Chapter 7
Chapter seven
The mountain was exactly as I remembered it.
I'd climbed Denali twice now — once in dreams that had haunted me since childhood, once in desperate reality when I'd dragged Cal's unconscious body down through the snow.
I knew this terrain. Knew the way the wind cut through the valleys, the way the ice shifted under your boots, the way the cold crept into your bones no matter how many layers you wore.
It felt like coming home. A dangerous, frozen, deadly home — but home nonetheless.
"How are you not dying right now?" Neal gasped behind me, bent over his knees, breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Training." I paused to let him catch up, checking our position against the landmarks I'd memorized years ago. The rock formation to the east, shaped like a broken tooth. The ridge line curving north. We were making good time, despite Neal's struggles.
James appeared beside us, barely winded. His body acclimated much quicker this trip. "We should rest. Eat something."
"We rest when Cal rests." I nodded toward the dark shape moving through the snow ahead of us. "And Cal's not stopping."
He hadn't stopped since we'd crossed the boundary. Every few minutes he'd pause, nose working the air, then push forward with renewed urgency.
He could feel them. His pack. Getting closer with every step.
"He's going to run himself into the ground," Neal said, straightening. His cheeks were red from cold and exertion, but his eyes were sharp. Professional, even out here. "His heart rate has been elevated for hours. If he doesn't rest—"
"Then we keep up." I started walking again. "He knows this mountain better than any of us. If he says we keep moving, we keep moving."
We found the first sign of the pack three hours later.
Tracks in the snow. Paw prints, partially filled by wind-blown ice, but still visible. I crouched beside them, counting.
"Five wolves," I said. "Moving together. Recent — maybe two or three days old."
Cal was circling the tracks, nose pressed to the ground, a low whine building in his throat. Through the bond, I felt his recognition pulse.
"They're heading northeast," James said, studying the trail. "Toward the higher ridges."
"Probably following caribou." I stood, brushing snow from my knees. "The herds move through this corridor, usually earlier in the season. A desperate pack would trail them, picking off stragglers."
Neal looked at me. "You know a lot about caribou migration patterns."
"I know a lot about everything on this mountain." I didn't say it with pride — just fact. Seven years of obsessive research had made me an expert on Denali's ecosystem, its weather patterns, its dangers. I'd needed to understand it. The visions had demanded it.
"We follow the tracks," I said. "Cal, can you—"
He was already moving, nose to the ground, following the trail his pack had left behind.
The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon when we found the kill site.
A caribou carcass, frozen solid, half-buried in snow. The marks on it were unmistakable — teeth, claws, the messy violence of a pack hunt. Cal circled it once, twice, then sat back on his haunches and howled.
The sound echoed off the peaks, mournful and searching.
No answer came.
"They've been surviving," James said quietly, examining the remains. "Hunting. Working together."
"Barely." Neal crouched beside the carcass, his medical training evident in the way he studied the bones. "Look at this. They stripped everything — marrow, organs, scraps that a healthy pack would leave behind. These wolves are starving."
My chest tightened. Starving wolves were desperate wolves. Unpredictable. The pack Cal remembered — might not be the same pack we found.
Years of isolation could change anyone. Could break anyone.
"We keep moving," I said. "Stay alert."
We made camp as darkness fell.
There was no question of traveling at night — not on this terrain, not at this altitude. One wrong step could mean a broken leg, a fall, death. The mountain didn't forgive mistakes.
James set up the tents while Neal inventoried our medical supplies. I sat at the edge of camp, watching Cal pace the perimeter. He hadn't settled since we stopped. Couldn't seem to hold still, his body vibrating with energy that made my own nerves sing in sympathy.
"He's getting worse," Neal said quietly, settling beside me. "His stress levels are through the roof. Whatever he's feeling through that pack connection, it's hitting him hard."
"They're close. He can feel it." I wrapped my arms around my knees. "He's been carrying this guilt for years, Neal. The not knowing. Now he's close enough to sense them again, and everything's coming back."
Neal was quiet for a moment. The stars were emerging overhead, sharp and bright in the thin mountain air.
"How do you do it?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Carry all of this." He gestured vaguely — at Cal, at James emerging from the tent, at the wilderness stretching endlessly around us. "The bonds. The responsibility. The weight of everyone depending on you."
I thought about it. The honest answer was that I didn't know — that some days I felt like I was barely holding on, that the bonds were as much burden as gift.
"I don't carry it alone," I said instead. "That's the whole point. The bonds go both ways."
Neal's expression flickered. Something complicated moving behind his eyes.
"I haven't been," he said quietly. "Carrying you. I've been running. Hiding behind protocol because the alternative terrified me."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"I know that too." I reached out, touched his hand. Felt the bond between us pulse — warm, tentative, still finding its shape. "You're here now. That's what matters."
He didn't pull away.
James joined us, settling on my other side, and for a while we just sat together. Three people and a wolf, huddled against the cold, watching the stars.
I woke to howling.
The sound cut through my dreams — wild, mournful, echoing off the peaks until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. I was out of my sleeping bag before I was fully conscious, heart pounding, breath fogging in the frigid air.
Cal was standing at the edge of camp, head thrown back, voice rising to join the chorus.
Not just one howl. Many. Four, maybe five, weaving together in the darkness. Distant, but closer than before. Closer than they'd been when we made camp.
They were coming.
James emerged from the tent behind me, his eyes glowing faintly gold. His wolf was close to the surface, responding to the call.
He tilted his head, listening. "A few miles away. Hard to tell with the echoes."
Cal's howl faded. He turned to look at me, and even in the darkness I could see the intensity in his eyes. The bond blazed with a single emotion.
"At first light," I said. "We move at first light."
He whined. Impatient. But he didn't argue — just paced back to the edge of camp and stood watching the darkness.
Waiting for dawn.
Neal appeared beside me, medical bag already in hand. "If we're going to encounter ferals tomorrow, I need to prep sedatives. Enough for multiple wolves."
"Do it."
"Lumi." His voice was careful. "You understand what we might find. Ferals who've been isolated for years. They won't be like Cal. They won't recognize us as allies."
"I know."
"They might attack."
"I know that too."
He hesitated. Then: "If it comes to a choice between them and you—"
"It won't."
"If it does."
I turned to face him. In the starlight, his features were all shadows and angles.
"It won't," I repeated. "Because I'm not leaving anyone behind. Not again."