Winslet hefted the bag, marveling at its weight and the implications of its contents. This woman had prepared for Winslet’s escape with frightening thoroughness, anticipating needs she hadn’t even considered yet.
“Why are you helping me?” The question emerged before Winslet could stop it.
Gerri’s smile softened, losing some of its mysterious edge. “Because everyone deserves a chance at happiness, honey. Even when they’re running from monsters.”
The word ‘monsters’ hung in the air with particular weight, and Winslet wondered if Gerri meant it more literally than metaphorically. But there was no time to probe deeper. Somewhere across the city, Bracken was discovering her absence, and his rage would be nuclear.
“We need to go.” Gerri moved toward the door with purpose. “My car’s in the underground garage. We’ll take the service elevator to avoid any eyes in the lobby.”
Winslet followed, clutching the bags like a lifeline. Every step carried her further from the life she’d built and deeper into unknown territory. But as they descended into the garage’s fluorescent-lit depths, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in months—hope, fragile but persistent, that maybe this time she could truly escape and find peace.
An hour later, Winslet and Gerri settled into their seats on the military aircraft. The aircraft’s interior was designed for function not passenger comfort. Bare metal walls, utilitarian seating, and the constant drone of engines created an atmosphere that matched Winslet’s churning anxiety. She gripped the armrests tight minutes later when the plane took off, her knuckles white against the worn fabric.
“Storm systems are building over the sea,” Gerri said beside her, sitting poised with the grace of someone who’d weathered countless flights. “Nothing the pilot can’t handle, but it might get bumpy.”
Winslet’s stomach lurched as the aircraft hit a pocket of rough air. “Define bumpy.”
“Think of it as nature’s way of keeping unwanted visitors at bay.” Gerri’s eyes held that mysterious glint again. “Bracken’s people will think twice about coming to this place. The weather gets truly nasty sometimes.”
The mention of Bracken again sent a mix of fury and fear through Winslet’s veins. Even thirty thousand feet above the earth, his shadow felt oppressive. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. He’d wanted her to be part of his world, to smile prettily at dinner parties while money laundering and violence funded their lifestyle.
“You’re thinking too hard, honey.” Gerri’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “The oxygen masks are above your head if you need them, but panic attacks at this altitude are particularly unpleasant.”
“I’m not panicking.” The words came out sharper than intended.
“Of course not. You’re just white-knuckling that armrest like it owes you money.”
Despite everything, Winslet’s lips twitched. “You have a unique bedside manner.”
“Comes from years of dealing with stubborn people who think they know better than the universe.” Gerri produced a thermos from her carry-on and poured steaming liquid into two cups. “Chamomile tea with a splash of something stronger. Trust me.”
The tea warmed Winslet’s throat and settled her nerves with suspicious efficiency. Through the small porthole, Seattle’s skyline had vanished beneath an endless expanse of clouds. Her old life was dissolving like sugar in rain.
“What if he finds me there too?” The question escaped before Winslet could stop it.
“Northland Bay isn’t like other places.” Gerri’s tone carried weight that made Winslet pay attention. “The locals are... very protective of their territory. Outsiders who bring trouble don’t usually last long there.”
The way Gerri said ‘don’t usually last long’ sent a shiver down Winslet’s spine. She didn’t want to be held responsible for any trouble she might be bringing with her to this remote place. But for the first time in two years, she felt something approaching relief.
Maybe isolation could be salvation instead of imprisonment.
TWO
KORRAK
The frozen expanse of Northland Bay stretched in every direction, a canvas of white broken only by the stark geometry of ice ridges and the distant smudge of storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Korrak Volkov’s boots bit into the hard-packed snow with rhythmic precision, each step deliberate as he traced the familiar perimeter of his territory. The wind carved across the landscape with knife-edge sharpness, but he barely registered its bite—cold had been his constant companion for so long that warmth would feel like betrayal.
His breath formed brief clouds in the crystalline air as he moved, his ice-blue eyes scanning the terrain with the methodical attention of a predator who’d protected this land through blood and will. Other members of his Icefang clan patrolled different sectors, but Korrak preferred doing his own surveillance. Trusted his own instincts.
His clan respected him not because he dominated through fear, but because his intentions were absolute and his protection unwavering. The Icefang way—precision over posturing, results over rhetoric.
He’d inherited the Alpha role at seventeen when his parents died in an avalanche that had been no accident in his opinion, and the responsibility had shaped him into something harder than the ice beneath his feet.
Leadership meant more than issuing orders from the warmth of his cabin—it meant understanding every shift in wind direction, every track pressed into the snow, and every anomaly that might signal threat or opportunity.
His polar bear stirring beneath his human skin approved of the movement today, the purpose. Restlessness had plagued him lately, an itch between his shoulder blades that no amount of physical exertion seemed to scratch. He’d attributed it rationally to the approaching storm season, the way atmospheric pressure could affect shifters more acutely than humans. But something deeper gnawed at him, a sense of anticipation that made no logical sense yet concerned him because it disrupted his natural rhythm.
Solitude was his armor. Predictability his weapon. He’d built a life where variables were minimized, where chaos couldn’t find purchase in the ordered world he’d created. No mate to worry about, no attachments to weaken his judgment. The loneliness that occasionally clawed at his chest was a small price for the certainty that he could protect what mattered without the devastating distraction and unpredictability of love.
