Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

MORGAN

I pull the hood of my parka close and wonder if I should just give up. It's freezing, the snowstorm is relentless, and unless I start moving, my fingers and toes might fall off. I shouldn't have come here tonight, on Christmas Eve of all times, but I think I've finally found what I've been searching for.

My snow boots crunch in the thick layer of snow, plunging straight through a drift. I stumble and just manage to catch myself on a frosty tree trunk. The movement dislodges a load of fresh, powdery snow from the branches, and it falls right on top of me, dusting my knit hat and shoulders in white.

This is dangerous .

The voice of reason in my head sounds shriller by the minute, and I'll have to give in soon, I know it. When I traced the strange sightings of a giant winged creature to the old watchtower at Blarney Hill above the sleepy little town of Clearwater, Maine, I never thought I'd be stalking the place in such shitty weather. My friend, Arielle, was the one who told me the local legend about the watchtower being haunted, and I knew I had to check it out. I'm this close to making my big discovery, and I don't want the creature to move on if this isn't its permanent residence.

Besides, I'm sure the chance of getting some nice shots is higher tonight than in good weather—no one in their right mind would venture out in this cold. So if the creature really is living in this decrepit old building, they're home now. I just have to get close enough to the tower to see through all this snow, preferably before it gets completely dark. Lighting my flashlight would be a dead giveaway, and I'd rather not alert them to my presence before I'm ready.

My phone chimes. I take it from my pocket and tug my glove off with my teeth. It's another text from Arielle, telling me that she's still with her hookup from the app for monster dating. I'm glad she's checking in to tell me she's safe, but my battery is dying—probably the cold leaching its life faster than usual—so I just type back a thumbs-up and tuck my phone away.

I'm nowhere near ready to start dating again. What I need to do is focus on my career, not waste time on men, whether it's humans or monsters.

I really should turn back.

The visibility is getting worse by the minute, and when I look back at my tracks, a jolt of worry goes through me at the thought that they might get covered in a fresh layer of snow. The farther I get from the road, the bigger the chance that I'll get lost. It would be the height of stupidity to die of exposure just two miles from the town because I was too stubborn to give up on a potentially huge discovery.

The truth is, I'd imagined myself in a different place by now. I'd finished my degree in conservation biology and scored a place on a national project for bat conservation along with my handsome fiancé—and I thought life couldn't get any better. We had a five-year plan to get married and have two kids before I turned thirty because we both wanted to be young parents.

Turns out, Andy's five-year plan also included banging some woman he met at the gym, which he failed to inform me about. When I confronted him, it wasn't just my love life that fell apart—he was the senior scientist on the project, so they kept him on while I was left scrambling to find a new job at a time when all the funding for the year had already been distributed and no one was taking on new personnel.

I'd spent a miserable two weeks on my parents' couch in Richmond, sending my résumé to anyone even remotely connected with my field, and eating my weight in Mom's pierogi. Finally, I found a job at an ecological agricultural company in Clearwater, one where I could work in my field, even if it wasn't as exciting as bat conservation.

It's been…a challenge. My mental health hasn't been that great, and I've been trying to dig myself out of my rut, both by hanging out with Arielle and by researching this supposedly supernatural creature haunting the old tower.

That doesn't mean I should pick death by snow voluntarily. If I don't make it out of here soon, I won't get a chance to get better. I glare at the dark shape of the tower through the trees. I've been staring at it from as close as I dared, waiting for movement, for any indication that it was occupied, but nothing happened. Now it's too late, so I stomp my foot angrily, then turn one hundred and eighty degrees and start making my way back.

I was right about my footsteps being obscured. If I'd waited any longer, they would have been gone completely, and in the quickly falling twilight, I never would have found my car. As it is, I have to squint in the dimming light that's hell on my eyes—not helped by the fact that my glasses are dotted with melted snowflakes and fogged up from my choppy breaths.

In my hurry to return to safety, I forget about the snowdrift I'd encountered before. I plow straight on, and the ground disappears from underneath me. My boot sinks through, I face-plant into a thick snowy pillow, and bright, stabbing pain shoots through my leg.

My mouth is full of snow. I get my hands underneath me and try to push up, but my leg hurts too badly. I whimper and slowly roll to the side. I swipe my gloved hands over my face, then take off my glasses and shake off most of the snow. It doesn't help much, but it's something I can do. Then I grit my teeth and gingerly pull my leg out of the snowdrift.

There are branches underneath the snow—I feel them brushing up against my snow pants. I don't want to tug too fast—if I cut myself on top of whatever injury I've already sustained, it'll be that much worse for me. So I shift back slowly, careful not to sink back through the drift. I inch my leg out and move my ass toward the nearest tree, assuming the ground will be more firm there, with less snow layered under the branches.

It hurts. A lot. The pain, which radiated so suddenly through my leg, is now centered in my ankle, a throbbing sting that tells me it's at least badly sprained if not broken. I'm no doctor, but even I know this is bad. I was already pushing my luck with staying out here for so long, but now? I'll freeze to death before anyone finds me.

My foot finally slips free of the hole, and I whimper as I bump my boot on a hidden branch. Yep, the ankle is fucked all right. Gritting my teeth, I scoot farther back so I can rest against the tree trunk, then pull my gloves off and reach for my phone.

I have only twenty percent of the battery left, but the little yellow bar has me exhaling with relief—it's enough to call 911 and let the emergency team know where I am.

But when I hold my phone up to my ear, all I get is a busy signal. I try again, and again, but the call won't go through.

I face the gray sky, watching the millions of large snowflakes drifting down. The storm must have knocked down the towers or else everyone is calling the emergency services, because this kind of weather makes for more accidents.

The realization of just how screwed I am settles in slowly. I put my phone away and tug on my gloves. Then I zip up my parka to my chin and put on the hood that fell off while I was rolling around on the ground. I know I need to keep my body warmth—and get to shelter, fast.

Now it's time to make the hard decisions, but the pulsing pain in my ankle makes that so much harder. It fuels my body with adrenaline, along with a shot of panic, because I know I might actually die if I make the wrong choice. Not the best mindset to be making life-altering decisions, but it's all I've got, so I take several deep breaths through my nose and try to calm myself.

My car is about three quarters of a mile away. I parked on one of the service roads that cut through the forest, hiked along it for maybe half a mile, then cut through the forest toward the tower. I didn't want to alert the tower's occupants to my presence, so I couldn't risk bringing my car too close.

The walk was pleasant enough while it was still light out and I had the use of both of my legs, but in the falling twilight and with a bum ankle, it would take at least twice as long. Not to mention the fact that my footsteps from earlier are disappearing fast, and even though I have a map and compass in my backpack, that won't do me much good. It's so easy to get turned around in the dark.

That reminds me…

I take my backpack off and root through it for my flashlight. I changed the batteries yesterday, when I was preparing for this trip and putting together an emergency kit, but I don't switch it on yet. As long as I have at least some visibility, I should save it.

Instead, I shoot off a message to Arielle, telling her I'm stuck—but as expected, the app lets me know within seconds that it hasn't been sent.

An overwhelming sense of solitude almost crushes me. I'm all alone here, and no one knows exactly where I am. I told Arielle I was researching this tower, and I let my neighbor, Mrs. Rowell, know I was going hiking, but she won't even know I'm missing until she wakes up in the morning and realizes I haven't checked in with her. Now that I've watched the ruin for an hour, I'm thinking all the sightings of supernatural creatures were just the result of people's overactive imagination and scary stories told to misbehaving kids.

But I could still shelter inside.

It's old and decrepit looking, for sure, but it's a stone building that's stood here for centuries, so I suppose it has weathered more than one such storm in its lifetime. If I could get inside, I'd be out of the snow, and if I'm lucky, I might find enough dry kindling to make a fire.

I squint through the snow at the looming dark shape. It's not far—but with my leg, the distance still won't be an easy one to cross.

I stuff my flashlight in my backpack. The faster I get moving, the better. I don't want to get too chilled, or the cold will start affecting my decision-making.

Gritting my teeth, I put all my weight on my good leg and hold on to the tree trunk to get upright. It hurts like hell, and I'm not even putting any weight on my busted ankle. It's as if gravity is enough to make it hurt worse, throbbing in time with my quickened heartbeat.

"Crap."

I hop on one foot, still holding on to the tree. The pain spikes, almost unbearable. I should wrap the ankle or something, but the thought of sitting again and pulling off my boot in this cold fills me with dread. Suddenly, I'm sure that I only have one chance at getting to safety, so I can't squander it.

The next tree is only a couple of feet away. I can do this.

I hobble forward until I'm only touching the first tree trunk with my fingertips, then let go and pitch myself toward the next one. I barely catch myself, my gloved hands scrabbling on the icy tree bark, but I manage to keep upright.

The pain is a constant ache now, and I know I might not have the will to get up again if I fall. So I repeat the process, zigzagging this way and that, wobbling from tree to tree.

After several such passes, I'm sweating under my winter clothes, my breaths sawing painfully in and out of my lungs. Every inhale burns my throat. But I'm making progress, and I mustn't let the pain get me down.

Then I glance back to see how far I've come, and the hope dies in my chest. The first tree, the one by the snowdrift, is barely thirty feet away. I've spent all this energy, endured all this pain, and only traveled this far?

I search for the abandoned tower again. It's not far, but in these conditions, it might as well be miles away. Have I made a mistake by choosing to go in this direction?

I waver on my feet, so close to giving in to the urge that's telling me to sink to the ground, to roll up and rest, if only for a minute. A rational part of my brain is screaming at me, telling me why that would be a terrible idea, but I just hurt so much.

A shape moves somewhere above me. It's only a flicker I catch in the corner of my eye, but it sends a jolt of awareness through me. I turn instinctively, and the pain blooms again, brighter than before. My leg goes out from under me, and I tumble to the ground, my gloved hands sinking into the snow.

"Ah!"

I yelp, then press my lips together, trying to keep quiet. It might have just been a bird, but I did come into these woods to research the haunting of the Blarney Hill tower, so I need to be careful just in case.

Tears leak from my stinging eyes as I try to scramble upward again. I could just yell for help—not that I think anyone else is dumb enough to be out here in this weather. But it's either that or freeze to death, and I'm not about to go down without a fight. Mrs. Rowell might try to call the rescue for me, but if the phones are down for the entire town, she won't be able to get anyone on the line. And besides, I don't think the emergency services would be able to spare as many people as it would take to do a proper search of the forest.

By the time they made it here, I'd be frozen solid for sure. Or mauled by some hungry forest animal.

The thought of being found by search dogs is what spurs me onward. I crawl a couple of feet, but this is even worse than hopping because my ankle drags along the ground, bumping painfully. I make it to another tree and grip its cold trunk to heave myself to my feet again when a dull whump interrupts the silence.

My heart stops for a moment, then skitters in a faster beat, all my senses on high alert. On instinct, I press myself closer to the tree, not that the young maple would be able to hide me.

Then I look up, just in time to see a massive shape hurtle from the sky, straight between the tree trunks. A heavy weight slams onto the ground twenty feet from me.

The creature crouches low, then unfurls to its full height, its wings fanning out.

"Hello," it says. "Do you need help?"