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“Do you need an attorney?” The voice at my ear makes me jump.
“What?” I spin, bumping into Wolfson.
“One glimpse of him chopping wood, and boom. You’re ready to sign divorce papers.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you hungry? For a lumbersnack?” His tone is playful, the smile strong on his face.
So why do I sense disapproval? I lower my eyes and notice his hands balled into fists at his sides.
I back up.
“What’s wrong?” He stays with me. “You look defensive.”
“I’m not.”
I mean it. The pregnancy notwithstanding, I have a healthy marriage. I can appreciate beautiful men, and Monty can ogle beautiful women. Who cares? We don’t cheat, and we’re too confident to be jealous.
Except Kodiak isn’t just a gorgeous man. He’s one of the men keeping me from my husband.
I shouldn’t have gawked at him, but my hackles still bristle. “I’m married. Not dead.”
Not yet.
“Hey.” Wolfson holds up his hands. “Not complaining. You look at me the same way.”
Denial leaps across my tongue, but I swallow it. He’s right. Besides, arguing will get me nowhere. It sure as hell won’t get me home.
“You were going to show me something.” I cross my arms.
“Yep.” From the ground, he lifts a basket of coal. “Just had to grab these.”
My gaze follows his to the workshop, and I find Leonid standing in the doorway, watching me.
Stay away from my brothers.
He couldn’t roar his warning louder if he used his voice.
Standing beside the dismantled snow machine, he wipes his hands on a rag. Grease covers his face and shirt, his hair falling loose from the Viking braids tied at the back of his head.
His bicolored eyes give me a hostile, full-body perusal. More like a death glare that blackens every corner of my soul. Then, as if suddenly bored, he bends over the mechanical innards of the sled and resumes his work.
Behind me, the chopping sound of the ax echoes through the valley.
I’m fucking winded. Just from eye contact.
Can’t say I’ve ever been stared down by an apex predator, let alone two at once.
Kodiak and Leonid are easily the most Alaskan men that modern-day Alaska can make. I bet they’ve killed more beasts in these hills than all the wolves combined.
Wolfson seems the least homicidal, especially in his bathrobe and crown of thorns, but he’s not mentally stable. I watched him aim a gun at his own brother. He did it in my defense, but how often will he switch sides?
I can’t let my guard down.
Two deep breaths, and my shoulders loosen. My spine straightens, and I’m back in business. “Where are we headed?”
The air changes, and the hairs on my nape shiver.
My senses are so attuned to the man who snatched me from my home that I’m aware of him instantly.
Slowly, I turn my neck toward the meat sheds that border the perimeter.
Denver steps out from between the buildings, clutching a long, bloody knife. More blood covers his waders and drips from his fingers.
His mannerisms, his expression, the way he holds himself—there’s something horribly dark inside him, something that broadcasts vile intentions.
And his smirk, the one he wears now, makes everything inside me shrink in terror.
With a glance at Wolfson, he adjusts his grip on the knife and ducks inside the smokehouse.
I release a thready breath.
“This way.” Wolfson pivots and ambles back to the cabin.
I jog to keep up with his long-legged strides, watching his calm expression, waiting for it to slip.
It doesn’t.
“What was that?” I whisper. “It’s not normal. None of this is normal.”
He side-eyes me. “Is this freak-out different from the others you’ve been projectile vomiting for three weeks?”
“Yes. No.” I haven’t vomited once. “Do you see the way your brothers look at me? Why do they hate me so much?”
“They’re fucking troglodytes. They hate everyone. You’ll get used to it.”
“They’re going to hurt me, Wolfson.”
“Doubt it.” He stops at a small log building and opens the door. “They’ll just go right to killing you. We’re here.”
He steps inside, missing the scowl I shoot at his back.
“Why do you say shit like that?” I ask.
“Why do you complain so much? Oh, wait. I know this one. You were kidnapped and your husband’s a giant cockhole and you just want to go home, blah, blah, blah, broken record.” He fades into the unlit interior of the building. “You coming?”
No. Fuck, no. Entering a dark shed with an unfeeling nutjob reaches a whole new level of too-stupid-to-live.
I grip the doorframe, scanning the perimeter for something, anything that will derail this crazy train.
The smaller log building sits beside the cabin. A few long strides would get me up the stairs, across the porch, and behind the safety of the front door.
But nowhere is safe. I know this.
As I drag a hand through my hair, something flickers out of the corner of my eye. I whirl toward it, catching a wolf-size blur of movement before it disappears behind the building.
