Page 72 of His Claim
The mountain obeyed him.
The collapse was a cacophony of rock and destruction. The tunnel filled with dust and screams and the sound of breaking earth. I threw myself toward the gap he had made, the only patch of light left.
The world exploded behind me. The ground lifted, then dropped away. I crawled, choking, my hands bleeding as I dragged myself through the hole. Stone fell around me, one piece glancing off my shoulder, another striking my already wounded side.
Then I was outside.
The mountain’s breath gusted out after me and the opening behind me sealed shut in a wave of falling rock.
Then there was nothing but silence.
The wind hit my face, brisk and cold. I coughed, my throat coated with pulverized rock, lungs burning. Every muscle screamed as I pushed myself up onto my knees. My vision swam.
The world around me was gray stone and distant peaks. The sun was low, a smear of gold through the haze. Rain mixed with the dirt, turning it to mud beneath my palms.
I turned back toward the mountain. There was no sign of him. No sign of the wolves.
My chest ached. I pressed a hand to it, feeling my pulse hammering.
He had saved me. Saved all of us, in a way. Even in the end, the soldier in him had fought his last good fight.
I whispered his name, and the wind picked it and carried it away from me. Without another word, I staggered to my feet, blood still dripping down my arm. My balance wavered, my head spinning, but I started walking toward the ridgeline.
Toward my mate.
CHAPTER 17
Varek
The icy wind howled over the ridge, cutting straight through the fabric of my clothing. My head still rang, and every step sent pain up my leg where one of Gareth’s blows had ripped into the muscle. Blood crusted along my arm, ribs bruised deep, but I kept moving. I’d heal eventually. Wolves healed faster than humans, but it would still take some time.
The ridge stretched ahead, treacherous with loose stone. The sky was gray and heavy, rain rolling in again from the west. My boots slid more than once, but I kept climbing, dragging my breath back into rhythm with my steps.
Mariah had gone this way.
Her trail wound up along the ridgeline, faint but sure. Small boot prints where the ground softened, smudged hand marks where she’d steadied herself against stone.
The trail grew steeper, climbing toward a jagged ridge that cut across the skyline. My muscles screamed, but I pressedon, moving from one shadow to the next, using every scrap of training I could remember. Rainwater streaked my face, ran down into the wounds along my neck, stung the half-healed claw marks on my side.
Then I saw him.
A body lay sprawled across the rocks ahead, his clothing shredded, his eyes wide and glassy.
It was a wolf.
I crouched beside him. His throat was torn clean out. The air stank of blood. The way the corpse laid told me everything I needed to know. He’d hunted her, and she’d stopped running.
I caught the faintest trace of her wolf: the musk of her fur, the metallic tang of blood. She’d shifted. She was learning faster than I thought possible.
The idea filled me with something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Pride.
“You’re learning, little mate,” I muttered under my breath, almost smiling. “Good girl.”
I straightened and kept going.
After a long while of following her tracks, I found more signs of my mate’s progress. The scent of blood still hung in the air. I followed it to the edge of a narrow drop where the ground gave way to a scatter of jagged stone below.
