The white wolf howled as icy pain spread up its leg, and it fell to the ground. Cross realized it wasn’t a normal weapon. No, it was wet. A spear made of ice was sticking out from the wolf’s thigh, its blood blooming out from the wound, staining the snowy white fur.
The mage raised his hand as another icicle began to form in his hand. The wolf struggled to get to its feet. Get up, he urged. He braced himself mentally as the mage raised his arm, weapon in hand, but before he could do anything else, a large black shadowy figure took the ice mage down. Though he couldn’t see it, the sickening sounds of teeth tearing through flesh and bone told him what was happening.
A dizzy feeling washed over him. He thought he heard a scream. Sabrina. But he was feeling faint from the blood loss. His wolf lolled its head back, trying to make sense of what was happening. There was more screaming and shouting, but it wasn’t Sabrina anymore.
“What in God’s name is—”
“An abomination!”
“The beast is—”
“Monster!”
Cross directed his wolf to lift their head, and he saw what the mages were screaming about. It was the black wolf—or something like a wolf. It looked like any other Lycan in wolf form but two giant incisors speared out of its mouth, like a saber-tooth tiger’s, and its back had a large hump that was lined with bony spikes, and its jet-black fur was mottled in places.
What the hell is that?
The animal let out a roar and leapt toward the group of mages forming a circle.
A throbbing pain made him wince. He had to get the icicle out so his wounds could heal, so he quickly shifted back to human form. Unfortunately, he couldn’t focus and get his brain to think of what he could transform it to. Ice was just frozen water. Heat would melt it. Gathering up as much as he could of his strength and willpower, he concentrated and created heat from the molecules of air around the icicle. He gritted his teeth as the pain and scorching heat made his skin burn, but he knew he had to get rid of this thing so he could protect Sabrina.
The icicle spear melted quickly, but he was exhausted. I’m sorry, Sabrina, he thought as his body lay limp on the ground, unable to move.
“Cross!”
Sabrina. Her voice sounded so sweet. His vision was starting to blur at the edges, but he could make out her blonde hair around her pretty face, encircling it like a halo. God, she was so beautiful and wonderful. Talented. Kind-hearted and trusting. He didn’t deserve her. “Sab—” he reached out to her, but his wound was making it impossible to move without sending shooting pain down his leg.
“Don’t move. Oh, Cross. Cross, I’m sorry for leaving,” she sobbed. “I swear—”
“Shh … Angel. So—” He coughed, and she cried out. “Don’t be sorry, I should be sorry. It was all my fault. Shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have …”
“Shouldn’t have what?” Delicate hands took his. “Cross?”
“The forgetting potion,” he choked. “Shouldn’t have given it to you. Shouldn’t have made you forget—”
And he rolled his head back, closed his eyes, and let the darkness take him.
A throbbing headache greeted Cross the moment he woke up. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. It was a bedroom, sparsely decorated, though the bed was comfortable. He guessed he was inside one of the cabins, but not the one Sabrina was staying at. A cursory sniff in the air caught a lingering hint of Ransom’s scent, though there was no sign of the Lone Wolf. There was also a stronger scent in the air—apples and fresh snow—and his head snapped toward the source—sprawled on the lounge chair in the corner, eyes closed in slumber, her long blonde locks like a beacon in the dark room. The tightness in his chest eased. Sabrina was safe. The mages hadn’t gotten to her.
Looking out the window, he saw the sun was already high up in the sky, bathing the mountains in late morning light. He sat up gingerly. His leg was throbbing, but the flesh was done knitting itself back together, so he had no worries about getting up. Despite his clumsiness, Sabrina didn’t stir; thank God she was a heavy sleeper.
He waved his hand over his body and clothed himself, then limped out the door. The stairs gave him trouble, but eventually, he got to the ground floor. It was empty, too, though he noticed the pillows and blanket on the couch. He smiled to himself and walked out onto the porch, producing two cups of hot coffee in his hands.
Ransom was sitting on one of the chairs, gaze focused ahead. When Cross came to him and offered one cup, he accepted it. “Thanks.”
Cross sat down next to him. “Thank you. For last night.”
The other man said nothing as he took a sip and continued to stare ahead.
“What happened after I passed out?” he asked. “Did they get away?”
Ransom cupped the mug with both hands. “No. Logan killed them all. We’ll get rid of the bodies tonight. Or what’s left of the bodies.”
Damn. He was hoping at least one of them was alive so he could question them. But Logan … “What the hell is he?”
Slowly, Ransom turned his head and fixed that green-amber gaze on him. “You don’t want to know.”
Something he’d learned the past few days about Ransom was that he was highly protective of his family and his wolves. If Lone Wolves had such a thing, Cross would have thought it to be very Alpha-like of him.
Ransom stared down into cup. “The others … they’re not happy about what happened last night. They’re all out here tryin’ to live like normal people. Spent enough of their lives runnin’ away from shit like this, ya know what I’m sayin’?”
Cross rubbed his jaw. Staying with Ransom was
