soft cartilage, only to look over my shoulder and see a black wolf bounding towards us. Gods on high. He’s enormous.
The burgundy wolf rips out of the man’s skin, bracing for a brawl.
The ground shakes as he collides full force with the black wolf.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I snatch my shawl and take off in search of the trail.
Adrenaline pumps wildly beneath my skull.
I manage to put a safe distance behind me before the sharp snapping of bone and screaming echoes through the hollow forest.
Every rustle and snap snatches my next breath. For a moment, I’m convinced that the old cabin will never come into view. But by the grace of the gods, it finally does. My head is throbbing so violently I feel as if the rest of my body has gone entirely numb.
The last few drops of adrenaline allow me to cross the flat clearing and reach the front porch. I ascend the rotting stairs and slip through the open doorway. The cabin is indeed abandoned, with nothing inside but a cot and a small chair with fabric that appears to have been torn ages ago.
Finally, I allow myself to sag and wrap my arms around myself.
Ducking out of sight from the window, I cup my hand around my mouth to keep from sobbing loudly, letting the exhaustion wash over me.
When my tears dry, I stare at the dead, wandering vines along the wall.
My thoughts cut to the black wolf who allowed me the chance to escape. Did he mean to claim me for himself?
At some point, I slip out of consciousness.
A creak from the roof above wakes me from my slumber.
Outside, radiant ribbons of pink and lavender fan across the sky.
Sunset. By now, the hunt is coming to an end, and the mated pairs are regrouping for what is sure to be an extravagant evening reception.
Meanwhile, this ramshackle shelter has nothing to offer me—no food, water, or weapons. I’m shit out of luck.
Gods, why did I stop running?
A draft of wind props the door open, inviting me to see what lurks outside. Dread ices over my spine when a large animal huffs, signaling its presence. My toes curl with anticipation. Another huff, this time hefty and assertive. He has me cornered.