"You hear me?" I say into her hair, loud enough for my brothers to hear. "Find out who did this. Turn this town upside down. Squeeze every informant, every junkie, every low-life until a name pops out."
"Consider it done, Pres," Austin says, his face grim.
"Shane," I say without looking up. "Double the guard at the compound. No one gets in without a badge or a cut."
"On it," Shane growls.
I pull back and look down at Savannah. "Let’s go home."
"What about the shop?" she asks, looking at the broken glass.
"Blake can fix a window," I say, guiding her back to the truck. "I need to fix the rest of the world."
I put her in the truck and slam the door. As I walk around to the driver's side, I catch my reflection in the unbroken half of the storefront window.
The reflection doesn't show a man. A monster stares back.
Good. Monsters are what keep the nightmares away.
I climb in, start the engine, and drive us back into the darkness of the mountain. Let them come. Let them try. I’ll burn the whole damn world down to keep her warm.
9
SAVANNAH
The silence in the cabin hits differently tonight.
Before, during the storm, the quiet was heavy with snow and isolation, a blanket that tucked us away from the world. Now, the silence feels like a held breath. Sharp. Metallic. Waiting for violence.
Logan hasn’t stopped moving since we got back from town. The massive oak door is bolted, the heavy iron deadbolt sliding home with a crack like a gunshot. He prowls the perimeter of the main room, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards, the vibration rattling up through the soles of my feet.
I sit on the edge of the oversized leather couch, my fingers digging into the worn material. The leather jacket he gave me—Property of Presidentstitched into the lining—is draped over my shoulders, but the weight of it can’t stop the tremor in my hands.
The fire roars in the hearth, throwing jagged, dancing shadows against the log walls, but the ice in my veins comes from thememory of that brick shattering the window of Peak Wilderness Outfitters. The glass exploding inward. The note.
City Bitch Goes Home.
Fear remains, but beneath it burns something hotter. I can still feel the vibration of Logan’s growl deep in his chest from when he pulled me into the sanctuary of his arms in front of the whole town.
He called me the heart of Grizzly Peak. He told them they were begging for the monster. The memory makes my blood run hot, a terrifying, addictive mix of adrenaline and the realization that I am truly, irrevocably his.
"Logan," I whisper.
He doesn't stop. He stands at the window now, peering through the slat of the blinds, his silhouette blocking out the moonlight. His shoulders are so wide they seem to fill the entire frame, the muscles in his back bunching and releasing under his black t-shirt like coiled serpents. He is a weapon in human form, primed and safety off.
"Logan, please," I say, louder this time.
He freezes. Slowly, he turns his head, his dark eyes finding me in the gloom. The firelight catches the sharp angle of his jaw, the scruff that’s grown thicker over the last few days. Exhaustion, terror, and lethal intent war across his features.
"Stop shaking, Savannah," he rumbles. His voice is gravel grinding on stone.
"I can't," I admit, hugging myself. "You’re scaring me."
He flinches. The reaction is minute—a twitch of his eye—but I see it. He crosses the room, the predator grace of him eating up the distance until he looms over me. The heat radiating off his body hits me instantly, a furnace blast smelling of pine, gasoline, and old violence.
He drops to his knees between my legs, his large hands engulfing my thighs. His thumbs press into the soft denim of my jeans, hard enough to bruise, grounding me.
"I’m not scaring you," he says, a command rather than a statement. "The world is scary. I’m the thing that stands between you and it."
