Heatsuckedto just ride it out. Might suck epically after all these years on suppressants. But Iwouldsurvive it. The only drawback is all four of us would be in this sensory hell instead of just me.
“No,” I whispered against my gloved hand as I took another searching look at the area around me. Iwantedmore. That meant I had to make themworkfor more. To do that,Ihad towork smarter. I closed my eyes, braced a gloved hand against a tree and took three, long, controlled breaths and released them.
The icy cold air washed through me. The breeze shifted and it filled my nose with the fresh scents of pine, snow, and cold. There were hints of an oncoming storm. More snow. Every breath flushed out some of the haze.
How long would it last? I had no idea. The forest was beautiful, serene in its harshness, but there was no peace for me here. Not anymore. Not?—
A rustle behind me, a whisper in the wind…
I turned, searching the area but nothing moved save for the wind nudging the trees. The pines waved. The clouds had crowded out the sun, and it was growing darker. Holding, still, I let the air movement bring me scents from the direction of the cabin.
Nothing but snow, trees, and…
I needed to move. Shifting my weight, I angled uphill and away from the hollow I’d been wading through. The snow drifts tended to be shallower up here. I wound my way through the trees. The trickle of water over rocks drew my attention.
The river.
There was an arm of it that cut through here, the shores on both sides were rocky. They would be slick with the ice, but the water movement said it wasn’t totally frozen. If I could make it there, I could muddy the scent trail.
Adrenaline-fueled excitement spilled into my blood and I found a fresh burst of energy.
It was barely more than a creek in most places—fed from the mountains, icy even in summer—but in winter, it was a calculated gamble. The rocks along the banks would be slick, the water running just fast enough to stay partially unfrozen. The temperature alone would be a shock to my system, but if I madeit across without eating shit or breaking something, it might be enough to throw them off. At least for a while.
I cut my way through the trees, moving faster now that the terrain sloped up and the snow wasn’t swallowing my legs with every step. I slid, stumbled, but kept pushing forward. The cold scraped at my cheeks, biting deep into the exposed skin, but that pain kept my head clear.
Focus. Stay sharp. Keep moving.
There were eyes on me again.
I couldn’t hear anything. No footsteps. No breathing. But my instincts screamed. The skin between my shoulder blades prickled like a hot brand had been pressed there. Something was behind me. Watching. Tracking.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing.
But I felt it.
They were getting closer.
The raw need that had settled into me—the firestorm licking through my veins—flared hotter at that thought. They were hunting me. Their blood was up. Their need as visceral and feral as mine.
I wanted them to catch me. I wanted to feel their hands, their mouths, their bodies...
But not yet.
My boots hit rocky earth, the snow thinner here, scattered between broken stone and skeletal branches. The river cut across the forest like a jagged wound, steam rising faintly from the frigid surface. The sound of it—the steady burble and splash of water over rocks—muffled the forest's natural silence.
I picked my way down the incline and slipped once, knees cracking against the frozen ground, breath hissing between my teeth. I caught myself on a low branch and crawled to the edge.
The water was deeper in the center, moving fast enough to bite. I could see the places where it had frozen in sheets along the edges, and I wasn’t stupid enough to try stepping on them.
Still… I had to move. I had to throw them off.
I waded in.
It took time for the temperature of the water to slice through the waterproof clothing. Normally, I was not a fan of knives being sliced over me, but it helped keep my mind clear. By the time I was midstream, the icy current threatened to crest the high waist and that would suck as the cold water would soak down the inside of my clothes. Still, I pushed through as my whole body kept threatening to go rigid at the idea.
On the far side, I slipped again, nearly went down face-first, but caught myself. My gloves were holding up—barely. Some water crept under the elastic hem of my ski pants and soaked into the top of one boot. A part of me could practically hear the crunching of ice. The only thing keeping my limbs moving now was pure will and the lingering bite of my heat, still buzzing through my system like a live wire.
I paused long enough to circle back, doubling over my tracks and stepping across fallen logs to confuse any trail. The wind helped, too—shifting behind me, carrying scent away from the direction I moved.
