“I’ve been eying it all afternoon, working up to it,” Sophie replied. “I’m feeling pretty good about it now and ready for the challenge.”
“Good for you. Confidence is key,” he said with a nod. “Watch out for the ice, though. I noted some patches on the left.”
“Will do, thanks.” It wasn’t her first time she’d skied this trail on this mountain, but it was the first time in a decade. She used to come up to the White Mountains to ski with her family, and they’d visited Franconia Mountain a few times. It had expanded a great deal during that time. No longer just a ski mountain with a few basics for food and lodging nearby, it had since developed into a ski resort with a sprawling commercial village below.
They reached the peak. “Have a good run,” she said to the couple before climbing out of the chair and skiing left while the couple skied right to the easier trails.
Sophie stared down, and her heart raced. The challenge of this steep pitch ahead hit her with a slap. Steep now seemed like an understatement. It looked near vertical from this angle. Maybe she’d taken on more than she could handle.
“You can do it.” She gave herself a pep talk.
Right. She could. She’d done so when she was fourteen. Why not now ten years later? She had additional years of skiing experience.
She gritted her teeth and focused on her form. Skis pointed down the trail, body facing forward, legs tight. Most important, stay in control.
One-two-three. She pitched forward and blasted down.
Sophie kept her gaze ahead and concentrated on tight turns. The air hit her face and the exhilaration of speed hit her with a rush. She avoided the left side of the trail as that guy had noted the ice. Still, she kept watch for any other patches or obstacles. The constant grind of skis and snowboards throughout the day could expose more.
A patch of ice ahead was coming up quickly. She barely had enough time to veer around it. But then, she didn’t see the next one that she skied right into.
She skidded and lost her balance. One ski flew off the ground.
Sophie righted herself without falling and exhaled with relief. But not for long.
She hadn’t regained control of her direction and speed. She veered off trail and into the woods, narrowly missing a tree.
Shit. Trees were dangerous. Being out of control at this speed could be deadly. She cut her skis into the snow, desperately trying to slow herself down, while trying to avoid kissing the trees in a fatal embrace. Her heartbeat skyrocketed and her skin turned clammy beneath her snow gear.
After cutting, fighting, and struggling, she somehow managed to slow down—but not without falling on her ass with enough force that it knocked the wind out of her.
Damn. She sat unmoving for several seconds. Breathing felt like rubbing her lungs over shards of ice. She glanced around, disoriented. How deep had she headed into the woods?
After another minute or two, she breathed with more ease. Time to get up and get moving.
By some miracle, she hadn’t lost her skis. She used her poles to pull herself to her feet. She turned back up to look at the path she came down and grunted. No way was she climbing up that steep pitch in skis and ski boots. She’d be drenched in sweat after three heavy steps.
Instead, she turned forward. She was better off heading down. If she took a diagonal path, eventually she’d run into another ski trail, right? And then she’d follow that down to the base lodge.
She removed her skis and slung them over her shoulders. She wouldn’t dare try to ski downhill through trees after that dangerous tango through the forest.
As she trod in her heavy ski boots, her body heated despite being covered with cool sweat. The unsettling vibe of being alone in the woods crept under her skin, and her eyes darted in the direction of every small sound.
It’s probably just a squirrel, she attempted to soothe herself.
She shivered despite the rising perspiration. The temperature was expected to drop into the single-digits tonight—not as warm and cozy as she’d anticipated spending the evening with a spiked hot beverage while she warmed up near a fire.
She had to get out of the woods and soon.
Damon
The last run of the day.
Damon climbed off the chairlift for one last check before he could head back to his cabin and unwind with a hard cider. Come dusk, he’d head into the forest so his wolf could hunt.
As part of ski patrol on Franconia Mountain, his responsibilities included ensuring that all the guests were safely off the mountain. This double black diamond trail had left more than one skier or snowboarder removing their equipment and walking down the steep pitch after discovering they weren’t up for the challenge.
Damon positioned his skis downhill and scanned from left to right for signs of any struggling skiers as he navigated downhill. Some of the fresh snow from last night had been brushed away by a full day of skiers and snowboarders, exposing a few icy patches. He steered around them. Approximately a third of the way down the mountain, ski tracks veered into the woods.
Either it was someone trying to ski off trail in a dangerous location—or someone was in trouble.
He skied toward the tracks. And then it hit him like he’d suddenly bolted awake from a dream—her scent.
His wolf stirred. We found her.
Damon grunted. He’d been arguing with his wolf for six months, ever since Sophie had run out of that club in Massachusetts. His wolf had urged him to pursue her, insisting they couldn’t let their mate get away. But Damon had refused.
He wouldn’t let one dance with a woman upend his life and all the drama he’d struggled to keep out of it. He wouldn’t be swayed by the notion of one fated mate—especially a human.
Still, he couldn’t deny the primal need that Sophie had stirred
