Chapter one
Try Not to Die
My wolf senses something is wrong long before I do, clawing at my insides, anxious to get out. Torun.
It’s nearly dark, my backpack heavy on my shoulders. It’s a five-mile hike back from town to get to my cabin, and I’m hungry. I just want to cook dinner and have a beer.
Can’t a man live alone in the woods in peace?
But my wolf won’t shut up, whining in my head, making the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end.
I sigh, hanging my pack on a nearby tree. All I keep is my key around my neck. That and the amulet. I grasp the green stone until it glows—the one that seals my clothes to the shift so I don’t appear naked and get arrested for public indecency or whatever if I shift back in front of an unexpecting hiker.
Good times. That reminds me—I owe Sylvius a beer for the last time he erased someone’s memory when the damn amulet flew off again. Poor old bastard who saw me got a double-fright: not only did he see me shift, he saw me naked.
Anyhow, I’d really rather stay as far away from people as I can, but since my wolf always wins, I know there’s no point fighting this. I crack my neck, take a deep breath, and close my eyes as I give into the shift.
Her scent hits me immediately.Human. Terrified. Wounded.
At least I think she’s human. There’s something odd about her scent I can’t place. Maybe it’s the damn perfume. I’ve never scented something as strong and as good in my life.
For a moment, my wolf just stands there, eyes closed, sniffing the air.
But all that sweet floral perfume she’s wearing can’t mask the blood. Tangy and metallic, it rides high in my nostrils, every muscle coiled as I break into a sprint on four paws, man and wolf as one, racing down the dark path until there is no more path, and it’s just me barreling through the underbrush.
Damn blackberries. I love the fruit and hate the thorns, ripping at the side of my snout as one catches the side of my face.
The scent of her fear grows stronger as I slide down a steep embankment at the edge of a winding, muddy trail. Dried blood coats the rocks.
Fucking hell.
A low growl rumbles from my chest as I skid to a stop in front of the woman’s still body. Dark, straight hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Slender neck. Bloody jeans ripped all the way up her curvy thighs.
I swear under my breath as I shift back, not even caring if she sees. Not that her eyes open. They flutter slightly, but stay shut.
Her heart is beating, but it’s slow. And her pale skin is ice cold.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Hey! Hey you!” I shake her shoulder frantically in the near-complete dark. “Wake the hell up!” Yeah, yeah, so my bedside manner leaves a little to be desired. So sue me. I have other priorities.
But she very much doesn’t wake the hell up.
She barely stirs, muttering something unintelligible, a faint shiver tracing through her body at my touch. I don’t know if it’s the cold, or if she’s responding to me.
“Damn it all,” I mutter, lifting her in my arms. My skin blazes where her body touches mine, steam rising in clouds from my breath. “You’re a fucking popsicle. What the hell were you doing way out here alone?” She doesn’t respond. Of course she doesn’t. “Nevermind that, just try not to die in my arms, got it?”
To my surprise, she mutters something again.
“Hey, stay with me, come on!” I shake her gently, and to my surprise, she lets out a pained gasp, eyes fluttering open.
“It hurts,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse but surprisingly melodic. Wind chimes in an approaching storm. But her eyes close again as she melts against my chest.
Fuck.
It’s going to take ages to get back up the hill with her in my arms like this. We’re the exact opposite direction of town. I’ve got to get her to my cabin, but there’s no way we’ll make it in time if I don’t shift.
There’s only one option.
