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The unrelenting rain patted on Tiikaan’s hat.

Its subtle tap-tap-tap blanketed the woods, blurring his surroundings and cocooning him in the cleansing scent of spruce resin and musky moss. Sure, it wasn’t the best weather to hunt in, but he loved the isolating peacefulness.

He shifted on the old school bus seat screwed into the tree stand and scanned the woods for any sign of bear.

He shouldn’t be here.

Not with his checklist lengthening faster than items were crossed off.

But when he’d arrived at the stand where he hunted bears to dismantle it and found tracks so big his boot fit in them, he couldn’t resist climbing up to the tree stand and sitting awhile.

Awhile turned to three hours, and he still couldn’t bring himself to climb down the rungs and pack out .

This was the best part of the Alaskan summer.

All winter he dreamed of snow-free woods where his only conversations happened with squirrels. Of preying on the predator and filling both his freezer and his spirit before he started flying paid clients to his secret spots to help them scratch their own hunting itch.

However, this time he’d miss out on his favorite part of the year, exchanging it to play air taxi for some highfalutin oil exec all summer.

Why the heck had he agreed to the job?

Was the ridiculous amount of money worth missing out on all of this? He scanned the forest, watching the branches playfully dance with the rain and second-guessed his decision.

More like hundredth-guessed it.

He growled low and yanked a bite off his caribou jerky. Resentment made his jaw hurt more than the tough meat.

Not that he didn’t love flying as much as he did hunting. But the thought of carting this guy back and forth from the mine site to Barrow day in and day out for the next two to three months sounded more torturous than his tour in the Air Force.

Just remember the money.

He had to think of how much closer to his dream the summer of doom would get him. How instead of teetering too close to everything crashing down in a pile of debt, he could not only get back in the black but also start building the hunting cabin he’d wanted for more years than he could remember .

He closed his eyes and pictured the clear lake deep in the Alaskan bush he owned.

His hands squeezed the grip of the bow like he would the yoke of his Maule M-7-235c and pictured himself easing the plane onto the flat water. He puttered up to the dock jutting out from shore, the small hunting cabin of his dreams framed perfectly in the windshield.

That’s what this sacrifice would get him.

The money he’d make over the next months would be enough to get him out of debt, build his cabin, and buy the boat needed to take clients up the river that fed the lake. One summer of misery would set his business up for life.

He could handle that.

He’d just have to return here in his mind whenever his pretentious cargo or the monotony got to him.

A soft scratching sounded below. A breeze blew through the tight clearing, sending the off-putting scent of dog food coated in fryer grease and cheap syrup up to him. Okay. So, he wouldn’t miss the smell of the mixture they used to lure the bears in.

He pulled his collar up to bury his nose in the front of his coat. The air shifted, and he paused.

Another scent tainted the air.

The hair rose on his neck.

Leaning forward in the tree stand, he slid his jerky into his pocket and peered below. Beady black eyes stared up at him from right beneath the stand. A giant grizzly stood on his hind legs, stretching his front paws up the tree toward him .

Fear balled in Tiikaan’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

As he stood, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, drawing the string back as the bear’s meaty claws dug into the side of the platform. This beast had to be a record if he could reach the tree stand nine feet up the tree’s trunk.

The stand tipped with the bear’s weight. The screeching of metal nails yanking from the tree sent a million spiders racing down Tiikaan’s spine. The snap of the supports fired loudly into the forest, and he toppled into open air.

He slammed into the ground, his bow tumbling away from him. His diaphragm spasmed. He opened his mouth, but no air came in. Before he could recover, the slash of claws swept his side, throwing him like a rag doll across the muddy ground.

He scrambled to get his legs beneath him. His hands and feet slipped, and he couldn’t gain purchase. The bear was on him again, the stench from its breath thick in Tiikaan’s nose. Teeth sank into his bicep, yanking him up enough to get his knees beneath him.

With a shout, he pounded his fist into the bear’s nose. The bear dropped him, shook its head, and roared. Tiikaaan scrambled back, desperate to put space between him and those teeth. As the bear charged, Tiikaan grabbed his sidearm from his belt. The force of the giant grizzly ramming him knocked him back a dozen feet.

He fired, but the bear kept coming.

Fired again.

It still didn’t stop.

He unloaded the magazine into the beast. When it teetered and collapsed two feet from him, Tiikaan tripped away from the animal.

Heart trying to pound out of his rib cage, he hid behind a cluster of scrawny willows, his gaze glued to the bear. His hands shook violently as he reloaded, dropping several bullets that disappeared into the moss. He left them there. No way was he taking his eyes off the bear.

The wind rushed through the clearing, rustling the golden-tipped fur on the bear’s back and bending the treetops. A snap cracked in the forest behind him. Tiikaan whipped around. His head spun as his adrenaline spiked.

He scanned the trees, cursing the steady rain that blurred his vision and his pulse’s boom-boom-boom drowning out all other sounds.

Tear down the bait. Get the bear. Don’t die.

He didn’t need to wait around for another predator to slink in.

Holstering his gun, he weaved through the forest along the edge of the clearing. He wasn’t ready to get up close and personal with the animal yet.

Grabbing the fifty-gallon drum holding the bait, he tipped it to dump out the mess of dog food, restaurant fryer grease, and maple syrup. Sharp pain sliced up his arm, and the barrel clattered to the ground.

Now that the adrenaline ebbed, his bicep throbbed. He cringed as he pulled his right arm from his blood- drenched jacket sleeve. Bile rose at the first look of torn flesh and flannel.

A branch cracking to his left snapped his gaze to the thick woods. Enough wasting time. Between the bear, the barrel of bait, and his own wound bleeding, his hunting spot had just become a predator’s heaven.