Chapter 25
Alexandria
“What are you up to?” Gunnar asks as I wander into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, taking something apart, pieces spread out in front of him.
The lodge is quieter these days. No one’s watching me like I’m about to disappear.
“Going for a hike,” I say over my shoulder.
I stand at the sink, faucet gushing. But I feel his gaze burning into me.
“That okay?”
I hold my breath, a spot between my shoulder blades tingling.
I turn around. “Is it?”
“Huh?”
“I said, is it okay?”
He shrugs. “Of course. You can go wherever you want.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’m almost disappointed.
I look at him suspiciously. “What if I get lost? Aren’t you worried?” It’s three days since he took out the mafia boss and he’s barely let me out of his sight—correction—he’s barely let me out of his bed.
He puts down his tools. “I’ll find you,” he says in a voice that reverberates right through me. “Have fun.”
“Thanks.” I put my water bottle in my backpack.
As I pass the hallway, Orson’s door is open. He’s there, sitting on the end of his bed.
His eyes flick to me.
“You heading out?”
“Yeah.”
He nods. “Don’t do anything stupid. You’re a pain in the ass to keep alive.”
I crook an eyebrow. “Wow, is that concern?”
He gives one of his rare grins. “Don’t push it.”
I huff out a laugh and keep going.
Outside, I follow the trail as it drops away from the lodge, the ground firm under my boots where the frost hasn’t quite lifted. The air’s cold enough to bite at my face, but the sun’s out, bright and clean, in a pale blue sky.
So, this is freedom.
The slope evens out after a few minutes, the path widening enough that I don’t have to watch every step. My shoulders loosen. I adjust the strap of my backpack, take a sip of water.
I don’t think about where I’m going. I just walk, humming to myself, hardly believing that this weight has lifted from me.
After a while, the trail narrows to little more than a track, the ground sloping gently. The light changes, then the space opens up ahead.
The clearing looks different in daylight.
Just a patch of open ground, the grass dulled by frost, the sky stretched wide above it. Nothing about it stands out, unless you know what happened here.
This is where Gunnar brought me that night, before he and Orson had that terrible fight.
Last night was a world away from that.
Orson was on his feet again, knocking back beer as if he was making up for lost time.
When I walked in, he looked straight at me.
“You saved my life,” he said, like it didn’t cost him anything to admit it.
Then he grinned, clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to knock me off balance.
“You’re one of us now.”
I close my eyes for a moment, the memory warming my chest.
Then I shrug my backpack off and unzip it, pulling out one of my law books.
I sit, tucking one leg under me, and balance it across my knees. The pages lift in the wind.
“Okay,” I mutter.
I smooth my hand over the page and start reading.
It’s familiar. I know this. I’ve read it before, highlighted half of it, argued with the rest.
I should be able to drop straight back into it.
My eyes slide over the first paragraph without taking anything in.
I blink, drag them back to the start.
Focus.
I press my finger to the page, tracking the words.
That lasts maybe three seconds.
I let out a breath and lean back, squinting up at the sky.
Read.
I shake my head and force my attention back to the text. It shouldn’t be this difficult.
I shift, pulling my jacket tighter as the wind cuts across the clearing. The edge of the page lifts again, flicking against my fingers.
I flatten it, then pause.
Another gust comes through, colder this time, slipping under my collar.
A white speck lands on the page.
I blink at it.
Another. Then another.
Snow.
I close the book, brushing it off as I stand. “Okay,” I mutter.
So much for that.
I shove it back into my bag and swing it over my shoulder.
The flakes are coming faster now, catching in my hair, stinging against my skin when the wind shifts.
I turn back toward the trail.
The trees close in almost immediately, the light dropping as the snow starts to settle. I pick up my pace, wiping at my face, ducking under a low branch without slowing.
The path’s still there, but softer now. Edges blurring.
I keep moving.
A bend. A stretch of uneven ground. A narrow fork.
Then another.
I slow slightly, glance between them—left, right—
Right.
Keep going.
The snow’s settling faster now, catching on everything. The ground looks different. Flatter. Less defined.
A few minutes later, the ground drops.
I stop hard.
There’s a ravine in front of me, cutting clean across the forest floor.
I stare at it.
That definitely wasn’t there before.
“Right,” I mutter.
I turn back the way I came—
And stop.
Because all I can see is snow.
No clear path. No footprints. Just white settling over everything.
Okay.
I pick a direction and start walking.
Ten steps.
The trees shift.
The ground dips—
And the ravine is there again.
The same one?
I turn slowly, taking it all in—the trees, the ground, the thin layer of snow wiping everything clean.
I’m lost.
“Well,” I say, a little louder this time, like that might make it less true.
That doesn’t help.
A couple of hours ago I was strolling out of the lodge like I owned the place.
Going for a hike—back soon.
I huff out a short laugh.
Yeah. That’s going well.
I tilt my head back, staring up through the trees.
Gunnar.
I’m sorry.
Will you please come and rescue me from this freaking snowstorm?
I stand there, listening. Like I might hear something back.
Of course I don’t.
I glance around again, like something might have changed.
“Okay,” I say.
I turn a one-eighty and start walking.
Three steps.
Then I stop dead.
There’s a bear in front of me.
Close. Freaking massive. Blocking the path.
My pulse spikes—
then drops just as fast.
Because the bear has golden glowing eyes.
Gunnar’s eyes.
“Is that you?” I whisper.
Relief hits so hard I laugh.
I run to him, boots slipping on the thin layer of snow, and then I’m there, pressing into him, my arms going around his neck as far as they’ll go.
He’s so warm it’s almost shocking after the cold.
I bury my face against him, breathing in his familiar, beloved scent.
“Thank you, thank you,” I whisper, and he gives a beary purr.
Then he shifts under my hands, lowering himself until he’s hunkered down in the snow.
I get it. Gripping the thick fur at his neck, I haul myself up, and swing a leg over his back. He waits until I’ve got my balance before rising again.
“Ready.” I settle against him and he starts forward.
The movement is powerful but smooth. I adjust, leaning into it, my hands fisting in his fur as his heat seeps through my clothes.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
The answer comes a second later.
I was always there.
Not a voice.
Just him—clear and certain in my head.
“Oh,” I say softly.
I lean forward, resting against him.
“I’m glad.”
He keeps moving, and I let myself be carried.
The trees thin ahead of us, the ground leveling out as Gunnar carries me through the last stretch.
I lift my head, about to say something, when he stops, and lowers himself again. I have no option but to slide off.
Vehicles.
Again, that voice in my head.
Stay here.
And he’s gone.
I stand there for half a second.
Then I follow, picking my way forward through the last stretch of trees.
I keep low, pushing past a branch, stopping just before the edge of the trail.
A black SUV appears through the trees, moving along the road that leads up to the lodge.
My stomach drops.
I step out just enough to see the track.
The SUV slows as it climbs, tires crunching over the gravel. Another follows behind it.
I stay where I am, half-hidden by the trees. Then I see them:
Two huge shapes at the edge of the clearing.
Torin and Orson. Both shifted.
They’re already there, positioned on either side of the track like they’ve been waiting for this.
My gaze flicks between them.
Last night—beer, laughter, Orson clapping me on the shoulder.
Now they’re ready to tear something apart.
The SUVs roll to a stop.
Engines cut.
Then the driver’s window of the first vehicle lowers.
Gray hair—Detective Harris.
The one who met me in the parking garage that night, steering me through the chaos like I was something fragile and inconvenient at the same time.
Asking me questions I couldn’t answer, then asking them again anyway, pressing a bottle of water into my hand, keeping me talking, getting me into the car and out before I could really understand what I’d seen, and what the consequences were going to be.
“We’re not here for trouble,” he calls.
Torin and Orson don’t move.
Gunnar holds position between them, massive and still.
“We’ve got good news, actually,” he says. “Where is she?”
No one answers.
Harris nods, like he expected that.
“Alright,” he says. “The Russian who came after her—he’s dead.”
Gunnar lifts his massive head in acknowledgement.
“CSI says his throat was torn out. Maybe by a wild animal.”
He waits.
Nothing.
“Convenient, anyway.”
He clears his throat.
“We’ve had intelligence that his organization’s fractured. Without him, there’s no reason for anyone to keep coming after her. So it’s safe for Alexandria to return home. We’re here to pick her up.”
I step out from the trees.
Snow crunches under my boots as I come into the open. All three bears turn toward me at once.
Gunnar shifts, eyes locking onto me.
I walk straight to him.
Stop close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him even in the cold. He takes my hand, enveloping it in his massive one.
“I heard,” I say.
I glance past him toward the car, then back again.
“I’m not going.”
Harris studies me through the driving snow.
“Your call,” he says. “We’ll note it that way.” He holds something out of the window. “Here’s your phone and… that other gadget.”
My Kindle. I snatch them up gladly.
He glances at Gunnar, then back to me.
“If anything changes, you know how to reach us.”
“I do.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, then gives a small, almost satisfied nod, like something’s resolved itself the way he expected.
“Take care of yourself,” he says.
“You too.”
The window slides up.
Engines turn over again.
The SUVs pull away, the sound fading as they disappear down the track.
I watch them go.
Then I turn back.
Gunnar’s still there.
Waiting.
I step closer, my hand coming up to his chest.
Something settles in his expression—deep, certain.
“Come here,” he says.
He pulls me in, arms closing around me, solid and warm.
I lean into him as we start toward the lodge.
Snow falls around us.
Torin and Orson follow behind, two huge grizzlies bringing up the rear.
My clan, I think.
The lodge glows ahead.
Inside, the fire’s already going.
I stamp the snow from my boots as we step in.
Gunnar shuts the door behind us.
The storm cuts off.
I turn into him, pressing my face against his chest.
His arms tighten around me.
“You’re staying,” he says.
I lift my head, meeting his eyes.
“I’d already decided,” I say.
His hand comes up, brushing the mark at my neck.
A pulse answers it.
“Good.”
He pulls me tighter against him.
Mine.
The word moves through me, deep and unmistakable.
Always, I answer.
You know I love you, right?
I break into a smile. “I love you too,” I say aloud.