Chapter Five

“Yeah, You’re Definitely Thirsty”

They spent the rest of that day putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the avalanche site—and, hopefully, the Fae Hunter called Boris—and spent the night holed up in a small cave Lance had found in the woods. There was no fire—Lance said it would be too risky. Mallory wasn’t about to complain. The cave could have been warmer, but it certainly wasn’t as cold as being outside. She would survive the night.

And she did. But by the time morning came, Mallory had barely gotten any sleep. Bringing her MediPack with her had proved to be the sensible choice after all. She’d spent an hour tending to her cuts and tried to get some rest, but something about being hunted by Evil Santa in a freezing dimension away from the human civilization she was familiar with was unsettling enough to keep her up. She and Lance continued northwest through the woods now, Mallory wishing she’d gotten at least a couple of extra hours of shut-eye. Climbing the mountain was hard work.

“Are you hungry?” Lance asked after they’d walked for about an hour. Before she could respond, he said, “I don’t have any fish, but I can gather us some nuts.”

Her stomach growled in response. “Sounds nice.”

They hadn’t spoken much since yesterday, which Mallory owed in part to the fact that she was still coming to terms with her new situation. She’d given it a lot of thought at first, just not enough. This hadn’t just been a random plane crash. This was huge . If Lance was right about this place, which she believed he was, then, as far as anyone knew, she’d simply vanished. Flight 18 had vanished.

The plane had disappeared from her world, and there was nothing anyone could do about it except wonder and worry. Families and friends of the staff and passengers on that flight must be on the edge of their seats by now, wondering what in the world had happened. Her brothers might wonder where she’d ended up. No, this was even bigger. This was the sort of stuff that ended up on documentaries. A Bermuda-Triangle-type tragedy.

But Mallory had greater things to worry about than what was going on back in her world. She was trapped in this dimension, according to Lance. No way out. This was her life now, Frost Mountain and the dangers that accompanied it. Mallory didn’t know what the life expectancy was on this mountain, but she doubted it was very high. She’d nearly lost her life multiple times already. Unless she stuck with Lance, her odds of survival were slim.

But even as she thought that another problem took root in her mind. Mallory absently rummaged through her MediPack, taking stock of its contents. Lance walked next to her, his strides difficult to match as they advanced through the woods. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance in her direction and kept her gaze ahead.

It had dawned on her earlier that she still didn’t know a single thing about him, except that he was a fisherman and that he wasn’t from her world. Oh, and he had a cabin.

And he wasn’t particularly fond of her. No, not just her. He didn’t like fae. She’d noticed it yesterday. His reluctance to help her hadn’t simply been borne out of concern for himself. He didn’t like her kind. And that was a problem because if he didn’t like her, just how much could Mallory trust him? What were the odds that he wouldn’t simply turn her over to Boris?

Don’t think like that, she chided herself. He’s already helping you. You’d be dead if it weren’t for him.

True, that. If anything, she should be grateful she had him to guide her through these woods. What kind of help had she been expecting, some guy in a lab coat clutching a caduceus? On Frost Mountain, this fisherman might be her best chance of survival. Mallory made a mental note to push back her distrust and replace it with gratitude and hope that he wouldn’t ditch her, especially now that he knew what she was.

If she’d learned anything between yesterday and now, it was that being fae wasn’t great for survival, whether in her world or on this mountain. Nine out of ten times, it could get you killed.

The cold continued to bite at her skin despite the coat. At least it was less damp now, which lowered her chances of catching a cold. Underneath the coat, her wings were wrapped tightly around her torso. It felt right to Mallory to keep them that way, not only because she was too tired to use them but because keeping her wings tucked had always been crucial to her survival. If only she’d looked this way when Boris had first spotted her.

But no, she’d had them spread at her sides. In her defense, she’d opened her wings to keep herself from crashing into the mountain at top speed. Her wings had saved her life and then hurled her back into the face of danger.

Poetic, she told herself with a wry smile.

She heard a gentle trickle just then as she and Lance passed a tree. Mallory suspected there was a stream nearby. Sure enough, after walking for about a minute, they stumbled upon a small body running southeast, which no doubt led to the river they’d crossed yesterday.

“I’m thirsty,” she blurted.

Lance paused, those gray eyes regarding her for a moment. Then he nodded. “We can stop here for a while. Drink, rest, and wash up. I’ll look for some food and make sure we’re not being followed.”

“Okay.”

He continued to stare at her. The look in those eyes was certainly intense; Mallory could feel her heart flutter in her chest. Then she remembered the cold green ones that had bored into hers yesterday, and the flutter grew more rapid.

She knelt in the glistening snow by the stream, dipping her hands into the icy water. She shivered as she drank, but the discomfort she felt was little compared to the gratitude that filled her as she quenched her thirst. She cupped her hands in the water again, preparing to take another gulp, but then froze at the first sign of movement.

To her right, just downstream, Lance had stepped into the water, seemingly unaffected by the temperature. He’d pulled off his shirt, revealing a broad back contoured with muscles. His trousers were still on, thank goodness. Looking at him, Mallory felt her mouth go dry.

Yeah, you’re definitely thirsty, Mallory, said a voice in her head. And not just for water.

Water trickled between her fingers as she continued to watch Lance carefully wash in the stream. Suddenly, he turned to face her, offering her a view of his solid chest. A pair of boulder-sized shoulders supported biceps nearly the size of her head. Mallory’s gaze followed the water trail down his torso, past his abs, to the V-line that sank into his trousers, leaving the rest of his sculpted body to her imagination.

God, sexy didn’t even begin to describe this man.

“Uh…” she muttered dumbly.

Their eyes met, and she quickly cleared her throat, averting her gaze. He’d set his blades and shirt on the shore, just out of reach.

Mallory’s gut clenched. Forcing herself to return her gaze to him, she asked one of the questions that had been on her mind since yesterday.

“So what are you, anyway?”

Lance paused in the stream, frowning at her.

“I mean,” she tried again, swallowing at the sight of him, “you’re clearly a supernatural. Like me. Are you some kind of shifter?”

Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she caught a tiny smirk on his lips. “Polar bear.”

Of course. “A bear who hunts fish,” she said. “Makes sense.”

“I hunt other animals sometimes,” came his reply. “Deer, moose…”

“Fae?”

His expression hardened suddenly, and she dropped her gaze. It landed on his left forearm, where a jagged scar tore across his skin.

“I don’t hunt fae,” he said quietly. “Only Boris does.”

“But you don’t like fae either,” she pointed out. “What’s that about?”

“I never said—”

“Did something happen in the past?” Mallory was aware she was starting to sound like a therapist, but she pressed on. “Maybe you had a—”

“Who I am and what happened in my past are none of your business,” he snapped.

Mallory stared at him, lips parted in shock. “I just—”

“I’ll help you get to my cabin, even though I’m risking everything by doing so. Once we get there, you can stay for a while, and then you’ll have to be on your way.”

He drew nearer, and for a split second, she thought he was going to touch her, but he simply climbed onto shore and strapped his blades to his thigh. Up close, he looked even bigger, even more muscular. He handed her the shirt.

“You need this more than I do,” he said without looking at her. “Wait here. I’ll scout around for a bit and get us something to eat.”

And without waiting for her response, he marched off, disappearing into the trees. The sound of his footsteps crunching in the snow faded, and all that was left was the gentle trickle of the stream. Alone, Mallory’s mind spun into overdrive, analyzing her situation and calculating her odds.

You can stay for a while, and then you’ll have to be on your way.

Could that work? From what Lance had said about the Fae Hunter, he was unlikely to stop searching for her simply because she’d hidden herself. And assuming she would be hidden in Lance’s cabin, what would happen when she left? She would be on the run again—if not from Boris, then from whatever other dangers lurked about on this mountain?

The odds were not in her favor. How was she to survive alone on this mountain? She’d barely survived in her own world, burying herself in her work instead of living an actual life. Taking a break from that had led her here.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’d become an endangered species, she was still pretty sure Lance didn’t like her. She wasn’t sure why. But at least he wasn’t trying to kill her.

Mallory briefly thought about bathing in the stream, then decided against it. If anything, it sounded like a sure way to end up with hypothermia. Not to mention, Lance could be back any second now.

The image of him staring at her bare breasts, her ankles submerged in the water, crossed her mind, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. Before she could discard the thought, it was forcibly yanked from her mind by a crack that reached her ears above the trickle of the stream.

Mallory jerked her head in the direction of the sound. It had come from across the stream as if a twig had snapped, as if something, or perhaps someone, had stepped on it.

Her pulse raced. “Hello?” she called out.

There was no answer. She unzipped her MediPack and withdrew her scissors, clutching them like a dagger, listening carefully for the sound of another twig snapping or snow crunching, anything .

But all she heard was the stream.

A chill traversed her spine. Mallory climbed to her feet, grabbed Lance’s shirt, and swept her gaze through the woods once more, unable to shake the feeling that those familiar cold, green eyes were watching her from the cover of the trees.