Page 3

Chapter 2

Rolf

R olf grunted and hunched farther down into his thick wool overcoat. After living here for decades, he knew better than to move during a whiteout in these mountains. The ground could shift so quickly that he’d be taken downhill within moments, another victim of an avalanche.

From the rock outcropping, he watched as a tiny black speck moved slowly toward his cabin. Stumbling and falling, but still, they made their way ever closer to his home. Their scent carried on the wind, and he knew whoever it was wasn’t human. But what were they doing this far north, and in these conditions?

Nestled in a valley among large conifers in an ancient evergreen forest, and well out of the path of an avalanche, the cabin had withstood all kinds of weather. He had known not to be too careless when finding a place to settle down. When he first arrived in these woods, he had known many men who had died in these mountains. Avalanches would often sweep away large swaths of land, taking anything in its path down into the valley below. Perfectly preserved bodies turned up once the snow melted. Their faces locked in a perpetual scream of terror, the scream they made as the white waves swallowed them whole and stole their last breaths.

How unusual. To have a storm this forceful at this time of year.

Shivering, he pulled his arms closer to his body. The speck entered the tree line and was lost to the shadows beneath the boughs, and he knew they would find his cabin. He lifted his nose to the sky, smelling the precipitation riding on the next wave of the storm. Once there was a break, he’d have to move quickly, make it down the mountainside, and back home before it picked back up again.

The snow slowed briefly at the same time the wind did, and he launched forward. With his axe held tightly in one hand, he bolted downhill on his wooden ski shoes. Fellow loggers had shown him the invention some years back, and he loved how the shoes allowed him to float on top of the thickest snowfalls. He figured it was the closest he would ever feel to flying, and each time he soared downhill, he couldn’t help smiling like the biggest fool as the biting wind cut into his skin.

His cabin nearing, Rolf slowed to a gentle crawl and then to a stop at the almost-buried woodshed. He unbuckled his shoes as quietly as he could and slid softly into the calf-deep snow so his feet wouldn’t crunch. Frozen mud and shuffling tracks led up to his door, and the scent of a woman was almost lost completely in the wind, but not quite. Gooseflesh crawled along the back of his neck in warning as his eyes dashed around the small deck on the front of the house. Some of her clothing had snagged on a splinter of a post, leaving behind a few tendrils of cloth. He noted that the deck’s supports needed to be sanded down and stained again before the posts were buried in the snow. Rolf had hoped he would have another month until a snow like this one would fall, but alas, it seemed true winter had set in.

He plucked the threads from the splintered wood and held them up to his nose. He inhaled, and images flashed before his eyes—summer by the river, wildflowers in bloom, the tang of copper as rain pattered on smooth cobblestone roads. A tinge of magic floated around him, and it was as he’d thought: she was not human. Rolf’s jaw dropped open, and he inhaled once more. This time, he picked up hints of something else, but it was too faint. Within moments, the images were gone, replaced instead by a sinking feeling in his stomach. He tightened his grip on his axe. With his free hand, he reached toward the handle.

Snowflakes swirled at his back as the door flew open, smacking into the wall with a bang. Ushered in by the gusts of cold air, Rolf had steeled himself to meet the stranger in his dwelling when his breath caught in his lungs.

Silhouetted by the warm glow of embers in the fireplace, a short, curvy woman stood in the center of his cabin. He couldn’t see her face, but his nose confirmed she was not human. If she were fae, there were only two kinds that she could be, and neither of them he wanted in his cabin. Or his woods.

“Good evening,” he shouted over the roar of the wind.

He had survived this long in these mountains by keeping his wits about him and would continue to do so. No stranger would catch him off guard, especially not this close to the changing. He grappled for the handle and slammed the door closed, and the walls of his cabin shook with the force. Rolf dropped the axe, but kept it within reach.

She turned away from the fire and faced him. Her bright blue eyes sliced right through him, and it took everything he had to look unfazed at the lethality that rolled off her in waves. She was dangerous, but gods, she was gorgeous.

Her leather boots, once a light brown, were now almost black from trudging through the snow. She wore a riding habit with trousers—the cut and quality of the fabric indicated she came from nobility.

But hunting? Out here? It was out of place for the wealthy women who lived in the larger cities to wear such a garment unless they were on a hunt. The hunter’s moon neared, and usually excursions had ended by then. And even though it snowed often in the mountains, the intensity of this storm was unusual this time of year.

Her woolen cloak hung off her shoulders, and thawing ice dripped into puddles on his wooden floor. The wet fabric stuck to her body, clinging in places that showed off her curves. With thicker thighs and calves, she stood like she was used to being in charge. In charge of what, he didn’t want to entertain, but with the finery she wore, she was someone who would be missed.

Whoever she was and wherever she came from, Rolf didn’t want to find out. This was his cabin, in his woods, in his part of the mountains. It had been decades since he had anyone even close to his home, and her presence now rankled him. He liked his solitary life.

But the mountains had a way of forcing your hand. He hadn’t spent years out here alone without learning that this place would always find a way to teach what you most needed to know. Still, he couldn’t take any risks, not this week. He would make sure she was warmed up and fed and then sent on her way.

Quickly.

His voice sounded gruffer than he remembered when he finally asked, “Whom do I have the pleasure of hosting?”