Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Why not just tie a rope around me?”
“Because if I fall, I’ll take you with me.”
“Then I’ll tell you the same thing. You will not fall.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My heart races with a flux of adrenaline and deep affection. “Lead the way.”
He flashes his teeth in a grim smile and takes my hand.
And down we go.
I trust in his strength, his skills, and above all, in the love that leads us into the gorge. As long as he’s with me, I believe in our survival.
Slowly, carefully, I match my footholds with his, trying my best not to be a burden. Ahead of me, he moves with a confidence that negates his fears, his silhouette gliding along the cliff face as if resistant to the pull of gravity.
There are dangers hidden everywhere in the beauty of this frozen hell—crevasses that yawn open like the maws of giants, ready to swallow us whole, and thin ice that threatens to crack beneath our weight, plunging us into the icy depths below.
Every step is a gamble, each breath a defiance against the frozen air. Yet I find a perverse thrill in this dance with death. To be here, with the man whose hand I hold in mine, is to be alive in a way that the safety of civilization could never offer.
His gaze is everywhere, all at once—on our feet, the cliff, the river below. Every time I slip or lose my balance, his mouth forms a lipless slash, hoisting up an expression stark with terror.
“I love you.” I squeeze his hand.
He scowls, apparently not in the mood for my assurances.
The wind howls like a banshee, whipping snow at our goggles, trying to blind us and sweep us off the narrow path. But he leads on, unerringly finding the best places to step, his hand a constant support for my fumbling, ungraceful descent.
By the time we reach the bottom, my legs have lost all strength. I collapse on my rear, laughing at myself.
He kneels at my side and shoves up his foggy goggles, scanning me from head to toe, looking bewildered.
“Go ahead and say it.” I remove my goggles, too. “Tell me I have spaghetti legs.”
A pinch of amusement dimples the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t fall to your death.”
“Neither did you.”
“I’d sell my soul for spaghetti right now.”
“With spicy tomato sauce.”
“And huge, juicy meatballs.”
“Mmm.” My mouth waters. “Too bad we’re never selling our souls again. Not even for spaghetti.”
“Indeed.” Kissing my icy lips, he pulls the pack off my back and removes his own. “Let’s take a quick lunch break.”
My pack carries the medical supplies and half of our food. His holds the rest, including the heavy stuff, like the weapons, ammo, and tools to repair the snow machine.
The busted hunk of metal lies half a mile upriver. If we’re lucky, he’ll have it running within an hour or two, and we’ll be on our way back to Kody.
Rocky walls rise into the darkness on both sides, forming a river gorge, trapping us in. The deep current rushes by, carrying chunks of ice and little else.
No sign of Wolf. No tracks in the snow.
For a moment, I let myself believe he made it to the hunting cabin, and he’s there now, eating the pemmican. I would give all the food in the world to have him back.
“The worst part of the trek is over, right?” I accept my portion of cured meat, shoving it into my mouth.
“Right.” He squints at the pitch-black sky.
I follow his gaze. “What?”
“No stars.” He stands abruptly, swinging on his pack. “The wind is picking up.”
As if to punctuate his point, strands of hair escape his hat and lash his harsh jawline.
He lowers his goggles and meets my gaze. “We need to hurry.”
“A storm?” I can’t see anything in the drench of darkness overhead.
I guess that’s Leo’s point.
The stars, visible the last time I looked up, are now completely obscured. Whatever is coming must be moving fast. As if we need another adversary threatening to turn our journey into a fight for survival.
“Could just be heavy cloud cover.” He holds up a hand, watching a fresh gust of sleet coat his glove. “Or not.”
My nerves go to hell as he helps me into my backpack.
Then we’re off, each step along the icy river a battle against the spitting wind. He doesn’t make it far before stopping at an opening in the cliff wall.
A cave.
“We use this as a landmark to find the trail to the top.” He crouches, gesturing for me to join him.
I do, wiping snowflakes from my goggles.
Curiously, his hand runs over the rock face in a strange sort of veneration.
Aren’t we in a hurry?
Then I see it.
A butterfly engraved upon the wall at the cave’s mouth.
“Wolf carved this.” Expression drawn, he traces the outline of wings spread wide, each one spanning the length of his hand.