Chapter One

Present Day

Deputy Paul Brighton gripped the steering wheel of his patrol car. Christ , his hands were still shaking. He turned on the wipers as snow flew at the windshield, creating a field of whirling white. He squinted, barely able to see the road in front of him. "Just what I need," he muttered, trying to slow his racing heart. He'd never seen a crime scene like that, though there'd been a similar one in town just the week before. What kind of psycho went around committing murders with a bow and arrows? He'd heard about the first one—all the gory details, as a matter of fact—but the sheriff had answered that call, and now Deputy Brighton knew that hearing about something and seeing it up close and personal were two very different experiences. The picture of the victim from the scene he'd just left appeared in his mind, and he grimaced. The victim had been— fuck— he'd been nailed to the wall by an arrow, for Christ's sake, his blood spreading across the floor like—

Deputy Brighton slammed on his brakes and turned sharply as a man, larger than life, rose up out of nowhere, looming in front of his windshield. His tires slid on the icy ground, and for a moment he thought he'd lose control of the vehicle. But he managed to hold on, correcting his slide, and the SUV skidded to a shuddery halt on the side of the road. Deputy Brighton's breath came sharply. Who the fuck was that? He'd looked like a goddamned… caveman. He shook his head to attempt to set things straight in his brain.

He quickly opened the door, the ding ringing out into the silent, snowy landscape, the only other sound the low hum of the engine. Deputy Brighton took cover on the side of the vehicle, removing his gun from the holster for the first time in his career.

"Show your hands!" he called into the frigid onslaught, using his forearm to shield his eyes as he looked cautiously over the hood. He saw the man's shape first—huge, muscular. "Show your hands!" he said again, his voice wavering.

The man stepped forward, his hands raised, details coming into focus. His legs were clad in denim, but the rest of him was covered entirely in…animal fur from his boots to his jacket to the hat on his head, pulled low so his eyes were partially covered. Who the hell is he? What the hell is he? "Get down on your knees!" he yelled.

The man paused as though considering but then did as he was told, his hands still raised. Deputy Brighton saw that his eyes had narrowed. Snow clung to his dark-bearded jaw, and thick, unruly hair grazed his chin. The man watched him, waiting, his gaze moving between the gun and his face. He's a savage. The thought ran through Deputy Brighton's mind, the gun shaking in his grip as he stepped from the cover of the car. When he moved forward, he noticed the final detail about the man.

He had a bow and arrows slung over his shoulder.