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Frankie.
What is she doing?
Over the engine, I hear her grunts. Her labored cries.
“Frankie!” I plow through the snow and slide to a stop behind her, killing the motor.
I know she hears me, but she doesn’t abandon what she’s doing, not for a second, to give me her eyes.
She’s dragging something three times her size. What the hell is it? Looks like a damn bear.
Wait.
No, it can’t be.
“Frankie!” I shout again, dismounting, running, my pulse hammering.
She doesn’t turn, doesn’t flag, her entire body shaking, heaving, pulling a carcass.
Kody.
Denial crashes through me as I reach her, gripping her shoulders, her face, my fingers sliding through cold, wet…
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
It’s everywhere, soaking her coat, her hair, her hands. How much of that gore is hers?
How much of it belongs to my very dead-looking brother?
“What happened?” I take in his pale, mangled body as a sharp pang of terror invades my guts.
Is he dead?
Looks like he lost a fight with a woodchipper.
“Wolf.” Panting, she gestures at something a few feet away and chokes out a sob. “He’s bleeding out. Organs are failing. Needs a transfusion.”
She rattles off a slew of medical terms and jargon that don’t penetrate the roaring in my ears.
Not dead.
Not yet.
“Only one wolf?” My attention snags on the crimson trail in the snow, and I follow it to an unmoving lump of fur.
“So far.”
An interior Alaskan wolf. Massive fucker, by the looks of it. This far south? Must’ve been a rogue. Rejected by the pack. Rare, but it happens.
“Are you injured?” I clutch her chin, searching her blood-slick face with a fresh wave of fear. “Where are you hurt?”
“Just Kody.” Tears quake her voice. “We need to hurry.”
“Can I move him to the sled?” I motion at the platform behind the snow machine, my hands shaking. “Can he make the ride back?”
“He must.” She stares at him, eyes glassy, seemingly in shock. “His body temperature is too low. Do you have blankets?”
“No.” I drop to a knee beside him, heeding the mutilated hole in his thigh. “Hold on, man. Here we go.”
With a steeling inhale, I haul his heavy ass over my shoulder and lumber to the sled. As I lower him, she jumps in on top of his body, spreading herself out like a blanket.
Giving him body heat.
Protecting him.
Something pulls at me, a fizzy sting of electric warmth, amplifying every cell in my body.
I love her.
I fucking love this woman with the whole of my twisted, undeserving heart.
Later. A problem to sort out later.
First, my brother…
She mentioned his low body temperature, so I start to remove my coat to drape over them.
“Don’t you dare!” She buries her face into Kody’s neck and shouts, “Swear to God, Leo, you will get us back without dying of hypothermia!”
Okay. Jesus.
With a parting glance at the dead wolf, I straddle the snow machine and begin the tremulous, two-mile trek to Hoss.
Mindful of every rut and bump in the terrain, I go as fast as possible without hurting my cargo.
Halfway there, she yells, “Faster!”
The urgency in her voice tightens my grip on the handlebars, but I refuse to speed up and risk throwing her off. I’m already bouncing her around at a dangerous clip. I will not lose both of them tonight.
The final mile is hell on my nerves. By the time I approach the stairs to the cabin, I’m close to keeling over from cardiac arrest. And Frankie doesn’t help as she throws herself off the sled before I slow to a safe speed.
In her hurry to the porch, she crashes into Wolf and Denver, whirls back, and grabs Wolf’s arm. “I need saline, gauze, a surgical kit, a 60-mL syringe, needles, sutures, tissue adhesives, antiseptic, towels, and blankets. Did you get all that?”
I leap off the snow machine. How will he remember everything?
“Got it.” He runs inside without questioning her blood-soaked appearance.
“Clear the kitchen table,” she calls after him and turns to Denver. “You’re with me.”
Speechless, Denver follows her, meeting me at the sled.
“Lone wolf attack.” I carefully lift Kody’s bloody legs. “Get his shoulders.”
Denver jumps in, helping me move Kody’s dead weight. “Is the wolf—?”
“Dead.” Frankie applies pressure to the wound while jogging alongside us.
“What are we dealing with?” Denver takes in Kody’s injuries.
“Hemorrhagic shock. Fresh whole blood is the optimal resuscitation fluid to treat it.”
“What are you saying?” He kicks open the door.
“He needs blood.”
“We don’t have—”
“We have four walking blood banks. Do you know his blood type?”
“It’s A negative.”
“You’re sure?” Not even trying to hide her mistrust, she glares at him while running with us through the cabin.
“Yes.” He glares back. “All my boys have the same blood type as me.”
She scoffs. “Transfusions with incompatible blood can lead to severe and potentially fatal reactions. If you’re lying—”
“I have the DNA and blood tests to prove it.”
My throat tightens. He’s always claimed we’re related, but to have the tests to prove it? I don’t have the emotional capacity to process what that means right now.
