“Fuck it,” he growled. She was out of time. He stood back, shifting again, rushing through the transformation out of sheer desperation. When he looked down at her next, he was a wolf, and she was staring at him in shock and awe.
“Mal?” she croaked. “No way. You’re…what?” A slight frown formed as her eyes drifted shut.
Mal growled, ignoring the pain in his chest. His gaze swept her body. Her leg was already damaged—one more bite wouldn’t change that. He bit into her right thigh, whimpering at her cry, at the way she tried to pull away from him, at the taste of her blood in his mouth.
In that instant, his eyes saw through hers. He saw himself—his wolf—biting her leg. Felt the nightmare pain, biting cold, and bone-deep weariness. Flashes of Olivia bombarded him. Memories, sensations, experiences, hopes, and dreams. Saw her brother Chase and knew him. Heard his own voice assuring her, “I’m here.” Felt her response to his kiss. God, she’d ached for him. It crowded in on him, drowning him, until there was a single pinpoint on a blanket of white—Olivia on the snow below him.
He shook his head, nudging her with his nose.
She was breathing steadily, a slight hint of color on her cheeks. He’d infected her, so he knew what was coming. A fever, shakes, nightmare-like delusions—things she’d already been dealing with. Her first change would happen in two days, with the full moon. After that, she’d be able to change at will, if she learned to control her wolf.
His wolf snorted. They had an understanding. Mal might not always agree with his wolf, but he didn’t hold him back, either. The animal had instincts that had never led him astray.
Turning Olivia didn’t make much sense but…it had been necessary. In that moment, there had been no choice. Now he was a pack of two. He had a responsibility to Olivia. And, oddly, that didn’t bother him. But finding safety before the Others found them did.
...
Olivia was walking in the snow. Her toes were blue, no longer capable of feeling the cold. What little clothing she wore was shredded and covered in blood. She was looking for something, desperately. She tried to call out again but couldn’t make a sound.
The bear lay dead, eyes rolled back in its head, mouth hanging open. Odd. It was twitching? The massive torso—shoulders—jerking where it lay.
The head of a white wolf popped up. Red covered its nose, strands of blood and drool connecting the wolf to the carcass it feasted on. Pale eyes speared hers, sharp and mesmerizing and soulless, flooding her with terror and holding her hostage.
Instinct told her to run—to get away from the wolf. But it, the wolf, wouldn’t let her. It leaped atop the bear, peering at her, its tail swishing in agitation. The wolf sniffed the air then tilted his head back and howled.
The air seemed to shiver around her, freeing her from whatever spell held her. She dropped, crumpling into the snow and wrapping her arms around her knees.
The white wolf was circling her, its menacing growl making the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. He would hurt her; she saw it in his eyes. And he, the wolf, was excited—baring his fangs at her when she dared look him in the eye.
It pissed her off.
Rage, an unfamiliar emotion, consumed her, fueled by every hurt or insult she’d ever buried deep inside. Her parents. Her sweet fiancée John. Her sweet boyfriend Mike. Chase, for dragging her all over the place and leaving her at the mercy of that man. The bear, for attacking her. Splinter images of every injustice from elementary school to adulthood filled her with a living, breathing fury.
She could fight this wolf.
“Don’t.” Mal’s voice was at her ear. “Stay calm.”
The white wolf howled again, tempting her to go against Mal’s advice, until her body was wracked by blinding agony. Pain. That was all there was.
“Olivia,” Mal whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t focus on Mal or his words or the wolf or…anything. If she was dying, she’d like it to be over—now. Why did it hurt so much?
“Stop fighting, Olivia. It will be over soon,” he pleaded.
That was good news, but it didn’t stop her from crying, mostly from the pain. But there was a small part of her that understood her life was almost over. She curled in on herself, hoping to find a position that hurt less—if there was one.
“I’m here.” Mal’s voice.
She wasn’t alone. “Mal?” She thought she was screaming. It was a whisper.
“Listen to me.” Rough and deep, rich and soothing. “It’s the infection. What you’re seeing—it’s not real. We’re in a cabin…there’s a hole in the roof. Snow’s coming in.”
She turned toward his voice, calming at the feel of his skin against her cheek and nose. His arms were around her. She could smell him, feel him, but she couldn’t see him. Her eyes were open, she was blinking, but it was pitch black.
“Bear’s dead,” he murmured.
Which was go