Chapter Seven

A Night in Alfie’s Hanger

Lyla didn’t like near-death experiences. They tended to leave you shaken for weeks afterward, and sometimes, you ended up on a shrink’s couch. Unfortunately, they came with the job.

Tristan handed her a large chunk of meat wrapped carefully in a large leaf. Yesterday’s catch. With a murmur, she accepted it, biting into it.

“Not bad,” she said, chewing and swallowing. “Could use a bit of seasoning, though.”

She grinned at her remark. She was lucky to even be alive after nearly plummeting to her death days ago.

She still couldn’t shake the memory of that bridge crossing. The images flashed through her mind every few hours or so: the plank disappearing from underneath her all of a sudden…her legs dangling above a dark void…Tristan grabbing hold of her silhouetted against the orange sky. She’d been on the brink of death, and he’d done everything within his power to save her.

To hell with the handcuffs—she hadn’t even realized they’d still had them on until they were both lying together in the snow. As far as she was concerned, Tristan had saved her life. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. She’d sooner eat a boulder than give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt that way.

“We’re getting closer to Alfanger,” he announced suddenly, stepping over a tree root.

“ Gesundheit ,” Lyla said automatically.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What?”

His jaw clenched slightly, which she found oddly attractive. “Alfanger is a village.”

“Oh, great. It’s been a while since I saw other people on this mountain.” She shot a sideways glance at him. “Present company excluded, of course.”

He ignored her comment. “There’s no one in Alfanger. The village has been deserted for decades. In fact, there isn’t much left of it.”

Just as quickly as hope arose inside her, it turned to ash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the village was destroyed. Alfanger used to be populated with elves. It was a thriving society until the village chief at the time disagreed with a dragon clan. It wasn’t long before war erupted.” He was silent for a moment. “The elves lost.”

Any idiot could have figured out that last bit. “What kind of nitwit picks a fight with dragons?”

Amusement flickered across his face. “An overconfident one. People have avoided Alfanger for ages. They say the souls of the dead still haunt the village.” He scoffed. “It’s nothing but superstition, of course.”

“Any reason we’re headed for the village where dragons murdered people? The same village people have been avoiding ever since?”

“We’re not just people . We’re desperate.”

Fair enough. “But what are the odds that we’ll be safe in this Alfie’s Hanger place—?”

“Alfanger,” he corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. What if dragons show up or something?”

“You are safe,” Tristan assured her as they stepped around a large tree trunk.

“And why is that?”

“Because,” he replied, “you are with me.”

Oh. A surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the coat she had on crept through her body then. Lyla bit her lip. She couldn’t be mistaken about the air of protectiveness he exuded, could she? First, he’d had his arm around her while she slept. Then he’d just about done everything he could to keep her from plummeting to her doom. And now?

The more she thought about it, the warmer she felt. It was a strange, delicious feeling that filled her chest, traveling from the tips of her breasts, sweeping through her gut, and settling between her legs. Oh, yeah…

Don’t be an idiot, she chided herself suddenly. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with.

He was a wanted man, after all. The last thing she needed right now was to start having feelings for an alleged murderer. The risk was too great. She’d had one man betray her in the past. Falling for a criminal of any kind was bound to leave her nursing wounds, emotional and physical—and in this case, the odds were it would be both.

***

Half an hour later, they arrived in Alfanger…or what was left of it.

“Whoa,” Lyla muttered, gazing around.

Tristan clearly had been telling the truth about the war that had ravaged the village decades ago. Enough snow had accumulated over the years to bury most of the village, but Lyla could make out several structures in the area. It was hard to imagine this place had ever been a living, thriving village.

“The war was a brutal one,” Tristan said as they walked through the mounds of snow and debris. “Not a single survivor. It’s why the souls of the dead are believed to inhabit this village. They were all together when they perished.”

Lyla wasn’t so sure anyone could call what had taken place here a war. Whoever the people of Alfanger were, she doubted they’d put up much of a fight. The village looked like an all-out air strike had hit it. She got the strangest feeling that what had happened here wasn’t merely a tragedy; it was a warning to anyone who dared to incur the wrath of dragons. No wonder people had avoided this place for so long.

She shuddered. The place was a horrific sight even now. She couldn’t bear to imagine how gruesome it must have been for the villagers decades ago.

“Do you always have wars like this on Frost Mountain?” she wondered aloud.

To her surprise, he nodded. “There have been wars between humans, wars between dragons, wars between entire towns, even animals.”

“You’re kidding.”

“War is a crucial part of nature,” he said, with the air of someone explaining to a sixth-grader. “Violence and death, as much as we hate to admit it, are natural occurrences.”

He had a point, but Lyla couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disgust. “That sounds like something a murderer would say,” she pointed out.

Tristan cut her a sharp look, which signaled the end of the conversation.

They wandered through the remains of the village. She had to admit that there was something eerie about walking through a place where so much death and destruction had occurred. A gust of cold wind swept past her, causing her to shiver. She glanced around. There was little to see besides collapsed buildings in different stages of ruin.

“Keep your eyes open,” Tristan advised. “If we are lucky, there should be someplace habitable enough for us to spend the night around here, and—”

“Whoa.”

He blinked. “Did you find something?”

“I guess you could say so,” she replied, leading the way toward a small pile. Between the snow and debris, it was hard to make out much, but some shrapnel caught her eye, aglow in the sunset. Taking off a glove, she reached out and picked it up.

“Be careful,” Tristan warned. “It looks sharp.”

It was a small piece of metal, thinner than her index finger, and twisted out of shape. Lyla guessed it had come from some kind of weapon. The metal had been worn away by rust, but it felt icy and solid in her hand. Solid enough for what she had in mind.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, lifting her cuffed hand and slipping the metal piece through the keyhole.

“What are you doing?” Tristan wanted to know.

“Picking the lock. I might not have a key, but maybe if I’m lucky…”

He eyed her with a raised brow, and she could tell what he was thinking: Where the heck did she learn how to pick a lock?

Lyla didn’t think it was much of a big deal. It was the sort of skill you were bound to pick up while you were hunting criminals across the country.

“Be careful,” he said again.

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “You say it like I’m going to—Ow! It’s just a small cut.”

Ignoring the slight sting on her finger, she continued to work at the lock, wiggling the metal piece this way and that until she heard the click she’d been listening for. The bracelet fell from her wrist, dangling from Tristan’s arm.

“Yes!” She breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Tristan, who was staring, open-mouthed at her, and began working away at his bracelet.

Click! The handcuffs dropped onto the snow between them.

“I…I’m free,” he said.

“We’re both free,” she corrected. “And you’re welcome.”

Not that she needed him to thank her. The look on his face was enough. His eyes were wide with surprise, wonder, and…was that admiration?

Before she could figure it out, the look was gone, replaced with an all-too-familiar scowl.

“Let me see that,” he said, taking her hand in his to examine her cut finger.

A jolt raced up Lyla’s arm like she’d been electrocuted. Without really thinking, she yanked it out of his grasp. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

She stuck her finger defiantly into her mouth. Tristan suddenly looked like an exasperated parent; his forehead marked with lines of worry and frustration. “Allow me to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she insisted. “Like I said, I can handle myself.”

The scowl deepened. “Well, you’re no longer bound to me. You’re free to leave if you want to. Take care of yourself.”

Was that a taunt? Lyla decided not to let her annoyance get the best of her. “I’m not going anywhere. I already told you I’m not leaving you until I find out the truth about you.”

She might have been imagining it, but she was pretty sure she saw his lips twitch.

Don’t make me wipe that smile off your face, Buster .

She could think of several interesting ways to do that.

She was so thankful when he finally turned away, announcing that he was going to continue checking around the village for a building habitable enough to spend the night in, that she almost gave an audible sigh of relief. If she’d had to spend another moment within three feet of him, she would have combusted.

She slipped her glove back on and picked up the fallen handcuffs, gazing around at the war-torn village. It had to be the worst sight she’d come across since regaining consciousness amid the plane wreckage. In the distance, beyond the village, she spotted some greenery—treetops pointing toward the sky. Pine trees.

Just like Christmas trees , she realized, securing the cuffs to her hip as she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. When was the last time she’d celebrated Christmas? Not in years, not since her marriage with Greg ended. Being a bounty hunter meant that during Christmas, while other adults her age were nibbling the cookies their kids had left out for Santa, she was usually going after some stubborn criminal.

So why was she thinking about it now ? Christmas didn’t mean much to her anymore, did it?

Maybe a part of her was picturing sharing the holiday with the mountain man she’d just been freed from, or maybe it was because she was starting to find herself drawn to him.

Only that couldn’t be right.

Be careful, Lyla , she told herself.

***

The shelter Tristan found turned out to be a cabin in the center of the village. Judging from its size, Lyla figured it must’ve belonged to the village’s chief. A large section of the cabin walls was missing as if a dragon had taken a bite out of it. Only one of the rooms was still habitable, and by the time they cleared out the snow and debris, the air was filled with the smell of decaying wood.

“Home, sweet home,” Lyla muttered with a whistle, eyeing a dark burn mark in the corner of the room. “I hope this isn’t an accurate representation of the real estate situation on Frost Mountain.”

They sat and shared some more food. When it got darker, Tristan decided it was time to sleep—better get as much rest as they could now so they could get a move on first thing in the morning.

While he slept, Lyla lay awake, blinking in the semi-darkness. She couldn’t see much of Tristan, but she could tell he had his back turned to her. Not only that, but he’d scooted away from her, leaving a few feet of space between them.

Lyla couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Then she chided herself for feeling that way. After all, he’d only had his arm around her because they’d been cuffed together. Now they were free. They could both do whatever they wanted. It wasn’t like she wanted his arms wrapped around her like the other night.

Okay, maybe she did want his arms wrapped around her. It was a chilly night.

Okay, maybe wanting his arms wrapped around her had little to do with the cold. But that wasn’t to say it had to mean anything.

Okay, maybe it did mean something. But—

If she listened carefully enough, she could hear his gentle snores. She pictured that large body of his heaving under his coat with each breath. She hadn’t seen him without his clothes yet, but she suspected he was pretty ripped despite being twice her size. She could just imagine the muscular contours of his torso, along his broad back…

She tried to ignore the flush of excitement that filled her body at the thought.

Lyla Jensen, you need to pull yourself together.

Well, it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t felt the touch of a man in years, she told herself.

No, that wasn’t it. She’d felt the touch of many men over the years, half of whom were usually trying to put her six feet under. She and Tristan hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms when she began to find his touch titillating.

Ten minutes later, she was still blinking into the semi-darkness.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “Might as well go for a midnight stroll.”

She started to leave the room, but a thought occurred to her, and she crept over to Tristan’s side, groping half-blindly until her fingers closed around something cold. One of his hunting blades. She might be a human on a magical mountain where the odds of her surviving were low, but she was still pretty handy with blades. If she bumped into something unpleasant out there…well, at least she and Tristan wouldn’t be going hungry.

She stepped out of the dilapidated cabin into the snow, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.

Freedom got boring quickly, she decided, as she walked through the ruins of Alfanger. That was one of the paradoxes of life. When you felt bound by something, you longed to be free. It got so enticing that you’d do anything to get free. But it didn’t take long for that freedom to get old. Here she was, no longer bound by the handcuffs, and the only thing that made sense was for her to stick with this man who’d been a pain in the neck from day one.

She’d tried to convince herself that it was because she wanted to get to the bottom of his murder case and find out who’d done it. But now she was starting to wonder if that was her only reason.

Tucking Tristan’s blade under her coat, she stepped around the remnants of what looked like it had once been a porch and let her gaze rise from the rotted wooden structures around her to the sky. Overhead, the moon glowed softly, and pinpoints of light dotted the rest of the sky. The stars were scattered as far as her eyes could see. It was such a beautiful sight that Lyla almost forgot for a second that she was still on Frost Mountain.

Could people back on Earth see the same sky? Or was this all a magical illusion reserved for those stuck on Frost Mountain, a momentary relief from the chaos that surrounded them? It seemed likely. It was a separate dimension, isolated from everything she’d known in the past four decades of her life.

A life she would never see again.

Lyla scoffed at the thought. Who was she kidding? This was just one of the “fun” dangers of being a bounty hunter. She just wished they’d put it in the brochure when she signed up: The perks of becoming a bounty hunter include cool weapons, handcuffs, and you get to hunt people down. The dangers included shortened life expectancy, becoming infamous among the supernatural underground, and finding yourself trapped on a freezing mountain where you’ll spend the rest of your years—or days. Nothing to worry about. Sign up today for only $11.99!

I should be dead by now, she thought, somehow or other.

But meeting Tristan had kept that from happening. He’d fed her, tried to protect her from the cold, and saved her life. Tristan was the only reason she was still breathing right now.

Still, that didn’t mean he was entirely safe, did it? He had his own baggage, like the murders he was wanted for. And then there was that curse he’d mentioned. Lyla had to admit, she’d had some trouble wrapping her mind around it. Apparently, his entire bloodline had been cursed with the ability to shift into monstrous wolves and kill anyone they could find. She shuddered at the thought. That was a level of cruelty that would make even Theophilus Hill clutch his heart.

If that curse had somehow manifested itself again, then he was more of a threat to her than she’d realized. Not only would it make him guilty of the murders, but it meant she was in close proximity to someone who could slash her to bits in a matter of seconds.

Unless she was wrong, and he was really innocent.

She dismissed the thought from her mind, taking a deep breath of the cold night air. How long had she been out here? She should probably head back to Tristan before he woke up and noticed she was gone.

This time, she did scoff. Why did she even care about that? They weren’t cuffed together anymore, and she wasn’t obligated to him anyway.

“I could take off from this village right now,” she muttered, “and it wouldn’t even make much of a—”

A low growl cut off the rest of her words.

Lyla went instantly rigid. The sound had come from somewhere behind her. Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise, she turned around slowly. She couldn’t see much besides the snow-covered ruins of the village. Farther ahead, though, she saw the woods, the trees silhouetted against a dark sky.

She frowned. There was nothing around. Had she imagined that sound?

She’d started to turn away when she heard another growl. Lyla’s eyes widened. Okay, she’d definitely heard it this time. Something was out there, lurking in the woods. Before she could try to figure out what it was, the growl was followed by a series of heavy thumps.

Holy sh—

There was a soft rustle, and Lyla thought she detected movement in the trees. Unsure whether to inch closer or take off back to the cabin, she remained on the spot, staring, open-mouthed, as a pair of glowing eyes appeared between the trees.

“What in the world…?”

The creature drew closer. In the soft moonlight, she caught a glimpse of it. Her breath faltered in her throat. It was huge , even from a distance, its body covered with pale fur. It took another step toward Lyla, its snout opening to reveal two rows of sharp teeth.