by Devon McKay
Sam really had a knack for writing. He came across several pages of survival tips and ways to be prepared in the state’s unpredictable nature.
If only she had read her own notes. He should’ve never walked away from her…should’ve woken her up and demanded she join him on the ride this morning. Then, she would be with him now. In his arms.
Alive.
He pulled his gaze away from the pages and focused on the dark, crimson circle again. Refusing to think the worst, he pulled his attention back to her words. Straining in the fading light, he tried to read what else she had written.
There was more about him. About the first time they had made love. The most sexual enthralling moment of her life.
His, too.
Even in the impending darkness, he couldn’t hide his smile, struggling to read more. The next couple of excerpts were explicit memories of their lovemaking, moving into an elaborate discovery of the beauty and mystery of the Northern Lights. And more.
Much more.
He felt his skin flush as he flipped a page, and found himself glued to a thorough passage about the natural hot springs and making love underneath the dancing florescent green lights of the sky.
Blake stopped, unable to read anymore as a flurry of memories rocked his world. A sexy image of her dressed to kill the first day he met her sprung to mind, trumping all the others for a brief moment. Even then, in her disheveled state, she had been a force to be reckoned with.
He loved this woman. Her nonstop questions. Her thirst for knowledge. The way Sam’s curious mind always searched for more. Or that unstoppable determination he found annoying at first. And the stubborn tilt of her chin when she refused to admit she was at fault.
But there were other reasons. Blake was overwhelmed by the heartfelt emotion surging through him. Not only did the exasperating woman make him laugh, and the mere sight of her distracted him to no end, she also made him see things differently. As if every day was new and exciting.
And now he had to face the strong possibility he may never see Sam again.
Chapter 23
Denali towered over the woman’s lifeless body. Bitterly, he fought against the surge of shame threatening to surface. He refused to feel guilt. Not over this cheechako. The white woman knew nothing about his heritage. She would only bring destruction with her lies.
In fact, she already had. A fleeting thought of the fight he’d had with his friend crossed his mind. He should just leave her where she lay. But even as strong as his anger was, Denali knew he could not.
Gingerly, he picked her up, surprised by how light her body weighed. He laid her back onto the bed and chanted a few phrases from one of the songs his elders sang to those too sick to care for themselves.
A small lump had protruded on the side of her head, covered by a dry, flaky layer of blood. Denali wiped the wound clean, highlighting a dark bruise, black and angry among the deep gash. A vast contrast against the flaxen blonde of her hair and white, porcelain skin.
He touched the wound lightly and whispered a silent prayer as guilt wrenched his insides. He had never intended for it to go this far. He had never wanted her to get hurt. Only to scare her. He never expected her to run with the fleeting gracefulness of a newborn foal.
Denali allowed his gaze to sweep over her face. Sleep softened her features. The woman was beautiful as she rested. Not so unlike one of the dolls the children played with in his village.
Lightly, he traced a finger over her heart-shaped face. He could see why his friend had so easily fallen victim to her charms.
But not him.
He retracted his hand quickly as if she was a snake threatening to strike. He saw her for who she truly was—a porthole to destruction. Why couldn’t his friend see?
Denali shook his head and turned away. It didn’t matter how innocent she portrayed herself in sleep. It was best if he didn’t think about her. She would bring no good, but his intention had not gone as planned, scaring her only to make the woman return to her world. Not this…wounded and needing to be nursed to health.
The safety of Wolf’s cabin had been a rash, but wise, decision on his part. Not only was the retreat close enough to where she had fallen in the woods, eventually his friend would come home.
For the thousandth time, Denali tried to convince himself what he had done had been in the man’s best interest. His friend was lost. The outsider’s beauty stole Wolf’s ability to think straight. A little distance would do him good.
He, on the other hand, was strong. Immune to her deceptions. It was hard to believe she was possible of such destruction. But he knew what she was capable of. Of what all white men were capable of. He had seen it with his own eyes.
Descending the staircase, two steps at a time, he made his way to the living room and stared out of the window into the darkness outside. His thoughts drifted to how Wolf was faring. His friend was either still in the forest or at his work. He would be antsy for daybreak.
When Wolf found out what had been done, the man would be angry. Unstoppable. He would never understand the action had been done with his best interests at heart. And with the lies the woman would surely spread, who knew what else would come?
Certainly, he had made the right decision, but, what now? He needed help…guidance and counsel. The elders’ wise advice.
As soon as the sun rose, he would take the woman to his village. The elders would know what to do with her.
****
Sam stirred awake. She opened her eyes in search for water. Sitting up, she saw a full glass on the nightstand beside her and reached out, successfully grasping the cup. Pain sliced through her head as if she’d been hit by a bus.
Thirsty, she tried to swallow, but her throat, dry as sandpaper, rebelled, and her stomach bucked, threatening to spill its contents.
Enduring the agony, she fought for clarity. The room was oddly familiar, but the fog in her head made it hard to remember why. Her last conscious thoughts were of the forest and running for her life.
Although hazy, details started to come back, and she recognized the space. A sense of awareness washed over her. Walls made of large logs. The French glass doors.
Blake’s bedroom.
She released a deep, relieved breath and slowly stood. The effort robbed her of what little strength she had left. Her temple throbbed repeatedly, reminding her of the fall in the forest. Unconsciously, she touched the tender area. Soft, cotton gauze met her fingertips.
Someone had cared enough to bandage her head. Blake? Of course, it would be him. Who else could it be?
She swallowed the odd doubts threatening to consume her and took a step toward the door. Pain shot up her leg. She covered her mouth, holding back a yelp. The sudden movement made her stomach lurch, threatening once again to empty itself.
Dizzy, she leaned against the wall to steady herself, thankful for the taut ace bandage wrapping her ankle. Using the smooth, log walls as a guide, she pushed herself toward the glimmer of light streaming in beneath the bedroom door. A noise from downstairs caught her attention, and she quickened her pace. The effort cost her. Enduring the pain, she heard the sound of heavy boots pacing on the hard wood floor filtered up from below.
Blake.
Her heart fluttered, skipping a beat. Without a second thought, she limped her way down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly to stay upright while making her descent.
As soon as Sam reached the bottom step, rough hands grasped her tightly and pulled both her arms behind her back in a solid grip. An abrasive rope scratched at her skin, binding both wrists together before she had time to react.
Lashing out, she kicked helplessly with her good leg as a rag was placed in her mouth, stifling the scream rising in her throat. Through muffled protests, Sam fought waves of dizziness as she attempted to push out the cloth with her tongue without success.
If only her hands weren’t tied. She wiggled her fingers, trying to undo the well-knotted restraint. The endeavor only cau
sed her to lose balance, and she landed helplessly on the nearby couch.
She struggled to catch her breath, and her stomach bucked again as she fought back a wave of nausea. Darkness threatened, but she focused on her assailant as he shouted words from another language.
Was Blake tied up in a corner somewhere, hurt and bleeding? Frantic, she scoured the room with a blurry gaze.
No. She calmed herself. He was more than likely searching for her. At least, she hoped he was. And what had Maggie said about him? He was one of the best trackers in the state? Certainly, he could find her in his own house?
Dredging her cloudy memory, she tried to decipher how many hours it had been since she’d seen him. Glancing outside, she could see the sky was a murky twilight shade. The last time she had seen Blake was at night.
Last night?
Fuzzy memories of her day filtered in…walking…sketching…running. How foolish she’d been to traipse off. He would be furious.
If she ever saw him again.
Sam stole another glance at the man holding her hostage, scanning his dark features with a thorough exam. A thick mane of hair so black it was almost blue. Skin the color of caramel. Tall, but lanky. And strong. Not to mention, defiant and deadly.
His gaze bore through her with a cold stare.
Did she even have a chance at reasoning with him? Probably not, she swiftly deciphered. The man with the penetrating, angry glare appeared to be beyond reasoning. In fact, judging by his expression, he seemed furious, as if his intent was one of vengeance.
He started to pace and mumble in his own language. Her thoughts reeled. If she couldn’t reason with the man and didn’t have the strength to overpower him, there was only one thing left she could do. She would have to outwit him. But in case outsmarting him didn’t work, Sam needed a back-up plan. She scrutinized the room, scouring for something, anything, which could be used as a weapon.
She focused on an odd shaped stone resembling a polar bear. Perfect. At least it appeared heavy enough to knock the man unconscious. Then again, with her hands locked behind her, how would she wield it?
A picture beside the statue drew her gaze, and the subjects caused her heart to skip a beat. Blake smiled back at her, his arm draped around a dark-featured man. Startled, she returned a steady gaze at her assailant. The same man who held her hostage.
Denali?
Chapter 24
Blake spent a restless night in the forest…two feet away from the blood stain Sam had left behind. He didn’t want to chance losing her track by leaving and returning the next morning only to have to waste time finding the trail again. Besides, if the woman occupying his every thought was going to spend the evening in the wilderness, he’d be damned if she was going to do it alone.
A night under the stars did an amazing job of clearing one’s head. And although he’d gotten little sleep, he did manage to figure out a few things.
He wasn’t ready to lose the woman. Not now. Not ever. He was completely head over heels in love with her.
The idea of never seeing her again did not reenter his mind. Not after reading her journal three more times before it got too dark to see what she’d written any longer. He’d find Sam alive. Or die trying. He simply needed to get his bearings. And now, with the early streaks of the morning sunlight filtering in, Blake could continue his search.
All he had to do was walk along the creek, and it would eventually bring him to his cabin. Hopefully, Sam remembered that and had made it to its sweet refuge. He held onto the thought optimistically. She had proven herself to be resourceful. And smart.
According to her notes, she had listened to him about the ways to survive in the wilderness. HHhHe just hoped she was able to apply the information in order to save her own life. Too bad the chance of survival depended on the slim thread of hope she’d been able to escape her assailant.
Blake searched for signs he might have missed in the dusk of last night. He prayed a fresh start would help him find something.
No such luck. Nothing.
It was almost as if her tracks had disappeared into thin air.
The morning sun caught a flash of silver. Her camera. He picked it up and cradled the treasured item in his hands for a moment before slipping the strap around his neck. Not willing to spare a precious moment more, he began trudging alongside the creek. After about fifteen minutes, he saw a glimpse of his home’s red roof. The log cabin was a welcome sight, and he still held onto his conviction she had also made her way there, imagining Sam in the kitchen possibly making coffee or hopefully breakfast.
The image was shattered as soon as he opened the door to an empty home. The silent homecoming was deafening. Standing in the doorway of his home, Blake sensed something was a little off. As if somebody had been there.
Without being able to explain his feeling, he raced upstairs, still holding onto a tiny measure of hope Sam was in his bedroom, possibly asleep on his bed. With his hand still against the hard wood rail, he whisked a keen gaze throughout the bedroom.
Running to the bed, he found a bloodlike smear stained the ivory pillow case.
Sam.
Picking up the headrest, he inhaled her scent. If she’d been here, she had to be still alive. Bleeding, but alive. He hugged the pillow to his body. Where in the hell was she? Tearing through the room, he searched for more clues. After finding nothing, he rushed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Scouring the cabin, his stare centered on the woodstove. The room was comfortable. Warm, in fact. He swung open the door to the wood stove and grabbed the iron poker from the stand beside the stove to stir the dying embers. The fire hadn’t been stoked for a while. Wherever Sam was, she had at least a three to four hour head start.
He raced to the stables and checked on the horses, immediately noting two missing. Dixie and Rebel. Odd, unless…
Putting two and two together, everything began to add up. Only one other person ever used Rebel—Denali. The raven-haired steed shared the same sour disposition as his friend, making them the perfect pair.
Blake shook his head. Stealing his horse and kidnapping Sam? He never thought Denali would do such a thing, but suddenly, it was all starting to make sense. It certainly explained the false prints he followed so blindly. Only Denali would think to throw him off in such a way. But why? Why would he do something so horrible?
An odd mixture of relief and indignation consumed Blake.
Why wouldn’t he? The native had been inconsolable after their last meeting. Immediately, he recalled the argument they had over Sam. Toss in the approach of the tourist season, and the way Blake had taken her side, he’d left the proud man with little choice.
His mind began to spin with thoughts of what his oldest friend would do next. As angry as the man was, Blake knew he would never hurt Sam. It wasn’t in his nature. And Denali would never travel with her if she weren’t able to—his friend would never risk her or anyone else’s good health. At least, Blake hoped not, for Sam’s sake.
Denali would, however, try his best to scare the hell out of her.
How? A few nights spent in the woods frightening Sam with stories about Alaska? Scary legends like the ones the elders told around the campfire? It was precisely what Denali would do…
And who better to tell the legends than the elders themselves?
Furious, Blake saddled Captain. The horse stomped his front hoof on the straw-laden floor of the barn. Apparently, the animal was as ready to ride as he was.
A few minutes of tracking and he knew exactly which trail Denali took. He’d been right. The village.
Troubled, he considered the outcome. This could go one of two ways. Either the tribe would love Sam…
Or hate her.
No. Not possible. How could anyone hate the woman?
Captain snorted, gaining his attention. The horse was right. He was wasting time. He had to catch up with Sam and Denali. The tribe was hardly receptive to outsiders.
By now, McKinley wo
uld’ve told the entire village about his new love interest. However, even with his feelings for Sam, her introduction by Denali to his people could have quite a cold reception. Possibly hostile, placing her in danger regardless of Blake’s connection.
Chapter 25
“Why are you doing this?”
Denali paused in his relentless trek only long enough to spare a glance at his friend’s angry woman. The k’isen was a sight to see with her eyes flashing a vibrant green fury.
He had seen the spark. In the flash of a moment, her gaze changed from a light, almost transparent meadow green to a dark emerald jewel. Not so different than her mood.
The woman was clever, too. She’d tried to reason with him even though she was furious. Of course, she was also right. What was he doing?
Unwilling to delve into his rash choices, he chose to ignore the fierce inquisition. Spurring the horses forward, Denali tore his gaze away as her words continued to berate him. Chasing her had simply been an impulse. And then he’d been forced to try and cover his tracks. Not a well thought out plan. Now, in too deep, he needed guidance, but at what cost?
With her swollen ankle, the k’isen gave him no other choice than to take the horses. They certainly couldn’t traipse through the woods on foot. Ponying her horse on his left side, he gripped the reins tightly, continuing their course. At least her foot was not broken like he’d first suspected.
“Why are you doing this, Denali?” she repeated.
Pulling back on the reins, he stopped the trek. The use of his name caused him the release of his pent up vengeance. “If you are going to call me by name, know the meaning of it. Denali means I am the great one, strong and…”
“Full of yourself,” she intervened peevishly. “I know what Denali means. I’m not stupid. It’s the name of a mountain. It’s also the highest mountain peak in North America.”
He openly sneered at her. It was much easier to dislike her when he thought she knew little about Alaska.
