He was so close I should have been able to smell him. Was it really a deer? I couldn’t see anything but the flick of long, white ears popping out of the frozen tundra.
It was a rabbit. Just as fun to chase, though not as thrilling to catch. I followed the rabbit, one step at a time into the bright, white field of freshly fallen snow.
Chapter Four
Harkins
I stared in disbelief, in fear. Hardly wide enough for more than a bicycle in each lane, the frosted, white road curved around the face of a steep cliff. Given the drive up, it had to be a long fall down. Too far for a shifter to survive? I hoped not. More so, I prayed Amy hadn’t fallen. I had to find her.
In the dark night, only blackness was visible over the edge.
Dangling half off the side was the little blue car I had searched for. Dirt and boulders covered the width of the narrow path around the bend, engulfing both the road and the upturned car, making them part of the mountainside. Freshly fallen snow blanketed the scene, without regard for the devastation below.
High beams on, I climbed out of my truck far enough from the crash to avoid adding another eight thousand pounds to the landslide. Urgency turned to nausea. Please let her be breathing. I couldn’t bear to bury another person I loved. Not Amy.
Snowflakes melted as they landed on my nose and cheeks, and kept their shape when they caught in the hair on my wrist. A long shadow was cast across the ivory powder as the headlights shone around me.
“Amy,” I said, hoping to hear her voice. To stir movement. Anything.
Only the howl of the icy gale rustling through the pines replied.
“Amy,” I said again, stepping carefully over fallen rocks and uneven earth. My voice sounded strange in my ears, like it belonged to someone else. I didn’t risk a blink, and kept my eyes locked on that light blue paint.
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m comin’ for you.” My voice shook.
There was no answer. No sign of movement. The headlights of my truck reflected off of the crumpled glass. It was shattered but still attached to the frame, making it impossible to see inside. Her scent lingered, though faintly.
Shards of broken glass crunched beneath my boots; the driver side window had been knocked out and its remnants lay scattered over the ground. Blood. A trail of sliding, crawling, and stumbling led away from the wreckage.
Tracks meant she had survived the crash. Tracks meant the likelihood of Amy still being alive just grew. I looked down into the busted window and imagined her trapped inside. Injured. The thought pained me, but I clung to hope.
A light blue, puffy winter coat was balled up on the roof, left inside the car. She’d be freezing without it. I grabbed the jacket, which still carried her scent—blueberries and cherry blossoms, the promise of a smile no matter how difficult life could be. Amy was pure sunshine, and she hid the rest. But I liked it all, everything about her. Though I knew that was all we could ever have—me loving her, protecting her, being there for her. A friendship that meant more to me than any other. She had to be okay.
Then I pulled out my phone and followed the trail. No service. Amy’d said there was no way to make calls out here. “No sign of civilization, or indication of the modern era,” she’d said.
No chance for backup. No ambulance. Just me. And I’d find her.
Woulda been practical to look for help, get closer to town and make a call. But instead of goin’ back the way she’d come along the road, she’d gone forward, over the rocks. Into the night. Handholds and footprints bare of snow scaled the cliff, showing me exactly where she’d been.
I followed. Loose dirt shifted beneath my weight, but the boulders held still. I tested each step before taking it, pulling hard with my hands before using any ledge to support me. Pebbles echoed down the mountainside as they tumbled into the black pit. What had Amy been thinking when she’d scaled these rocks? Was she afraid? Was she not feeling herself?
When I reached the top of the mound of dirt, rocks, and snow, I shined the flashlight on my phone to my left and right. No sign of her trying to scale the mountain, or falling over the edge. She must have continued the way she’d driven. So did I. Feet first, down the unsettled rock face.
Before long, my boots hit pavement. My knuckles were stiff from the cold, and from climbing. I flexed my fingers to help circulation, and searched the ground for signs of where she’d gone.
Amy’s trail of clumsy footprints picked up on the serpentine road and led off into the distance. Desperate to hear her, I listened to the wind. There was the rustle of branches, the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the hooting of an owl, and the howling of wolves in the distance. Her voice was not among them.
The road twisted, and the wind hit hard as I rounded the turn.
Amy’s footprints led into a crevice in the mountain side. It had seemed dim outside, with the moon hidden behind clouds, until I stepped into the cave. Inside was pure darkness. My phone lit the way. With each step, there were fewer droplets of blood on the ground, telling me her wounds were healing. That it got better from here, not worse. But where had she gone? What had she been thinking when she’d left the warmth of her car? When she had abandoned the safety of waiting where she could be more easily found? By the faltering pattern of her footsteps, she must have been dazed.
Inside the cave, the ceiling grew lower with every step, the walls of the passage narrower. Before long, I needed to crawl. My hands guided me across the cold rock floor, and it was difficult to make use of my flashlight while navigating and carrying Amy’s coat. There were no sounds to indicate inhabitants, only the howl of wind outside.
It was a tighter space than I’d first thought, and the farther I traveled, the more concerned I grew that my shoulders wouldn’t fit through the entire passage.
With the scent of Amy’s trail was the hint of another. It was one I’d hoped not to cross. Grizzly. The bear should have been in hibernation this time of year, but I wasn’t complaining that it had left.
The ground shook; the rocky cavern all around me quaked. Loud rumbling echoed through the canyon into the small crevice, like the mountain itself was a giant grizzly waking from its winter’s sleep. Dirt and pebbles dislodged from the roof of the cave, pelting me as the earth shook.
Faster–I had to go faster. I hurried, moving as quickly as I could, listening to boulders tumble down the mountainside behind me, over the edge of the road, and into the dark pit beneath.
I scrambled to distance myself from the falling rock. The roof of the tunnel collapsed by my feet, leaving a wall of rock where I had just been. A little slower and I would have been crushed. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The vibrations dissipated. The crashing, crumbling, rumbling faded. And the hole that led to my truck was gone. There was only forward. Through the darkness. Toward Amy.
The cave grew narrower before the light of the moon shone in around a curve in the rocks. I looked out into the falling snow, onto an open field of white. Moonlight broke free of the clouds, shining down on the peaceful meadow. A single tree stood tall and reached for the sky, set away from the distant forest. Amy’s single set of boot prints was the only sign of travelers in the winter landscape. On the ground, balled up in the center of the field beneath the cover of the evergreen was something moving, something alive. She stretched out, and moonlight reflected on her golden locks. Relief flooded through me. I held tight to the soft blue coat that carried her scent, and I ran. Amy.
Chapter Five
Amy
Saltwater and sand. When had I reached the ocean? The sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, highlighting the depths and shallows of the waves through shades of deep sapphire to aquamarine. Sprigs of tall, brown grass peeked up out of hills of golden sand by the wooden path. I wiggled my toes in the hot grains of beachy earth. But somehow it wasn’t as warm as I’d expected.
I let down my hair in the cool ocean breeze. But it was too cold for summer.
It wasn�
�t real. I was supposed to be home for Christmas.
The crash.
One cheek was pleasantly warm, the other numb from the icy air. A soft jacket covered my torso from the falling snow, like a blanket. Fluffy and light blue. It was my jacket, though I didn’t remember taking it from the car. My jeans were damp and cold, and clung tightly to my skin.
I blinked to focus and found that I wasn’t alone.
Harkins was here. His scent was different than the usual wolf shifter, different from the piney forest essence that was common in local wolves. Harkins wasn’t from Sawtooth Peaks, and he wasn’t like any other wolf shifter I’d ever encountered.
I turned my head and looked up at Harkins, and our eyes met.
His dark beard was thick, and unquestionably masculine, framing lips that rarely spoke. His scars that told his stories, and his dark brown, expressive eyes. There were lines in the corners that spoke of the man he had once been, a different version that had smiled often. And there was sorrow. His shoulders were broad, and thickly muscled, framed well in his leather jacket. He was hard, rugged, and handsome—a warrior who valued loyalty. Strength radiated off of him, as it always did, even when he looked at me so warmly. I had found him attractive before I knew him, but once I got to know him, I was drawn to him even more.
My mouth felt dry as I opened my lips. “Hi,” I said. My voice scratched in my throat.
“Amy,” he breathed.
“Where are we?” I asked, still feeling disoriented.
“Somewhere between Sawtooth Peaks and your family’s place,” he said. “Not really familiar with the area.”
I blushed when I realized my head was on his thigh.
“I remember the crash,” I said, slowly pushing myself up to a sitting position. The throbbing in my head wasn’t as bad as it had been. “And then…” What was next? The beach? “And then you, I think.”
“Your mom called the Den,” Harkins said. “She was lookin’ for you.”
“Yeah, I was on my way there,” I said. Then I realized how dark it was. There were needled branches above us, a tall tree. Snow in every direction, with fresh flakes falling from the sky. We were surrounded by the dark stillness of the night. Hours must have passed since the crash. A whole day’s worth. “What time is it?”
“Middle of the night by now,” Harkins said.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “And for the coat. You brought that, right?”
If Harkins hadn’t come, would I still be alone, left out in the storm? Mom wouldn’t have sent everyone out. Not that fast.
“Of course,” Harkins replied with a nod.
The look in his eyes said more than his words. Or at least I thought so. When he looked at me like that, I felt like I was special. Like I was beautiful, precious. But I’d learned to doubt exactly how much I meant to Harkins when he’d declined my invitation for a date. I had thought he wanted more, that he saw the potential between us like I did. But I was wrong. I was in the friend zone. It was kind of my MO. Most guys were interested in sleeping with the bubbly bartender, but not taking her home to meet the family. Harkins didn’t fit the category of ‘most guys.’ He cared more, but didn’t want more than friendship. Maybe it was the age difference, with me in my twenties and him over forty. Maybe I reminded him of someone he used to care for. Or maybe I just wasn’t his type. Though he never dated anyone else, either.
Our relationship wasn’t all that I wanted, but what crashed and stranded girl couldn’t use a good friend coming to her rescue?
“So what now?” I asked. “Take me back to your truck and we say ‘screw Christmas’ altogether? I could take this as a sign that I wasn’t meant to go home for the holidays.”
Skipping out on the family time would allow me to avoid the feeling I always had on Christmas, that I was missing out on life by not having a mate and cubs of my own. But I didn’t really want to lose out on watching my nieces and nephews opening their presents, or seeing my sister Nora’s latest sonogram. I had to go, but it seemed unlikely that the narrow road could be traveled. Not after my crash.
“Can’t go back the way we came,” Harkins said. “Landslide that trapped your car blocked the way back. Might of taken the road, your car, and my truck down with it.”
“So we just smile and walk, I guess,” I said.
“A few hours left ’til sunrise,” Harkins said. “Best to give yourself a bit more rest. We can set off after that.”
He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tall, lone pine and closed his eyes.
I was grateful for his body heat, for his company, and for the concern that had brought Harkins out into the wilderness for me. I zipped up my coat and leaned my head on his broad shoulder. Then I stared up at the bright, full moon beaming its way between snow clouds, until the weight of my exhaustion overcame me.
Chapter Six
Amy
Brightness forced its way through my eyelids, and was blinding when I peeked. The warm morning sun heated my face and reflected off of the white earth. With any luck, it meant a warmer day to come.
With a stretch of my arms, my fingers brushed a low-hanging branch. The needles rustled and a clump of frosty white snow landed on my nose. I shook it off, though the cold, wet feeling remained on my skin. Then it hit me. I was alone. Harkins had been here, right? It hadn’t just been a dream, had it?
Two sets of footprints led to the pine where I woke, from the mountainside in the distance. One about my size. One larger. I crawled out from under the branches and found a third set leading the opposite direction, toward a distant evergreen forest. He had really come for me.
My muscles ached as I moved, cold and stiff from the crash and from sleeping on the ground. I followed Harkins's tracks to a bundle of sticks and logs gently burning and letting off a wonderful scent and pleasant heat. A safe distance from the tree, he’d started a fire not long ago. I held my hands over the flames and let the heat defrost my aching knuckles.
Upon further inspection, I realized that the tracks leading away had been retread more than once. Harkins must have carried these logs from the woods. I had to decide between spending the day huddled around the flickering flames and finding my friend. It was an easy choice.
When I left the fire, the cold seeped right back in. Soon after, I found his clothes and knew it was about to get worse. How far had he gone? With enough wood to keep the fire going, what else was he doing out there?
I followed Harkins’s lead and stripped my clothes off. The worst part was definitely losing my cozy boots. The air was cold on my bare skin, but the snow that engulfed my feet was agonizing. The shift couldn’t happen fast enough.
I welcomed the fur that coated my arms, my legs, and every inch of me. The chill of the air faded to a memory as a thick coat of white fur warmed me more thoroughly than any clothes could. My bones cracked and realigned. My face grew long, forming a jaw meant to catch prey. Hands and feet in the snow turned to paws, and the arctic landscape transformed into my playground.
With a deep breath, I took in the world. As a wolf, I could sense so much more. The air was wet and carried scents of the forest hidden beneath the blanket of white powder. There was pine and life, birds chirping while other animals hibernated amongst the trees. There was a pack of wolves in the distance, those that lived their days without human form. There was the smoky warmth of the fire behind me, and the comforting scent of Harkins up ahead. His was the scent I followed.
Snow went on forever in every direction, but up ahead, the trees appeared taller as I approached. What had been white from our resting place was rich with color once I’d passed the forest’s outer branches.
With the clearing behind me, I followed Harkins’s set of paw prints into the trees. The forest was quiet in the way that only forests are. There was the gentle tapping of a woodpecker, the trickle of water moving over rocks, the rustle of pine needles in the gentle breeze. There were greens and browns, fallen logs and soft mosses. The trail became more difficult
to follow, as Harkins’s tracks became less distinct. As the trees grew denser, only a light layer of white powder had settled on the forest floor. Most that had made it through the branches of the pines had caught on the ferns beneath. Still there was enough of a trail to follow—paw prints here and there, broken branches, snowless fern leaves, and the distinct scent of the beach.
Gray fur, still as stone. I found him standing in a stream, legs and tail in the water, so only his head and middle remained dry. His tail was turned toward me as I approached.
“Almost done,” Harkins said in the shifter tongue.
I wasn’t surprised that he had noticed me standing here. Harkins noticed everything. He remained as still as if he were a part of the scenery, his legs like the roots of a tree. When I saw the pile of fish on the shore, I knew why.
A salmon jumped up from beneath the surface of the water and splashed back down a foot away from the thick, gray wolf. One second he was a part of the river, the next his mouth darted into the water. When his furry head reemerged, there was a long, silver-scaled fish between his jaws. Harkins turned to me and padded out of the water, dropping the fish with the rest.
“Figured we could use some breakfast before headin’ out,” he said.
“I know this place,” I said. It had been a long time, but I knew this stream. “We’re closer to my family’s farm than to Sawtooth Peaks.” My stomach growled as his words registered. “And breakfast sounds great.”
Healing always took a lot of energy, and after the car wreck my injuries must have been significant. More so than I could remember, since the whole thing was still a blur.
“Feeling any better?” Harkins asked.
Our eyes met, and I studied his wolf face. I’d seen him like this a million times. The scars that were there as a man remained in wolf form. I’d never asked that story, not the one about what happened to his face. And he’d never told me. I loved to hear the stories he shared, but I never pushed. He’d been hurt, and those scars ran deeper than his skin. I could see it.
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