Snow.
It’s snowing.
The flakes catch the faint light of the moon as they fall. The trees aren’t as dense as I remember. Too much moonlight glows down on the forest floor.
Where are we?
“Almost there,” Kai says again. His breathing is ragged now. Harsh. Each step seems more difficult than the last. I want to tell him to stop, to rest, but the words won’t come.
I’m so cold.
My teeth are chattering. My fingers are numb.
Somewhere deep in the fog of my mind, a small voice whispers that this isn’t right. Little girls don’t feel this heavy. Kai shouldn’t sound like a man.
We’re running from something worse than cannibals, and if we don’t find shelter soon…
We won’t make it to sunrise.
“Kai.” The word scrapes my throat. The cold air is making everything hurt. “Kai, I’m scared.”
He stops. Turns. In the swirling snow, his face is a blur of shadows and sharper angles than I remember.
“Me too, Heavenly,” he says, and his voice cracks on the words. “Me too.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me forward through the trees, and I follow, because that’s what Jane does.
Jane always follows Columbus.
Even into the dark.
Chapter 47
Bastian
Thatcher didn’t come home with me.
Bad Wolf is sulking. Good Wolf is smug as hell because it knew before I did that while I was willing to offer Thatcher the truth on a silver platter, I didn’t actually want the deputy in my bed.
When Ezra texted again, I faked an emergency and left the cop with his suspicions and his cheap beer.
I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
Canceling a hookup because I’d feelguiltyabout it? Who the hell am I, and what did I do with Bastian? Thatcher rejecting me would have been an easier pill to swallow than the fact I’ve changed…and that Haven and Kai might have something to do with it.
I pour myself three fingers of bourbon and settle into the armchair by the fire, watching the flames dance along the pebbles. The snow is falling heavier now, a curtain of white blanketing the backyard. Gusts of wind drive it against the floor-to-ceiling windows, like it’s trying to penetrate my warm cocoon.
Snow is supposed to be soothing. Nostalgic, even.
That’s the problem.
My phone sits on the coffee table, its screen dark, but it might as well be burning a hole through it. Ezra’s messages have been piling up all evening, each one more unhinged than the last.
@jordan.ezra
Last chance, cunt
And then, twenty minutes later, another message.
