He moved to another tree, this one thicker. The muscles in his back and shoulders bunched and shifted as he gripped it, and I found myself unable to look away. The way his body moved, all that controlled power and rippling muscles. It made my mouth dry despite the cold.
Another crack. Another armload of wood added to the growing pile.
I was Eleanor Barrington Bradford, President of the United States, standing in a frozen forest in the middle of nowhere, getting turned on watching an alien warrior break trees with his bare hands.
My life had gotten strange as fuck. But for the life of me, it didn’t seem strange, but somehow right… natural.
And I couldn't deny what I was feeling. Not any longer. The attraction I felt for Rickon had been building since that kiss, maybe even before that. Okay, definitely before that. And now, watching him work, watching the casual display of strength that would have been impossible for any human man....
I was in trouble. Deep, complicated trouble. And the growl that sounded from my flank indicated I was possibly in more trouble than I realized.
I turned slowly, my breath catching in my throat.
Three wolves stood at the edge of the clearing, their yellow eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold. They were massive. Bigger than any wolves I'd seen in documentaries or nature programs. Gray and white fur rippled in the wind, and their breath came out in visible puffs of steam.
They weren't looking at Rickon. They were looking at me.
I wanted to scream. God, I wanted to scream so badly. But my throat seized up, whether from terror or the cold, I couldn't tell. And even if I could force sound past my frozen lips, would Rickon even hear me? The wind was bellowing like a banshee, drowning out everything else.
I took a step backward, trying to move toward the tent without making any sudden movements. My boot caught on something—a root, a rock, I didn't know—and suddenly I was falling, my arms windmilling uselessly as I went down hard on my back.
The impact knocked what little air I had left from my lungs.
The largest wolf saw its opportunity. It lunged, powerful legs propelling it across the snow with teeth bared.
I threw my arms up instinctively, a pathetic defense against several hundred pounds of muscle and fang.
But the impact never came.
One second, the wolf was airborne, death incarnate, hurtling toward me. The next, Rickon was there—I hadn't even seen him move—his hand catching the wolf mid-leap by its throat. The animal let out a choked yelp as Rickon pivoted and hurled it away like Nolan Ryan throwing a baseball. The wolf hit a tree with a sickening thud and crumpled into the snow.
The other two wolves snarled and circled, more cautious now but not backing down.
Rickon positioned himself between them and me, and the sound that came from his chest made every hair on my body stand on end. It wasn't quite a growl, it wasn't quite a roar, it was something deeper, more primal.
He moved forward, and the wolves actually retreated a step.
The first wolf had recovered and was back on its feet, but it was limping now, favoring one leg. It growled, but there was uncertainty in the sound.
Rickon took another step forward, and this time he bared his teeth. Another of those bone-deep sounds rumbled from his chest, and he spread his wings wide, making himself even larger, more threatening. I had to wonder whether the wolves saw his human facade or saw past the camouflage to the alien beneath.
The wolves exchanged glances—they actually looked at each other like they were having a conversation—and then, as if by mutual agreement, turned and bolted into the trees. The injured one brought up the rear, casting one last look over its shoulder before disappearing into the white wilderness.
Rickon stood there for a long moment, watching the tree line, making sure they were really gone. Then he turned to me, and the fierce warrior's expression melted into concern.
"Ellie." He was at my side in an instant, lifting me with hands that were unerringly gentle despite having just thrown a wolf like a ragdoll. "Are you hurt?"
"At least it wasn't Cujo," I quipped, hoping a bit of levity would slow my heart rate. The thing was hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
He checked me over anyway, his hands running over my arms and shoulders, looking for injuries. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," I finally managed, though my voice came out thin and reedy. "I'm okay. You—thank you."
His jaw tightened. "I should have been paying closer attention. I was too focused on the wood. I didn't sense them until…." He cut himself off, his hands stilling on my shoulders. "You could have been hurt."
"But I wasn't. You saved me." I gazed at him, at this alien warrior who had just fought off three wolves without breaking a sweat and felt that bone deep fluttering heat from earlier return with a vengeance. "You're always saving me."
Rickon lifted me into his arms, and within two strides we were inside the tent. He settled me on my sleeping bag and left only long enough to return with an armload of wood.
