Then suddenly, violently, the pressure was gone.
A silver beast hurtled through the doorway in a blur of teeth and fur.
Bramble.
He slammed into Landry with such force that both of them crashed into the small dining table. Wood splintered beneath their combined weight. Landry screamed, the sound high and terrified as Bramble’s enormous jaws closed around his arm.
She slumped to the floor, gasping for breath, one hand pressed to her bruised throat. Through watering eyes, she watched the Irish wolfhound drag Landry toward the door, his teeth shredding the sleeve of Landry’s jacket, drawing blood.
“Get it off me!” Landry shrieked, flailing wildly with his free arm. “Jesus Christ, get it off!”
Bramble didn’t let go. Not even when Landry’s fist connected with the dog’s ribs. Not even when Landry kicked at him. With inexorable strength, the usually gentle wolfhound dragged him across the floor, through the shattered doorway, and out onto the snow-covered porch.
Maggie crawled to the doorway just as Anson sprinted up the cabin steps. He took one look at her, shirt ripped, lip bleeding, and she saw the moment something inside him snapped.
She tried to call his name, but her voice wouldn’t work.
He reached down, grabbed Landry by the collar, and hauled him to his feet, tearing him from Bramble’s jaws.
“You touched her?” His voice was deadly quiet. When Landry didn’t immediately answer, he shook him like a rag doll. “Did. You. Fucking. Touch. Her?”
Landry’s bloody lips peeled back in a defiant smile. “Yeah, many times.”
Anson’s fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crunch, and he went sprawling off the porch. He dropped to his knees in the snow, but Anson hauled him up again, landing another punishing blow to his stomach.
“Anson!” Her throat burned, and her voice was barely more than a rasp. “Anson, stop!”
He didn’t seem to hear her. His fists rose and fell in a brutal rhythm, knuckles splitting against Landry’s face. Blood spattered the snow under them, bright red against pristine white.
Boone appeared at the edge of the porch and took in the scene with a single glance. “Sutter!” he barked. “Enough!”
Anson didn’t stop. His face was a terrifying blank mask, eyes fixed on some point beyond Landry, beyond all of them. His arm drew back for another blow.
Boone lunged forward and caught his wrist. “Stop. Now.”
Anson wrenched free and spun to face Boone with raised fists. For a sickening second, Maggie thought he might attack his friend, too, but then Bear materialized behind him and wrapped thick arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides.
“He’s down, Sut,” Bear rumbled in his ear. “He’s not getting up.”
Landry lay sprawled in the snow, blood bubbling from his split lips, one eye already swelling shut. But even beaten, he managed a twisted smile. “That’s all you got, Maggie? Some felon to fight your battles?”
Anson surged against the restraint. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No.” Bear’s arms tightened. “It’s not worth it. Believe me. It’s not. Go to Maggie. She’s what’s important, not that fucker.”
At the mention of her name, Anson’s gaze finally found hers. The blind rage in his eyes gave way to something else—horror, fear, gut-wrenching worry—and he stopped struggling against Bear’s hold.
Bramble had returned to her, whimpering softly as he licked her trembling hands. She buried her fingers in his rough coat.
“Good boy,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Such a good, brave boy. The best boy.”
“You level now?” Bear asked Anson, who nodded. The big man cautiously released him, but still held those large hands up, ready to grab again if needed.
But Anson only had eyes for her now. He vaulted up the steps and dropped to his knees, gathering her against his chest. His hands shook as he touched her face, her throat, cataloging the damage.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here. Should never have left you alone.”
“Not your fault.” She leaned into him, seeking his solid warmth to chase away the chill. “Bramble saved me.”
