Page 12 of A Mountain Man Christmas

Over the centuries, the curse had traveled down the Harrison bloodline, manifesting randomly in Anton’s descendants. Often, it was the eldest son or the youngest daughter who suddenly went on a rampage and slew dozens. For decades, the curse had been accompanied by great trepidation rising from the uncertainty as to who would bear it. It wasn’t until his great-grandfather, Elias Harrison, had sought the aid of a healer that the panic died down. Through the help of the healer, the curse was managed and kept from rearing its head in Elias and his descendants.

And then the curse ended.

There was no other way to put it. It had simply stopped manifesting. No more strange wolf attacks. No healers were needed, either. By the time Tristan was born, the curse had been little more than a story to be passed down for generations.

But now it was back. Or so it seemed.

But something didn’t quite make sense. If the curse were to manifest in him, it would have done so decades ago, not now.

“You never did tell me your story.” Lyla’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“What?”

He heard the sound of teeth ripping flesh. As she chewed, she said, “What exactly is your deal? You were running when I first saw you. It looked like you had an entire army of demons in pursuit.”

He hesitated. Should he tell her his problem? For all he knew, she would conclude that he was guilty and try to take him back to Angus for whatever reward the village chief was offering for his capture. What had she called herself again? A bounty hunter. She was just as much of a threat to him as Angus and his men. Worse, this hunter already had her prey in her clutches.

He resolved that he would not go willingly. Some prey, when cornered, put up a fight so deadly that predators and hunters had to flee for their own safety. He was certainly in a corner, even if his hunter had no sense of direction on this mountain.

“I’m headed down the mountain to see Ariadne,” he said. “If I move quickly enough, I should be at her cabin by Christmas.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He ground his teeth some more.

“Angus’s men are after me,” he replied after another minute of deliberation. “They’ve been hunting me for the past few days, ever since I took off from Elron.”

She took another bite out of her food, chewing slowly, carefully. “Your village.”

“Yes.” She caught on quickly; he had to give her that. As much as he would like to entertain the idea of knocking her unconscious and taking off the first chance he got, he couldn’t deny her intelligence, even though she was a human. This woman was already familiar with the supernatural. By now, she must have somehow figured out what he was. She didn’t seem fazed to learn about the magic that made up Frost Mountain, which meant she must have figured some of it out on her own earlier.

He heard the sound of clothes rustling as she turned toward him. Her thigh brushed against his, and he felt an instant stirring in his groin. Tristan cursed under his breath, trying to fix his mind on something else—anything but the fact that she was pressed against him. He sucked in a deep breath and, to his disappointment—and much worse, excitement—caught a whiff of a faint, sweet scent. Hers, undoubtedly. Despite the cold and the fact that she’d been traveling for days, the scent that greeted his nostrils was nothing short of welcoming.

Either that, or he was losing his damned mind.

“So…what really happened?” she wanted to know. “Why is this Angus person after you?”

“Angus is the chief of my village,” he told her. “And a few nights ago, someone murdered both his sons.”

“Oh.” An awkward silence descended between them. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Neither did I. I was drunk the night it happened, wandering through the village.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was not even bothering anyone. I remember…” He bit his lip. “I remember nearly walking into both Benedict and Midas. I remember arguing with them. And then I went on my way, just a drunk, tired man looking to get some rest in his cabin. But I never made it home. I…I passed out,” he admitted half-sheepishly.

“Let me guess,” Lyla said. “You woke up covered in their blood?”

“No. I woke up to screams and dragged myself to the source to see what was happening.ThenI saw the corpses. It didn’t take long for people to start pointing fingers. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took off.”

She scoffed, and he felt a twinge of irritation.

“I’m not a murderer,” he said through clenched teeth. He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince himself or her, but he refused to believe that he would have laid a finger on Angus’s sons. “It wasn’t me who killed Benedict and Midas.”

“If you’re innocent, why did you run?” she shot at him.

The irritation bubbling in his chest expanded into anger. He sat up, then remembered that their wrists were still bound together.

“I ran—” he spat out each word “—because I was already a suspect. No one would have believed I didn’t kill those young men. I’m not the only one who knows the history of my family’scurse. Taking off didn’t won’t make me less guilty to the villagers than if I would have stayed.”

Lyla scoffed again but said nothing.

---