Page 24 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

Let’s see how they deal with the other apex predators.

I hike the perimeter and scatter the bait. Thick handfuls of kibble tossed near the tree line, under the cabin, across the far edge of the ridge. I dig into the pack and coat a few pieces of jerky with the scent of blood, smearing it against the base of a tree just inside the fence.

The predators out here aren’t picky.

Wolves. Coyotes. If we’re lucky, a mountain lion or two. I’ve seen what a mother wolf does when she’s hungry enough. I double-check the snares I laid last season, tightening where I need to, camouflaging the lines.

By the time I circle back to the side of the cabin, the sun’s dipped below the horizon. I climb into the loft window I left cracked open and check my traps inside too—no signs of forced entry beyond the ones I left. Still, I sweep every room. Every shadow. Every inch of floorboard.

Only when I’m sure it’s clear do I take a long breath and crouch beside the photo Abby left on the nightstand—me and Nick taken the last day we ever stood side by side.

My hand clenches around the edge of the nightstand. Whoever gave the kill order made a mistake. They should’ve buried me with my team because I’m done hiding. Now, they’ll be the ones who are hunted.

7

ABBY

I’m beginning to think Misty Mountain is full of hidden bunkers and reinforced rooms disguised as rustic charm.

The Hollow Tree Inn doesn’t look like what I thought it would in a tiny mountain town. I expected to find it worn and a bit dilapidated. Instead, I discover a solid building with pristine clapboard siding, a wonderfully rustic porch, and a wooden sign that creaks in the breeze.

The second I step inside, I know it’s something special. It smells like cinnamon, sage, vanilla and fresh coffee. The kind of scent that makes you feel like you just might not die today.

Ella Franklin appears behind the counter like she’s been waiting for me. Tall, slender, with long dark hair and soft brown eyes. She’s soft-spoken, and dressed in a thick oatmeal sweater that looks handmade. She offers me a gentle smile and a steaming mug before I can even drop my bag.

“Hank called ahead,” she says as I wrap my hands around the drink. “Said to make you comfortable but keep you out of sight. Don’t worry—we’re used to strange requests from that one.”

“That one?” I ask, sipping.

“Travis.” She arches one eyebrow. “You know. Big. Broody. Growls instead of speaking? I once watched him carry a refrigerator up the front stairs with one hand because the delivery guys didn’t tie it down properly.”

I cough into my mug. “Sounds about right.”

She gestures toward the hallway. “I’ve got a room in the back. Reinforced, insulated, and nowhere near the street. Looks like any other guest room unless you know what to look for. Travis’s orders.”

Of course. Because heaven forbid I be trusted to breathe in the general vicinity of windows without some ex-military safe house protocol in place.

I follow her down a cozy corridor lined with black-and-white photos of the town—festivals, old cars, people smiling like they’ve never seen a sniper scope in their lives. The room at the end of the hall opens into something I didn’t expect.

Warm wood floors. A thick comforter in pale blue and cream. A window, yes, but with a steel-reinforced shutter that slides down at the press of a button beside the bed. There’s even a shelf with books. Mystery, romance, a couple of dog-eared thrillers I recognize from my own shelves at home.

“Clara brought those over,” Ella says, setting the mug on the side table. “Said you looked like the type who needed good words and warm carbs.”

My chest tightens. Clara. I’ll have to remember to do something really nice for her.

“I’ll have a plate sent in soon. Don’t argue—you’ve got that same exhausted, defiant look Travis had the first few weeks he came back. You need food, rest, and a little space to think.”

I nod, too grateful and overwhelmed to speak.

Ella touches my shoulder gently. “You’re safe here. We’ve got your back. You need anything, call down. We keep the frontlocked at night, and Hank’s usually around with that bear-sized gun of his.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She gives me one last kind look, then leaves. I lock the door, lean against it, and let out a breath that feels like I’ve been holding it for days. Then I think about him; of course I do.

Travis Holt, mountain man mystery and walking command complex, dropped me off originally at the Rusty Elk Tavern like I’m a package that needs warehousing and stormproof walls. He didn’t explain. Didn’t say when he’d be back. Just kissed me like the world was ending and then vanished into the storm.

I know it was about keeping me safe. I know that.

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