They burst into a clearing, and Mina saw a wooden hunting lodge nestled among the trees. It was only one story and modest in size, but with the yipping of wolves closing in around them, it might as well have been a palace.
CHAPTER 33
Van Helsing swung down from the horse, landing in the snow, and led it toward a small stable beside the cabin.
“You lucky bastard.”
Mina looked up to see a man standing at the front door of the cabin, a black knit cap pulled low over his head, a great brown beard framing his face. His skin was ruddy from the cold, his eyes a vivid blue.
“Didn’t think you’d make it out of there alive,” he called out.
It was then that Mina caught the man’s accent—American, and not like any she had heard before. There was something of the southern states in it, unfamiliar and out of place in the Carpathian Mountains. She could not begin to imagine how such a man had found his way here.
“A pack of wolves was closing in on us at the end,” Van Helsing replied. “Keep an eye on the trees, if you will.” He turned to Mina then, wordlessly placing his hands at her waist and helping her down from the horse. “You can go inside,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right in.”
She nodded, but as she looked toward the cabin—where this new stranger now stood, having just retrieved a hunting rifle from inside—hesitation arose.
A nearby howl was all it took to push her forward, and she crossed the snow quickly, ignoring the stiffness in her ankle as she climbed the steps to the porch.
“You must be Miss Murray,” the man said jovially when she reached the door. “Or do you prefer Countess?”
She cleared her throat. “Just Mina is fine.”
“Very well,” he said, removing his hat and giving a gentle bow. “Quincey Morris. At your service.”
If spoken by someone else, she might have thought he was teasing her, but there was a glint of sincerity on the man’s face.
“Go on inside, Miss Mina,” Quincey said. “Warm up by the fire. You must be just about frozen.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, stepping through the open door.
The cabin was small but sturdy. A couch and hearth occupied the wall to the right, while a small table sat tucked into the far corner. The kitchen took up the remaining space, its large window overlooking the trees beyond. To her left, a short hallway led toward what she assumed were the sleeping chambers.
A shot rang out, and Mina flinched, spinning around to see Quincey standing in the front clearing, his gun still raised toward the treeline.
“Hey!” Van Helsing called out. “You’ll frighten the horses.”
Quincey glanced back at him, all innocence. “You told me to watch the trees,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “A couple of them were getting a bit too bold for my liking.”
Mina turned away, her heart still pounding from the sudden crack of the shot. As she moved farther into the room and took her place before the fire, she felt a faint pinch in her chest at the exchange she’d just witnessed. There was a camaraderie between the men—an ease that showed itself even in so brief a moment. It was so unlike anything she had known in these past weeks.
Quincey walked in through the front door, shutting out the cold—and Van Helsing—behind him. He hung his gun on a hook next to the door and kicked off his boots, thick snow flying all over the ground.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, a brightness in his eyes that warmed something in Mina. Before she could respond, he walked over to the stove where a large pot was waiting. “You two have good timing,” he said, “the stew should be done by now.”
Mina didn’t particularly feel hungry, but then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she had. “That sounds lovely,” she said.
“You know it’s hard to get beef up here, but venison is a great replacement,” he went on, ladling the mixture into a bowl. He placed it on the wooden table and pushed it toward her. “Oh, guess you need a spoon, don’t you?” She fought a smile, walking over to the table and sitting down at one of the chairs. “You be honest if you don’t like it,” he said, grabbing a spoon from adrawer and handing it to her. “I can find you something else to eat.”
“I’m sure this will be great,” she said. She took a spoonful of the stew, the steam wafting over her. As she took a bite, the flavor was far more than she’d been accustomed to in some time. “This is delicious.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said from where he stood in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, but his posture was relaxed. “Stew is just about all we can manage up here this time of year, but we make do.”
Just as Mina lifted another spoonful, the front door opened, bringing with it a gust of frigid air as Van Helsing stepped into view. She took the opportunity to watch him as he kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his jacket. Despite spending the past few hours with him, she felt as though she was truly seeing him for the first time. He moved with surprising grace for such a large man, and her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw. His hair was a mess, and it was clear he hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but there was something almost endearing in his lack of regard for his appearance.
Mina glanced toward Quincey and found his eyes on hers. She flushed and returned her attention pointedly to her stew.
“You hungry?” Quincey asked Van Helsing. “Got a pot of stew ready.”
