An alpha to the core, he probably battled his own overly cautious demons. She’d caught him scanning the interior walls and studying the windows with his hands clenched into fists and his lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t need to ask. He’d mentally calculated their vulnerability. The likelihood of a competitive pack infringing on this overlapped areas of their two packs and randomly stumbling upon the alpha’s son at her family’s remote cabin had to be next to nothing, but Eric knew more about pack politics than she did. Aside from her family, none of whom held prominent positions in the wolf hierarchy, she avoided her own pack.
While Eric tramped around outside, she’d taken a long soak in the bathtub, letting her sore muscles loosen up. She’d cleaned the cut on her forehead, and after staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, tension evaporated from her veins. Minor injuries. She’d walked out of that crash with insignificant bumps and bruises.
The bath and moving around had helped with the aches and stiffness. Why did Eric have to be right? It made it more difficult to stay angry at him.
Mate, Maisie whispered.
Shut up.
Brenna set cups down, filled them with chocolate powder, and stirred in the steaming hot water.
Eric had been gone for a while. Had he left? He probably didn’t want to hang out with the mate he scorned. They never discussed what happened all those years ago. At the time, there was no need, but now the unspoken words hung heavy in the room. She couldn’t read minds or smell emotions like “real” werewolves, but the wary glance he cast over his stiff shoulders before he stomped outside said it all.
Her chest constricted. He might’ve been a royal jerk back then, but he didn’t deserve to die in a blizzard. She wasn’t a twit. Even with her head tucked into the protective shield of Eric’s back, the jarring werewolf ride had scared the crap out of her. They’d been lucky to reach her parents’ cabin. If he got stuck out there now, he’d have to shift and hunker down.
She bit her lip as she continued to stir the hot chocolate. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want to be alone.
She glanced at the door.
Her stomach twisted into a knot. Nausea coiled and threatened to rise.He better not have left!Should she go after him? She tossed the idea away before chucking the spoon into the empty sink. If he’d left, there was nothing she could do. Just like she couldn’t stop him years ago.
Eric stomped up the stairs outside, and her stomach settled. The door opened, and a burst of bone-chilling, snow-packed air blasted her from across the room. Again, why did she decide to come to a place where the air hurt her face?
Eric slammed the door shut with his foot and set an armful of wet logs by the fire to dry. He must’ve raided the wood pile by the side of the cabin. He pulled off the ski goggles and cast a wary glance her way—probably in fear of more ice-queen shenanigans—before removing the purple toque. He placed both items by the fire to dry as well.
Her throat grew thick, and words failed her.
Eric slipped out of his borrowed winter jacket and snow pants and hung them on the peg by the door beside her stuff.
Underneath his snow gear, he wore form-fitting dark denim jeans that clung to his powerful thighs and a navy-blue T-shirt with a scuba diving logo, which accentuated his broad shoulders and strong arms.
She swallowed.
The last decade had been kind to Eric, aging him to perfection. Harder edges replaced youthful pretty-boy looks, transforming him into a devastatingly attractive man. The wind-chapped cheeks carved a masculine image, perfected by wind-tussled sandy brown hair. A narrow, straight nose between piercing green eyes, a square jaw with a couple days’ worth of stubble, and full kissable lips—Eric Buchanan had become more handsome than he deserved. If Loveable Lumberjacks Magazine wanted a model for their cover, they needed to get a hold of the Topaz pack and book the alpha’s son.
His shoulders remained tense. His gaze flicked to her while his mouth flattened. He straightened his tall, fit frame. For the first time since he rescued her, he looked unsure of what to do.
Apologizing for crushing her would be a nice start, but alphas didn’t do that whole “sorry” thing.
“Here.” She held out a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
Eric nodded and closed the distance to take the mug from her. His cold hand briefly closed around hers but didn’t linger. In fact, he jerked the hot chocolate away so quickly, some of the frothy liquid slopped over the rim.
“Look—” she started.
“Listen—” he said.
She rocked back on her heels, while he ran a hand through his silky hair.
“Ladies first.” His voice always had a rough timbre to it, like he was part mountain man. Even when she despised him, she couldn’t bring herself to hate his voice. It vibrated along her skin and sank in to warm her bones. It hadn’t lost any of its potent power over the years; instead, it had gained new depth.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “For suggesting you leave. You saved me today and didn’t deserve that. Thank you for getting me away from the wolves and bringing me here.”
His shoulders relaxed, and his mouth softened. “You’re welcome.”
They stared at their hot chocolate in silence. At least she did. She couldn’t bring herself to maintain eye contact any longer.
“Brenna.” He cleared his throat. “I know I hurt you that summer, and I’m sorry.”
