It feels alive in a way that reminds me of childhood, of summers spent tracking game and learning the terrain inch by inch at my father’s side. He used to tell me the woods would give its secrets to anyone patient enough to look closely and quiet enough to listen.
Maybe that’s why we saw the lynx.
It stepped out onto the ridge above the camp an hour ago, watching us with pale silver eyes, tail twitching once before it faded back into the trees. No sound. No fear. As if it chose to be seen.
A good sign, one of my men—Nash—said. A sign this land hasn’t given up on us yet.
I let myself believe him. At least until the sound of an engine breaks the stillness.
It’s distant at first—an ATV, one of ours, but all the men I requested are already out here. Which means it’s likely bad news. Jesse stiffens. I turn toward the break in the trees just as the vehicle rolls into view, and he exhales under his breath.
“Ah, shit.” He says it quietly, but it’s too late.
I see who’s on the ATV.
Roxy.
My chest goes tight. The feeling is so sharp I don’t recognize it at first—fear, anger, something tangled between them. She’s sitting behind one of my men, hair flying around her face, eyesfixed straight ahead with a determinedness that makes my pulse spike.
Before Jesse can speak, I’m already moving.
I storm across the clearing. The men—seasoned professionals who’ve spent years learning not to react to my temper—shift their attention away so fast it’s almost comical. They look at the trees, the sky, the dirt at their feet, anywhere but at the woman climbing off that ATV.
Roxy hops down, dust on her jeans, expression steady but shaken around the edges. She glances once at the hunting knife strapped to my thigh, then focuses on eye contact. My steward, who almost never sets foot in the forest, dismounts behind her, his jaw tight.
“Before you explode,” he mutters, “she made me bring her.”
I barely hear him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, voice low, too controlled. “This is a restricted zone, Roxanne. You have no escort, no weapon, no?—”
“Eric threatened my daughter.”
Her words slice the air clean open.
Everything inside me stops.
“My daughter,” I repeat slowly, the rage starting to coil, but not winding tight enough to hold back the next realization. “Ourdaughter?”
Roxy’s throat moves on a swallow, eyes darting to see if the men heard. I can see her wondering when I stopped caring who knows. “Mak?—”
“Where is she?” The question tears out of me sharper than any blade. “You brought her here?”
“She’s safe,” Roxy says quickly. “She stayed with the ATV.”
My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts. I turn, scanning the clearing—just in time to see a small shapescrambling out of the vehicle, dark curls bobbing as she hurries across the grass.
Straight toward Dima.
Of course.
“Bozhe moi,” My God, Dima groans as Andrea reaches him, wrapping herself around his leg. “Little fish, you’re going to get me killed.”
I’m already moving. My body acts faster than thought. I sweep Andrea up in my arms, lifting her clean off the ground. She squeals in surprise, then bursts into delighted giggles, her small hands clutching at the collar of my shirt.
“Hi,” she chirps, breathless, as if she didn’t just nearly stop my heart.
I stare at her, trying to keep myself from crushing her too tightly, from letting her see how close to panic I just came. “What are you doing out here?”
