Page 73 of Gunnar

For a second I have no idea which direction I’m facing.

Another crash tears through the trees. A second roar follows—closer.

I brace against the trunk, breath tearing in my chest.

I should run.

But I’ve lost the trail.

Something massive slams into the ground behind me.

Too close.

15

Gunnar

For a moment I just stand there in the torn-up dirt of the clearing, chest heaving. My beast is still roaring through my blood, every nerve lit up, every muscle tight with the need to fight.

Across from me, Orson backs away a step. Blood streaks his shoulder where my claws caught him.

“You’ve lost your damn mind,” he says.

I barely hear him.

My gaze snaps to the path.

Alexandria.

She ran. Of course she ran.

The trail disappears into black forest. No moonlight reaches the ground under those trees. A human woman alone out there—no night sight, no feel for the ground, no idea what moves through these woods after dark.

I shouldn’t have let her go.

The thought cuts clean through the rage.

I dash toward the path. Orson says something behind me—sharp, angry—but I’m already crashing through the brush toward the trail.

I need to find her.

Her scent is everywhere. Warm. Human. Heady in a way that makes my beast surge with something more dangerous than anger.

She didn’t go far.

I can hear her breathing.

Thirty yards ahead, maybe less.

I slow so I don’t scare her.

The forest presses in around the trail, branches scraping my shoulders.

Then I see her.

She’s standing in the middle of the path, one hand braced against a tree trunk.

For a second she just stares.