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Prologue

Her foot was twisted at an unnatural angle and she had a deep cut on her forehead. He prayed it wouldn't scar — she was too beautiful to be scarred like that. She was too wild and adventurous, too perfect for this world she lived in, but she couldn't leave it like this — she couldn't.

‘I'll get you to the cottage,' he told her, ‘I'll look after you. Only please wake up, please wake up. I can't bear it if—'

A bark from behind him, his dog running in mad circles in the snow.

‘I know, I know. We'll get her warmed up. She'll be well in no time. No time at all.'

His heart pounded and his breath came in little puffs of air as he hurried back to the cottages.

He had to believe that all would be well or else . . .

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