Chapter Two

Hunter, Fisherman…Fae

Lance Wilson slung the weighty bag over his left shoulder with a grunt and proceeded up the mountain, ankle-deep in the snow. The wind whispered gently against his ears, and the cold nipped at his skin. His clothes, still wet from his impromptu dip in the river, clung to his body and weighed him down as he climbed. Exhaustion had settled into his bones some time ago, but he pushed on regardless, grinning broadly.

It was almost impossible not to feel good, especially with all the fish he’d managed to catch that day. After journeying for several days and toiling for a couple more in an ice-cold river farther down Frost Mountain, he was finally heading back home with a bag full of his catch. His body sagged from the weight, but Lance couldn’t care less. A heavy bag meant plenty to eat.

He heard the steady rush of the nearby river, ensuring he was on course as he journeyed back up the mountain. The river was just out of sight, obscured mostly by the mounds of snow that had accumulated on the ground over the past few days. He’d followed the river down the mountain from his home, where, for some reason, the fishing had not been good. It wouldn’t be long before the river froze over, but at least he’d made his catch.

All that’s left is to get home, he told himself as his boots sank deeper into the snow, past his ankle. Just a couple more days.

A couple of days and, he would be back in his cabin, relaxing before his fireplace, maybe smoking a couple of fish over the flames. He’d done enough fishing to last him the rest of the year and hopefully a week or two after that.

The forest stood before him, and to his right was a valley. Both were difficult to make out in the heavy snow that had settled everywhere. Lance made a mental note to watch his footing. In these conditions, accidents like falling into a snow-covered ditch to being flattened in an avalanche were likely to happen. Being a bear shifter didn’t automatically make him impervious to harm. The past had proved that. All he had to do was lift his sleeve to see the jagged scar Henri had given him two Christmases ago.

But the past was the past. That thought gave Lance some comfort. He would be spending this Christmas alone, with no one to bother him, nothing to worry about, and certainly no attacks.

“Can’t wait to get back home,” he muttered, the condensation causing steam to accompany each word. He shifted the weight of the bag onto his other shoulder, grinning despite the effort. “It’s going to be the best Christmas in a while.”

But at that moment, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air, and he realized he might have spoken too soon. Lance paused in the snow, his free hand instantly flying to the blades strapped to his thigh, as he wondered where the sound had come from or what could have made it, when something whizzed across his line of vision, barely twenty or thirty feet in front of him.

No, not what. Who . In the split second before the person darted out of sight among the trees, he caught a glimpse that left him even more stunned. It was a woman, no doubt the one who’d screamed, propelled by a pair of rapidly fluttering wings, her feet barely touching the snow.

Before Lance could properly process what he was seeing, another figure appeared, charging in the same direction. It was a large man wearing a dark coat and fur boots, a gleaming blade clutched in his fist. His bushy brown beard was speckled with snow, almost concealing his face from view, but there was no mistaking the murderous flash in those eyes of his. Even from afar, Lance recognized those green eyes.

Anyone on this mountain, or at least around these parts, would be a fool not to know who that man was and what he was capable of. Lance stood, paralyzed with confusion, as the man known as Boris the Fae Hunter barreled toward the woods, weapon brandished with obvious intent.

“Help!” the woman cried.

In the few seconds it took him to decide, Lance paused, a series of thoughts swirling around his mind, analyzing the situation with surprising clarity.

One: Boris, the Fae Hunter, was one of the last people anyone would want to run into. Lance knew very little about the man, including whether he was human or supernatural. He only knew that he was a deadly force to be reckoned with. He was an excellent hunter whose reputation ricocheted around this part of Frost Mountain like a shockwave of terror. Boris had a special hatred for fae. Why that was, no one knew, but over the years, he’d been rumored to have traveled across the mountain, killing any he could find.

Two: If Boris had chosen to make a target out of this woman, it stood to reason that she wasn’t an ordinary woman. Lance had seen those wings. She was a fae.

Three: The woman was doomed. Once Boris set his eyes on a target, he never stopped until he’d made a kill. Everyone knew that, and everyone was smart enough to stay out of the man’s way unless they were unfortunate enough to have been born a fae.

Four: The sudden commotion was dangerous, not only for the woman but for everyone around. Lance doubted it would take more than a few more screams to trigger an avalanche.

Five: If he didn’t do something, that woman was going to die.

The last thought buzzed through his head despite his attempts to ignore it.

Helping that woman is out of the question, he told himself. You know what she is.

“Help! Somebody, help me!”

Minding his own business just might be the only way to keep his neck firmly attached to his shoulders. The woman was fae. Their kind were not to be trusted, not now, not ever. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. He refused to repeat the same stupid mistake of trying to help her, especially when a man like Boris was involved.

The woman screamed again, rattling his insides, and guilt clenched his heart. She’d disappeared somewhere among the trees, but he could sense her desperation. Terror and despair filled the air like a putrid scent as she continued to cry for help, and Lance soon found himself battling with his own resolve.

Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Just mind your business and go home. You don’t need to get involved, especially with someone like her.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. And then, ignoring the warnings that went off in his head, he dropped his bag and ran for the woods.

“Help!” he heard the woman cry again somewhere in the trees. Boris hadn’t caught her, not yet. But she wasn’t exactly making it hard for the hunter, not with all the noise. She was an easy target. Why was he wasting his time trying to save her?

Because I’m out of my mind, he answered himself.

Just as he reached the trees, it happened.

Lance felt the avalanche rather than saw it. The earth beneath his feet rumbled slightly at first, then more powerfully, and for a split second, he nearly lost his footing. He looked up the mountain, and his heart nearly froze.

“No, no, no…”

Snow was roaring down the mountain like a giant boulder. Trees and rocks were instantly covered or crushed by the sheer force of the snow. It was an unstoppable mass, and as it neared him, Lance felt his pulse race.

He changed tracks, heading down the mountain, but it was too late. The snow slammed into him with the force of a freight train, knocking him down in an instant. He struggled to get up, but the snow had buried him, flattening him against the earth and plunging him into complete darkness.

Was this the end of him?

He could not see or breathe, and the sheer weight of the snow had pinned him to the ground. He strained with all his might, trying to push his way to the surface, his lungs slowly beginning to ache, but it was slow going. This could not be the way he would die. He had to get out of this somehow.

Feeling a surge of hope no matter how misguided, he pushed his way up. In the calm recesses of his agitated mind, he decided he must be at least seven feet below the surface. It could have been worse.

A moment later, his head burst through the snow, and he sucked in a deep breath before heading for the nearest tree. Two thoughts filled his mind: One , he needed to get to stable ground, and two , he’d most definitely lost all his fish.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

But the sinking feeling that spread through his chest was momentary, and as he grabbed at the trunk of a tree that was barely sticking out above the surface, his thoughts flickered to the fae woman. Was she dead?

What about Boris?

She had to be alive. A sudden determination filled his heart; with great effort, he half-waded through the snow, scanning the area for signs of life. It wasn’t long before his gaze landed on a hand sticking up through the snow. That must be the woman. She must have tried to take flight but had only managed to rise a few feet before the avalanche caught her.

Lance pushed himself through the snow until he reached her, grabbing hold of a nearby tree with one hand and the hand of the woman with the other. With a strained grunt, he pulled, and the woman’s body broke through the surface. She was unconscious, that much he could see, as he propped her limp body on his shoulder and staggered through the snow to safer ground.

Then, something moved toward his right. He glanced up just in time to see Boris climbing to the surface. The man moved with apparent ease, easing the snow aside. He looked around like he was trying to get his bearings.

His eyes and Lance’s met. Both men held the gaze for a few seconds. Then, the Fae Hunter turned and retreated in the opposite direction. A moment later, he was simply gone, as though he’d never been there.

Lance let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He heard the rush of the river again, and he headed toward it, grateful when it appeared in view. He set the woman down by the edge. She lay unmoving in the snow, her eyes closed.

Was she dead?

No, not dead. Just unconscious. Her chest still heaved slightly with her breaths. Lance knelt by her side, staring at her inert form. The woman was a rather beautiful sight, with flaming red hair and slender eyebrows that twitched even in her torpid state. She had a slim frame and was dressed in a pair of brown trousers and a flimsy blue top that just barely contained her breasts, much less the rest of her torso. A pink pouch rested on her waist.

But it was the woman’s wings that really drew Lance’s attention. They were gossamer wings, a green and silver pattern spread across their gossamer surface. The tips glowed softly in the setting sun.

Lance swallowed. When was the last time he’d seen a fae woman, let alone one so beautiful?

Leave now, said a voice in his head. You’ve done enough.

The woman’s wings twitched feebly underneath her body, and she stirred. Before Lance could move, her eyes fluttered open.

They were coal-black, he observed.

“What…what happened?” she groaned.

Suddenly, her gaze landed on him, and the grogginess in her eyes was quickly replaced with panic.

“No!” she gasped and immediately tried to get up, landing clumsily back in the snow. “Please!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lance assured her, holding up both hands placatingly.

The woman blinked at him for a moment as if assessing the potential threat. Confusion washed over her features. “You…you’re not him.”

“No,” he told her as calmly as he could. “I’m not. That was Boris. He was hunting you.”

“Then you’ve got to help me! Please—he’s going to kill me!”