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While keeping vigilance over my shoulder, I explore the charred stone walls within, searching for a box, a trinket, anything that may be hidden inside.
Layers of soot and ash cover the floor, blanketing burnt logs and…
No. That isn’t wood.
I lean in, stretching out an arm to touch the strange protruding object. It looks too smooth and white to be natural rock.
The instant my fingers connect with the hard surface, I yank my hand back.
Bone.
Okay. Jesus. Okay, okay, okay. Deep breath. Don’t freak out.
I’ve handled enough cadavers over the years to identify this. It’s probably animal bone. That’s all. Also thanks to my job, I’m not squeamish. Blood, gore, dismembered limbs, nothing fazes me anymore.
So why am I shaking?
I check my surroundings and free the revolver. Holding it in one hand, I dig with the other.
The first bone I remove looks like the hindlimb of a large mammal. A femur. Next, I uncover a partial rib cage.
Despite the thousand-pound weight on my chest, I’m still in denial about what I’m exhuming.
It’s just an animal. Just an animal. Just an animal.
Then I find a skull.
It’s scorched by fire and crushed into several pieces, but the jawbone is unmistakable.
I’m holding a human head.
Icy fingers trail up my spine, and a scream jumps to my throat, sticking there, strangled with my breath.
This isn’t a fireplace. It’s a goddamn crematory.
Shaken to my marrow, I gently set the broken skull on the hearth and stare at it. Numb. Overwhelmed. Fucking horrified.
I don’t know what to do. If I keep digging, will I find more? How many? Do I even want to know?
The hairs on my nape spike with attention. My shoulder blades twitch uncontrollably, and all my senses narrow on my exposed back.
Oh, God. There’s something behind me.
My breath dies, and I go completely still, except my finger, which trembles against the trigger of the gun.
Slowly, I turn my neck.
Kodiak stands inches away, armed to the teeth and formidably mountainous, leaning over me, blocking out the damn sun.
My heart pounds as I twist and fall back against the hearth, staring up into his wolfish eyes.
A thousand warnings blare in my head. I would’ve preferred to find any other wolf than this one behind me.
Now he knows I discovered human remains. I dug up their secrets. Exposed their gruesome truth.
What is he going to do to me?
Sweet Jesus, I’m so afraid to fill my lungs, terrified my next breath will be my last.
His dark, stormy features harden into what one would expect of a heartless killer. Not a glimpse of mercy rests in the set of his mouth. His expression is so severe it’s as if his depraved crimes have chiseled away any softness that might have once been there.
We stare at each other for breathless moments. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s working. But I refuse to react, even with the weight of the revolver in my hand.
I could point it and shoot. He’s so close I might even hit a vital organ. But he’s holding that crossbow just as close, and there’s no question who would shoot faster.
“Step back.” I set the gun aside, watching him clock my hand.
With the brush of his arm, he callously sweeps the skull into the fireplace. Then he lowers onto the hearth beside me, adjusting the quiver of arrows on his back and reclining against the chimney.
“Who—?” My voice cracks with a torrent of emotion. “Who did you just nonchalantly sweep into the fireplace like a pile of trash?”
“Just old bones.” He flicks dust off his black pants, his expression darkly vacant.
“Whose bones?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.” Cold. He’s so unnaturally, shockingly cold.
“Why are they gone? What happened?”
“This place…” His gaze drifts over the empty hills, his tone deep and resonant, like hollow notes striking the walls of a tomb. “This place wants to kill you.”
“This place? Or you?”
His lips flatten into a hard line, his jaw clicking.
“I’ve been here for weeks, and the only time you’ve spoken to me is when you aimed your crossbow at my chest. Did you want to kill me that day?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
He contemplates that, his dusky lashes lowered in thought. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I can tell he intends to say more, but there’s no urgency in the way he speaks. Unlike Wolf and Leonid, Kodiak has a filter. He takes his time choosing each word, seemingly comfortable with long pauses.
I blatantly study him while I wait. The golden tan of his complexion. The short black beard that makes him look both distinguished and rugged. The sculpted lips that form deep rumbling sounds when he talks while trapping the words he won’t say.
Secrets pulse behind those black eyes. He’s too beautiful to be a killer, but I’m not fooled. I saw it in his gaze when I lay bloody and broken beneath the snow machine. And I see it now. He wants to end my life, and he won’t lose sleep over it if he does.
