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Werewolves ran by him, shouting for help. A few were bleeding. The structure of the castle seemed intact as Tryst let his eyes scurry up and down the limestone walls, and he guessed the walls must be three or more feet thick if built so many centuries ago. He hoped so.
He sighted the female wolf in the long white coat and called out to her, but she was running toward him, shouting orders into an intercom device she held to her mouth.
“You all right?” he called as she ran past him.
She nodded. “Get away from this wall! It could collapse inward.”
“Right.” He turned and ran along beside her. “We need to go outside and see where the snow moved and what areas it covered. How many outside do you think?”
“Too many,” she said. “A group of at least a dozen was out skiing.” She ran off ahead of him.
Trystan stopped in the lobby, standing near the shattered glass and snow. The wall hushed in an icy cold wave of air that crept up the back of his neck like a deadly poison. Fresh snowfall over hardpack last night, and then today a group had gone out skiing? That had been asking for disaster.
He didn’t think the snow blocking the window would move in any farther. But having been in the vicinity during a few avalanches, he knew there was always danger of aftershocks and even another avalanche. The people inside the castle needed to be moved to safety, which could be the other side of the castle. He didn’t know the layout.
The female wolf raced by him again, telling whoever was on the other end of the walkie-talkie to start gathering the castle’s inhabitants and move them. She had a plan, so Tryst would leave that to her.
But if anyone had been outside, they could be trapped under heavy snow. A rescue team had to be formed. He’d worked on a team once to bring up a mortal couple who’d been trapped eight feet under snow, and so he knew what to do. He needed a few strong men. And they had to move quickly. No one lasted for more than a few hours under snow, and in fact, most mortals could withstand no more than half an hour unless they had a pocket of air and their lungs hadn’t been crushed.
Werewolves had an innate ability to heal, and could withstand a lot. He figured if any wolves had been buried they had maybe four to six hours before death.
Alexis Connor marched through the Wulfsiege lobby, her boots crushing broken glass, and her mind racing in twenty different directions. They’d experienced avalanches before, but never one that had hit directly on Wulfsiege grounds or that had caused such damage as she now assessed.
The north window had been busted out, and she couldn’t be sure if the surrounding wall was stable. The medieval castle walls were thick, but she had felt the walls and floors shake, as if an earthquake had occurred. She had to find Liam, he was the only pack member she knew who might be able to make an assessment on the structure thanks to his past, which involved a stint as a construction foreman.
She’d rallied two wolves to move everyone they could find in the castle to the south rooms and the keep, which was the sturdiest place she could imagine, with nine-foot-thick limestone walls and which had originally been built to keep out enemy invaders.
Today, the snow had proved a malicious invader.
She briefly wondered if her sister, Lana, had made it to safety, and then knew she must be with her fiancé, Sven. Surely, the Nordic Warrior, as some in the pack called the blond bruiser, would protect her. Lexi wanted to look for her, but more urgent was ensuring her father’s safety. She hadn’t gotten to his room to let him know the courier had arrived before the avalanche struck. The principal’s room was in the south tower, and he was the first she’d radioed when the avalanche had struck. He hadn’t responded, but he was ill, so he could have slept through it all. She hoped for that. Father didn’t need another thing stressing him out and pushing him closer to the unstable edge he trod.
Liam raced past her with a bleeding wolf in arm. The Irish werewolf was broad and stout, quiet yet constant. “He was just outside the doors and was slammed up against the glass when it hit,” he explained to her. “His body must have been crushed but he’s breathing.”
“Natalie and Reese are setting up triage in the keep. Take him there. Have you been able to get outside? Do we know who was outside?”
Liam shook his head. “Where’s Vince?”
Vincent Rapel was pack scion and had assumed control over the pack during the principal’s sickness. Vince was a dutiful, capable wolf who would seek her immediately at any sign of trouble, because he understood Lexi’s standing in the pack. She may be a female, but she was truly the second in command under her father’s reign. She handled the security for the castle, and nothing happened here without her knowledge. Chatelaine was her unofficial title, which she liked much better than the official one she had been born with—princess.
“I hope Vince is all right,” she said under her breath as she observed the scatter of wolves heading toward the safe sections of the castle.
A sound on the roof alerted her, and she nodded, confirming what she knew but hadn’t come to mind until now. “The roof access. The best way to get a good look at the damage.”
Racing toward the escalator, which was stalled because the avalanche must have taken out the electricity, she took the unmoving stairs two at a time yet paused before pulling open the roof access door. It was on the wall hit by the snow. It could be unstable. Yet it was far from the shattered glass window.
She gave it a pull. It opened freely, and she was not hit with snow. Rushing up the stairs, the brisk winter air smacked her in the face and she tugged up the coat hood over her head. The sun shone too brightly for the disaster that had just occurred, which reminded her how deadly Mistress Winter could be beyond her deceptive cloak of glittering white snow.
A crew loitered at the edge of the roof, shovels in hand, and one held a long thin stick. A ski pole? The snow wall had pushed all the way up to the roof. As Lexi approached the men, she saw that the entire courtyard at the front of the castle, where visitors and pack members arrived and departed, had been covered over with snow. Probably ten to twelve feet deep, she decided, and it had pushed all the way up to the doors of the storage shed, where they kept the snowplow and pack vehicles.
Two men were carefully making their way down the snow mountains formed up against the castle walls.
“What’s the situation?” she asked anyone who would answer, noting that Vince was not standing in the crew. “Who is that?”
“Said his name was Trystan Hawkes,” one of the men offered. “He’s the one that suggested we go down with shovels and sticks to start looking for men. Just jumped right in and took charge. Said time is of the essence.”
Lexi lifted her chin, not sure how to take that. She liked a man who took charge and, especially in a situation like this, they needed someone to take command. But did he know what he was doing? He could be risking his life by stepping on unstable ground.
“Said he helped rescue a couple after an avalanche in Germany,” another said. “The guy knows what he’s doing. Where’s Vince?”
“I think he was with the skiers this morning,” the other man replied.
Lexi’s heart dropped. If the scion was trapped in the snow, they had only hours to get to him before the unforgiving snow crushed his lungs. While werewolves could withstand much, they were not immortal, and his death would prove slow and suffering.
She cast a glance at the man with wavy red hair who appeared to be sniffing as he walked. Even if a man were buried deeply, the werewolf’s senses should be able to track him. He towered over the pack members. A natural leader who stood out among the average. He calmly delivered instructions to the men. That command appealed to her inner need for order, and touched a curious part of her that lifted her chin and kept her eyes pinned to the bold newcomer.
“Trystan Hawkes,” she whispered against her gloved hands as she clasped them to her mouth to keep her face warm. “What have you brought to Wulfsiege?”
Chapter 2
Wind whipped icy crystals up about the site where Trystan had sensed a heartbeat under the hard-packed snow surface. He’d stowed the titanium case in a cubby near the cafeteria on the way outside. Now he instructed the three men digging to be cautious: a live body was beneath the snow. They didn’t want to cause further injury with a misplaced shovel. But, as well, they had to act quickly.
None of the pack members had been wearing transceivers, as skiers often did, so the search proved difficult. They had been digging for over an hour and the sun was falling toward the horizon. Tryst left the diggers to continue the search for more live bodies. Using a makeshift probe, a ski pole he’d broken off the basket to poke through the snow where he sensed life, he directed another team of shovelers.
“Here. He’s closer to the surface. Can you sense the heartbeat?”
The first rescuer to arrive nodded and knelt to the ground, listening. “Can’t be more than a foot under. I can hear him breathing.”
Thank the gods, werewolves had supersensitive noses and hearing.
Tryst rushed over to another trio who dug where the snow was perhaps only five feet high, near to the front of the storage shed. The ski team must have been heading in for the day, or else the avalanche had carried them this far, which seemed unreal but not out of the realm of possibility.
“Another?” he asked.
“Yes, here’s his hand.”
Tryst bent and clasped the hand sticking out of the snow. The cool fingers clasped back, strongly. Good energy there. “Hurry,” he instructed. “He’s going to be okay.”
Shouts from the first dig site brought him around to assist as they pulled a limp body from the snow. Tryst bent to listen at the wolf’s chest but didn’t hear a heartbeat. He grabbed his wrist, but the man did not react and his hand fell limply across Tryst’s leg.
“Hell, it’s Vince,” one of the wolves who had been digging said. He knelt beside Tryst and bowed his head. “Pack scion.”
Not good, Trystan knew. If the principal was ill, then the scion was the next in line to take charge. This news would shake the Alpine pack to its core.
“Bring him inside. Carefully,” he said. “There may yet be life in him. Get him to—” He didn’t know if there was a medical team on site. “Bring him to the female wolf. What’s her name? The one walking around like she’s running the place?”
“Alexis?” The man who had knelt next to Tryst smirked at him. “She likes to think she’s in charge. But yes, she’ll know what to do with Vince.” The wolf stood and ordered the men to place the scion’s body on a stretcher. “I’m Liam. Just Liam. No last name.” He offered his hand to help Tryst stand. He had a good, firm clasp and friendly eyes, and he actually met Tryst’s stare straight on because he was the same height. “What’s your name?”
“Trystan Hawkes. I had just arrived at Wulfsiege with a delivery to the principal when the avalanche roared in through the castle wall. I’m here to help for as long as you need me.”
“We can definitely use another man, especially one who has had experience with avalanche rescues before.”
“No problem. I’m going to find the female and make sure they’ve got triage set up.”
“Before you go, one thing you should know about Alexis.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s the principal’s daughter. One of two Connor daughters. Alexis is a cool number. Watch you don’t get on her bad side.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll be too busy for that to happen.”
On the other hand, if he clashed with the gorgeous Alexis again, he’d welcome the experience. A bad side? Let it be naughty bad….
By midnight the men who had been digging nonstop since the avalanche had occurred before noon, were called in for the night. They’d found six men. Five had been alive, all with brutal injuries, yet, Natalie, the witch doctor on staff who had lived with the pack for decades, had diagnosed they would heal. The sixth, the scion, was dead; no methods of revival had proved successful.
According to Lexi’s count, that left six still missing. She doubted any could still be alive, yet Trystan Hawkes insisted, with blind determination, they continue the search.
“You never know what we wolves can withstand,” he said as he accepted a change of gloves and boots from Lexi’s assistant, Rick, because his were soaked.
He walked up to her and met her with his bright blue stare that seemed so out of place in this dire time. His gaze sparkled with an innate sort of well-being she couldn’t understand. When had a man ever truly looked at her in such a nonthreatening manner? She had to look up at him because he was so tall. Imposing, in a strangely gentle manner.
“If a pocket of air is trapped near the victim’s face, he may stand a chance of survival,” he explained. “You’ve got six men still missing, and I’m not stopping until we’ve found them, dead or alive. No man should be left out there as his final resting place.”
“Why?” She had to ask. The wolf was not aligned with the Alpine pack. He should care little for a few strangers.
“Why?” He frowned, yet that expression did not dilute the radiance glowing from his eyes. “How would you like it if you were the one trapped and someone asked me why?”
She nodded, taking his curt response as the admonishment it had been. Lexi was accustomed to male dominance, but this time it didn’t rankle her as much as it usually did, because he was only trying to help. And his devotion to the rescue touched the hard, cold place in her heart that she often wished could grow warm.
“At least eat a bit before you go out again. We’ve prepared sandwiches and there are sports drinks just around the corner on a table outside the cafeteria. Don’t be stupid, Hawkes. You need the energy.”
“I can manage a few minutes.” He headed toward the food, his heavy boots clomping with his lanky strides. Shaped differently than the pack wolves, he was longer, leaner, but no less muscled.
Lexi watched as he tilted back a sports drink in one swallow, then grabbed another and sucked that down as quickly. Accepting a turkey sandwich stuffed with veggies, and thanking the women manning the food table, he ate it as he marched out the lobby door and back into the brisk winter night.
Outside, the winds whipped relentlessly, nearing thirty miles an hour. Here in the valley, where one would think they’d be protected, it was as if the winds scooped down to scour the land. Lexi knew the weather had to be brutal, yet Trystan Hawkes’s determination glowed like a bright aura only a psychic could see.
The other wolves helping the rescue efforts were all as determined, but seeing this stranger step into the role without question or ties to the pack intrigued her. What kind of man would do such a thing? Sacrifice for others he didn’t even know? Exemplary—
“Who’s the tall redhead with the freckles? He certainly stands out from the pack like a bright red warning beacon.”
Lexi turned to find her sister, Alana, looking fresh as ever with perfect makeup and blond hair swept into a smooth, tight bun. She never went anywhere without bright red lipstick. Or the five-inch stilettos. Lana Connor was a Tiffany kind of girl stuck in bargain-basement hell. Apparently she had not been volunteering in the keep with the wounded, but then Lexi would have been knocked over had Lana even asked after the well-being of the survivors.
“I don’t know who he is,” Lexi offered. “But he just may be the most honorable wolf I’ve ever met.”
“Is that so?”
She sensed her sister’s eligible bachelor radar go up. Lana might be engaged to Sven Skarson, but that didn’t keep her from flirting with every wolf who risked his life by returning the heartless flirtation. She was beautiful, spoiled, and could have any man at whom she batted an eyelash. It was a game, Lexi sensed, a defense mechanism of sorts. Because she knew she was safe, Lana played with social and pack boundaries. Lexi was her sister’s opposite—she put up a cold front, knowing she was safe from any of the pack’s amorous attention.
Lana was the pretty one; Lexi was the smart one. She’d grown to accept the distinction between them, and for some reason, Lexi had never cared about Lana’s random flirtations.
Until now.
“He’s not your type,” Lexi said quickly. “He’s a hard worker, and is more concerned with helping others than himself.”
Leaving that verbal slap hanging, Lexi marched off toward the south wing to look in on her father.
“I almost forgot!” a man shouted down the hallway as she neared him.
Trystan Hawkes had a way of putting himself near to her, not touching yet just a little too close, challenging her own personal boundaries. He huffed from running and carried a titanium suitcase that she had remembered seeing when he’d first come into Wulfsiege.
“I came here for a reason, and I think what I have with me may be timely. I’m supposed to hand this directly to the principal. Your father?”
“Principal Connor is my father. But I can take that for you.”
“No, I, uh … can’t.”
“Monsieur Hawkes, with the events that have occurred, protocol has changed—”
“Sorry. I have specific orders to put it in only your father’s hands. Instructions stipulated by your father to mine according to the contract he signed with Hawkes Associates when assigning us as security advisors for his stored items. Please, can you take me there quickly? I need to get back outside.”
It wasn’t a breach of protocol, but it could be dangerous for her ailing father to have visitors. Still, if her father had requested whatever was inside that case—something he had chosen to store at Hawkes Associates and not here at Wulfsiege, so it must be valuable—then she would not question.
As well, she didn’t mind spending a few more minutes with Hawkes. She wanted to observe him, figure out what made the handsome wolf tick.
“Come with me.”
The principal’s private quarters were set in the south tower of the castle, as far from the damage as one could get. Lexi thanked the nature gods for that small blessing.
Though the principal’s room was located in the tower, the space was massive, but Tryst couldn’t move his thoughts from the urgency of the rescue to do more than flash a look around the room, not really taking in details. There were still wolves outside. It had been over eight hours since the avalanche hit. They were likely dead, but if the slightest chance existed any could be alive, he had to find them.
Alexis, still dressed in white leather and still sporting the sunglasses inside—though the conference room she led him into was lit with low light—gestured he approach the man seated in a leather chair at the end of a long table. It was an easy chair, and the leg rest was up. A plaid blanket covered him to the chest.
Tryst laid the titanium case on the table and said, “Sorry to be in such a hurry, Principal Connor. My father sends the elixir inside this case with his blessings and wishes you a speedy recovery.”
The elder wolf stared at him with mouth agape. Salt-and-pepper hair curled about a narrow face with loose skin that indicated he must have lost weight and perhaps was normally much more fit. His heavy-lidded eyes made him appear old and weak, yet they stared at Tryst, stunned.
It was then Tryst realized his lack of protocol. He should bow or kneel, or—something—before a pack leader. His father’s instructions rang loudly in his thoughts. He should have waited to first be spoken to.
No time.
“Forgive me. I apologize for the protocol I am stepping on and of which I probably made a huge mess. But I have to leave. The avalanche. There are still many from your pack missing.”
Principal Connor didn’t say a word, merely lowered his tired eyes to the titanium case.
With that, Tryst did bow and backed from the room. He looked to Alexis, who also gaped at him with her soft pink mouth parted, and then knowing he hadn’t the time or the fortitude to make political amends, he turned and raced down the spiraling tower stairs.
“What the hell was that disaster?” Edmonton Connor rasped at his daughter.
