He slowed, tensing automatically and ready for a fight. The darkness within him stirred, but after a moment, it settled back into watchful calm as the eyes ahead split into eight, then sixteen, more…
Not ferals. Krevasta.
A pack of them moved through the blizzard ahead, their eight legs carrying them over the snow like they were walking on solid ground. Every so often, one of them would look back, as if waiting for them.
His instincts screamed at him to follow. If they were heading somewhere in this storm, it was for a good reason.
Shelter.
He adjusted his hold on Michelle and picked up the pace, following the red gleam of eyes through the white-out conditions. Snow lashed at his bare shoulders and back. The cold should have been brutal, but the presence in his blood kept him warm, kept him moving when any normal Izaean would have started to slow.
Michelle’s breath had steadied against his neck, but fine tremors ran through her body. Her skin was too cold where it touched his. Her scent wrapped around him, tinged with blood and exhaustion. The smell should have bothered him. Instead, it only made the possessive urges rolling through him stronger.
Monster, he thought again. He was nothing but a draanthing monster.
The Krevasta moved through the storm like ghosts. He dug down and pushed harder, his legs pumping through snow that was now past his knees. The wind picked up, driving snow into his eyes and making it even harder to track them. For a heart-stopping moment, he lost sight of their red eyes completely.
Michelle pressed closer against him, seeking warmth. He felt the rapid flutter of her heartbeat where her chest touched his. The warm, soft scent of her hair cut through the sharp bite of snow and wind.
Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.
Then he spotted the krevasta again, clustered near a dark shape emerging from the storm.
A cabin.
It was small, primitive, but looked solid. Log and stone construction, but old. The windows were dark, and snow had drifted against the door. Abandoned, but intact. He wondered who had built it. This area of the Northern Continent should be uninhabited.
The krevasta disappeared into the storm as suddenly as they’d appeared.
He didn’t waste time being polite. Dropping his shoulder toward the door, he pushed. It swung open easily, and snow swirled in through the opening.
The cabin was basic… one room with a stone fireplace against the far wall, a few pieces of crude furniture. A narrow pallet in one corner, a rough table, and stools in the center. The walls were solid, the roof intact, and most importantly, it was dry.
He pushed the door shut, latching it behind them and cutting the sound of the storm outside off abruptly.
Carrying Michelle to one of the stools, he set her down gently. Her legs trembled as her feet touched the floor, and she swayed against him for a moment before finding her balance. He couldn’t help looking at her. Even pale and shivering, she was breathtaking.
Beautiful. So draanthing beautiful it made his chest ache.
In the dim light filtering through the windows, her lips were no longer just blue—they were going gray. Her skin had a waxy pallor, and her movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
Panic rolled through him. She was worse off than he thought.
Her clothes were soaked through from the snow, the wet fabric clinging to her skin like ice. He could see the outline of her body through the material, the curves that made his blood heat despite the cold. The shirt he’d given her was already wet from contact with her clothes underneath, and her hair was plastered to her head.
He had to get her out of those wet things, or she’d freeze to death right here in his arms.
But that meant stripping her. Seeing her naked. Touching her skin while she was vulnerable and dependent on him for survival. The thought sent heat pooling low in his belly, making him hate himself even more.
His throat went dry as she looked up at him with trust in her dark eyes, shaking so hard she could barely stand, her breath coming in shallow gasps that misted in the cold air.
She trusted him. Despite everything she’d just witnessed, despite the blood still staining his hands and the savage violence he’d displayed, she trusted him. When they were out of this, he would have to have serious words about human survival instincts.
Mine, the darkness whispered. Ours.
He didn’t deserve that trust. But right now, he was all she had.
And if he didn’t act fast, she was going to die.
