Page 24 of A Mountain Man Christmas

Her pulse was rising rapidly—she could feel it pounding against her eardrums. She’d been pursued before, lots of times, attacked by criminals who’d thought it would be funny to blowher to bits or put a few bullet holes in her. But none compared to this. She could smell the wolf’s hunger; it filled the air with a pungent odor, infiltrating her nostrils.

No, it wasn’t hunger. It wasbloodthirst.This was no ordinary wolf. It was larger than any she’d seen in movies or on TV. This was out of control. This was—

Tristan. The thought filled her mind, sweeping aside the panic for a moment. This was exactly what he’d been talking about. His curse.

If she didn’t get away as quickly as she could, she was going to end up as fast food.

She ducked into the nearest building, which was little more than a sagging doorway and two scorched walls. She leaped over the remnants of what looked like it had once been a porch. She darted around a pile of furniture sticking out from a collapsed roof.

She finally came to a stop in the closest thing to shelter: a small shack that had already collapsed but was being held up on one end by a heap of snow. With nothing but the moonlight to see by, she was practically blind, groping in the semi-darkness for anything solid as she rushed into the building, away from the wolf trying to put her on its menu. She darted through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind her, and paused in the darkness, panting.

I should be safe here for a while.

Then again, she realized, wasn’t that want the three little pigs thought?

This big bad wolf didn’t pause to huff or puff. One second, Lyla heard it charging toward her like a bull. The next thing she knew, the door exploded, sending her flying backward. She landed on some wood, staring with wide eyes at the creature’s silhouetted outline in the doorway.

The wolf’s eyes gleamed brighter. A growl filled the small building.

“Tristan…” Lyla said, a tremor in her voice. “Tristan, it’s me. It’s Lyla. Can you hear me?”

The creature snarled, which told her all she needed to know. Trying to talk to it wasn’t going to work. This wolf had a single mission: to kill. She was simply its next target.

Defiance surged in Lyla’s chest. She wasnotgoing to die. Not today. She withdrew Tristan’s blade from under her coat just as the wolf drew closer and struck blindly with it. The blade slashed through the air, and there was a yelp as it connected with something.

Yes!

Lyla kept the blade in front of her, daring her attacker to come any closer. The wolf let out another growl. Then it turned and bounded off into the night.

For the next few seconds, she remained where she was, the building silent except for her ragged breathing. Lyla slowly lowered her blade. It hadn’t even occurred to her how badly her hands were trembling.

“That,” she breathed with a shudder, “was a really close one.”

But it wasn’t over. The wolf was still in the village. Fury sparked in her chest. For now, she would wait. She would remain here, in this building, until morning came.

And then, she would have a word with Tristan Harrison.

***

Tristan wasn’t at all surprised to find Lyla leaning over him with a blade pressed to his throat. Still, there were better ways to be woken up.

“Good morning,” he said the second his eyes fluttered open.

Lyla did not share his amusement.

“You bastard,” she spat. “You tried to fucking kill me.”

At her statement, his mind jumped to alertness. He blinked at her. What was she talking about? “You’re the one about to slit my throat with my own weapon. Did you get any sleep? You don’t look…yourself.”

Her eyes flashed, but as visible as her anger was, it couldn’t hide her exhaustion. Dark shadows circled her eyes, and there was some snow in her hair. She was straddling him, her buttocks resting deliciously against his thighs. It didn’t help that he’d awakened with a tent in his trousers. Her hips shifted slightly every few seconds or so, filling him with sensations that almost distracted him from the gravity of his situation. If she didn’t look like she would murder him, he might even have been tempted to act on the thoughts their position elicited.

He decided to choose his next words carefully.

“Were you outside last night?”

“Yes, and I would have made it back if you hadn’t tried to rip me apart.” She pressed the blade harder against his throat. “That curse of yours—it happened again, didn’t it? Don’t play dumb with me, Tristan. I know what happened.”

Irritation flickered in his chest. Not only was this woman threatening to kill him with his own weapon, but she’d also just accused him of trying to kill her—and, by extension, accused him of murdering Angus’s sons. He acted without really thinking: in one swift motion, he flipped them both so that she lay underneath him. Before she could react, he knocked the blade out of her hand, glowering down at her.

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