Page 17 of Guardian of Talon Mountain

She relaxes and snuggles back down against me. "Thank you."

As she falls asleep against me, trusting, warm, mine, the wind tears through the trees in long, low moans that sound too much like a threat—and beneath it, something else. A sound I can’t name. A presence I can’t see. But I feel it. Watching. Waiting. And I know, deep in the marrow of my bones, that this calm won’t last.

7

BRYN

Caleb’s heart beats steadily under my cheek. It echoes in my ear like the storm hasn’t fully left him. What the hell did I just let happen? It was consensual, yes—but I barely know Caleb.

Outside, the storm’s howl fades. It shifts from a threat to something more distant—but no less menacing. The cabin has gone almost oppressively quiet—just the pop of embers from the main room and the soft rasp of our breathing trying to find a civilized rhythm after everything we did with each other. His arm is iron around my waist, heavy and possessive. And God help me, part of me wants to melt into it forever.

But the quiet is deceptive. The night isn’t finished with us yet. My mind is finally clearing and the real reason I dragged myself up this mountain is clawing for airtime. Chris. Secrets. In his journal he called it a pipeline—unofficial, hidden, bleeding through the forest where no road should be. Some kind of route no one will even admit exists.

Careful not to wake Caleb, I ease free, sliding one thigh, then the other, from beneath the weight of him. My ankle twinges in warning, the dull ache a useful reminder that I’m still somethingbesides a mess of needy hormones. I’m here to find out what happened to my brother.

I scoot to the edge of the mattress, pull on his thermal shirt like a makeshift minidress—the one he stripped from my body—the scent of wood smoke and Caleb’s skin clinging to the fabric like a second warning, and plant one foot on the hard plank floor. For a fleeting moment, I wonder at the kind of time and attention it took to make these floors feel satin smooth.

A faint shimmer of red catches my attention at the edge of the windowpane—probably just the firelight reflecting weirdly through the glass. Still, it hums in the back of my mind, unsettling. I blink, try to shake it off, but the unease lingers, drawing my eyes toward the window again. The moment passes. What I thought was a red light disappears.

“Going somewhere, little fox?”

There’s no sound—just a shift in air, a subtle change in the room's weight—before the deep rumble materializes behind me. A large, callused palm swats my backside—hard enough to make me yelp and stumble forward, sending pain screaming up my already sprained ankle. I suck in a breath, a curse half-formed—but before I can even twist around, he’s already behind me, close enough to land that swat and still move like a shadow, silent and certain, his presence as inevitable as the cold settling into the cabin walls. Big hands circle my waist. In one dizzying lift, I’m airborne—then wrapped back in his arms.

“Caleb! I need water—Chris's notes?—”

“What you need,” he growls, settling back against the pillows with me captured across his lap, pulling the quilt up around me, “is to stay off that ankle and remember who’s responsible for keeping you in one piece.”

I open my mouth—probably to snark, possibly to swear—only to have two fingers press gently beneath my chin.

“Talk,” he says.

Not a command to be disobeyed. Something inside me unlocks, wide and sudden, opening like a door caught in a gale. I swallow hard, heart drumming a little faster.

“Chris was brilliant,” I start, voice husky with exhaustion and something softer. “He wasn’t your average weekend backpacker—he trained in environmental engineering. Last year he started sending me articles about shadow routes through protected land. He thought someone was moving contraband—animal parts, maybe minerals—past the ranger stations. He joked that he’d hiked enough strange trails to map the entire region better than the park service—especially the ones that weren’t supposed to exist.”

Caleb’s thumb draws slow circles on the inside of my knee, soothing and distracting. “And you think that network runs through Glacier Hollow?”

“I'm fairly certain.” I curl against his chest, letting the quilt slip enough to pool in my lap, allowing my skin to meet his. “He found satellite anomalies, fresh gouges in the snowpack where no seasonal road is logged, and surveyor stakes that aren’t on any state plan. He called it a pipeline—said it looked like something was scarring the forest, carving through places it never should have reached.”

Caleb’s breath hitches—almost imperceptible, but I’m draped over him; I feel the tiny pause. “Show me.”

I point to the counter in the kitchen. “Notebook. Green elastic.”

He shifts, easing me gently to the side as he rises from the bed. A few strides carry him out to the kitchen. He returns with the notebook, handing it over as he climbs back into bed and pulls me onto his lap. The battered cover is warm from his palm. My heart gives a strange jolt at that.

I flip pages, the smell of pine tar and graphite wafting up. “These red triangles are places Chris noted unusual activity.Game trails blocked, cameras smashed. The circles are where I found matching damage yesterday.”

Caleb studies the sketches, the storm-scarred ridge lines and hand-drawn arrows. His eyes sharpen, the soldier sliding back into place. “This run here—” he taps a line that snakes under a drawn mountain silhouette “—cuts behind the old gold-rush tunnels. There’s an abandoned rail spur no one patrols because the rock’s unstable.”

My pulse skips. Something flickers in Caleb’s eyes—recognition, maybe, or dread. I sit up straighter, suddenly more awake. “You know it?”

“Helped dynamite a fallen boulder for Zeke. We thought it was a one-off doodle for local vandals, but…” He leans over me, flips a few pages. “Your brother marked another point fifteen miles northeast—deep enough that even snowmobiles bog down.”

“Unless,” I say, catching his train of thought, “someone’s laid in a secret track, seasonal only, light enough to erase after each run.”

Caleb nods once—sharp, decisive. “Gear up for tomorrow. We set out at first light. I’ll snowmobile us as close as I can to it, then we’re on foot. The only way you're going to be able to do that is for you to keep that ankle elevated and wrapped. Then when we're hiking, you're going to have to take it slow and easy.”

I snort. “You going to bubble-wrap it too?”

---