Page 10

The biggest of them, the scarred one, has the wolf by the throat. He hurls it into the snow and follows it down, and it's over almost before it starts. It's so fast and so brutal that I can't look away.

Then he turns toward me.

Those eyes. Still glowing. Amber now, and blazing so bright that for a heartbeat, I forget I'm cold. Snow is caught in his hair, blood on his hands, and he looks every bit as terrifying as the thing he just killed.

More terrifying.

Because the wolf just wanted to eat me. I have no idea what he wants.

He stares at me, lying there in the snow.

And something in his face changes. The wildness doesn't disappear, but something under it goes soft and stricken, like he's the one who just got knocked down.

He takes a step toward me.

"They're running!" one of the other men calls. "Let them go!"

He stops. His hands curl into fists at his sides. But he doesn't take another step.

And just like that, it's over.

The last of the wolves vanish into the trees. The howling fades. There's just the wind again, and the snow, and the churned up, bloody mess all around me.

And the three of them.

I should get up. I know I should. I should get up and thank them, and tell them who I am, and explain what I'm doing wandering the mountains in a blizzard like a complete idiot.

Planting my hands in the snow, I push.

Nothing happens.

My arms tremble and give out, and I flop back down. I try again. Same thing. My fingers are stiff, curled up like claws, and they won't open. I don’t even know what happened to my dagger. Did it fall? My legs feel like they're somewhere far away, attached to someone else.

And I'm so tired. Gods, I'm so tired. It sweeps over me all at once, heavy and warm, like a blanket being pulled up over my head.

That warm feeling should scare me. Some distant part of my brain knows it should.

I can't quite remember why.

Boots crunch in the snow. The three men come closer, and they're not growling anymore. Their faces look almost human. Worried, even, as they look down at me.

The one with the short, black hair kneels beside me. Up close, his face is all hard lines and sharp angles. Severe. Handsome, in a way that seems almost unfair given the circumstances.

"Are you hurt?" His voice is deep and commanding, and it cuts right through the fog in my head. "Did they bite you? Tell me where it hurts."

I try to answer. I want to tell him I'm fine, that I don't need his help, that I had it handled.

What comes out is a slurred mess. I can't even understand myself. My teeth are chattering too hard, and my whole body is shaking.

His jaw tightens.

He doesn't ask again. He slides one arm under my knees and another under my back, and then he lifts me right out of the snow like I weigh nothing at all.

My whole body goes rigid.

All I can think of is Silas's hand on my arm. Silas's fingers around my wrist. A man deciding what's best for me whether I want it or not.

I try to pull away, but I don't have the strength.