Chapter 1
Lila
Thecolddoesn'tjustbite, itexcavates.Each breath scrapes my lungs raw, and my fingers have gone from aching to eerily numb inside my gloves.
That can’t be good.
So much for my quiet winter retreat to finish my latest paranormal romance novel. The listing photo showed the perfect little cabin for buckling down and pounding out the rest of the book. But reality is a frigid, powerless shack in the middle of a blizzard.
“Where’s a bear shifter when you need one,” I grumble, casting a glance at my unfinished manuscript on my laptop.What I wouldn’t give for the hero to come barreling in to rescue me right now. In his human form or his bear form… I don’t care.
I crouch by the stone hearth, examining the woodpile with my phone's flashlight. Every log gleams with moisture. I dig through my bag for the fire starters I picked up from the gas station on the way here. The waxy brown squares promised to burn "underany conditions,” but they crack like old bones when I try to peel one apart.
So much for that.
If I don’t get the fire going soon, I’ll freeze to death. I look around the room for something to burn. My notebook sacrifices itself first. Pages of scenes that never worked, dialogue that read like instruction manuals. I arrange kindling the way YouTube taught me, strike a match, and watch the flame catch for exactly three seconds before the damp wood smothers it with a hiss.
“Noooo,” I moan.
My hands shake as I light another match. This time I don't even get smoke.
Outside, wind shrieks against the windows. Inside, my breath fogs the air.
The woven runner under the coffee table catches my eye. Not ideal. Not smart. But my jaw aches from shivering, and with any luck, it’ll burn hotter than the damp logs.
I tear it into strips, nest them under the kindling, and strike the third match. The cloth blackens, curls, then blooms into a hesitant flame. Relief floods my chest.
"Yes. Come on, please—"
The runner flashes bright, burning too fast. A crackle pops through the hearth as the heat hits the damp wood beneath it, sending up a fresh wave of smoke that stings my eyes.
I jerk back as the flame licks higher than expected. In the scramble, my hip bumps a small side table. A wicker basket filled with fake flowers tips, wobbles once, and then tumbles straight into the hearth. It hits a log and collapses sideways, catching instantly, flames racing through the dry reeds.
"Oh no—no, no—"
A burst of sparks spits outward. Something hot lands on my sleeve. I feel the heat through the fabric as a glowing ember eatsinto my coat. The material smolders, darkens, and then flares in a terrifying flash.
For a panicked moment, I watch with fascination as the fire spreads across my coat. Then I dash for the door to throw myself into a snowbank.
Before I reach the door, it explodes open. Snow swirls in through the opening and with it, a shape. An absolutely massive man.
But is it a man…? He’s impossibly tall, impossibly broad, filling the entire doorway.
The flames leap at the sudden introduction of oxygen in the space, then falter as the figure storms straight into the cabin and seizes the burning basket, hurling it out into the snow.
I'm pressed against the wall, smoke and fire still threading up from my sleeve. The shape turns with predator efficiency, and through the thinning haze I see…green. His skin is the color of lichen on ancient stone. My gaze lifts to his face and I gape in amazement. He hastusks.
Definitely not human.
Every paranormal hero from every book I've written pales in comparison to this magnificent creature.
He crosses the room in two strides. Something heavy and warm drops over my shoulders—a pelt that smells like snow and smoke and something wilder. He smacks my sleeve with his bare palm, extinguishing the last singe. His hand is callused, blunt-fingered, impossibly warm.
"Breathe," he says. His voice is tectonic, like the mountain itself learned to speak. "Are you hurt?"
I cough instead of answering. He drops into a crouch, bringing those strange bright eyes level with mine. He adjusts the pelt, tucking the fur gently under my chin. The gesture is absurdly careful on someone—something—so enormous.
"Stay low. Keep this over your mouth."
