Page 45 of Mistletoe and Mayday
“Bailey.” His voice cuts through my panic. “I made it clear by now. I won’t ever leave you here to die.” His eyes find mine, fierce and certain. “I didn’t in the plane, or the cave, and I won’t start now.”
The intensity in his gaze steals my breath. More than fear, more than cold—this man is looking at me like my survival matters more than his own.
The lead wolf steps into the clearing. It’s massive. Bigger than any German Shepherd I’ve ever seen. Silver-tipped black fur ripples across powerful muscle.
My pulse hammers with skull-rattling force. One step backand my injured ankle buckles. Sebastian’s arm locks around my waist, holding me upright, pressing me against him. Through his coat, I feel his heart pounding as frantically as mine.
“Bailey.” Sebastian’s voice flattens, controlled. His hand reaches back, finding mine. His fingers wrap around mine with steady pressure.
He slowly reaches for the axe with his free hand. The movement draws the lead wolf’s attention—amber eyes tracking each micro-adjustment of Sebastian’s muscles.
The axe handle slides into Sebastian’s palm. One weapon against four wolves. The math doesn’t work.
My fingers tighten around the branch-crutch, though what good it’ll do against fangs and claws I can’t imagine. The wolf’s fur ripples in the wind. Silver-tipped black, beautiful in a terrifying way.
“They’re flanking us,” Sebastian whispers.
I glance right—another wolf has circled wider, cutting off our path to the cabin. My stomach drops. They’re herding us away from safety.
Sebastian’s thumb brushes over my knuckles, a tiny gesture that somehow grounds me.
The lead wolf’s muscles coil, weight shifting to its haunches.
I’ll never see my family again. Never fly another cargo route. Never find out what Sebastian was about to say...
“Nice doggy. Good boy. Or girl. I don’t want to assume wolf gender in this modern age.”
A second wolf edges closer on our left. They’re synchronizing. The instinct to run screams through every nerve ending.
I’m basically a gift-wrapped snack. The branch slips in my sweaty grip as the wolf takes another step closer, close enough that I can spot individual snowflakescatching in its fur.
Sebastian shifts his weight, edging the axe higher. The wolf’s eyes track the movement. A ripple passes through the pack. The air between us is taut, ready to snap.
They’re going to charge. Right now. We’re going to die in the snow, torn apart while good expired canned beans sit on the cabin shelf.
Fourteen
SEBASTIAN
The alpha wolf’s teeth gleam yellow against black gums, close enough that its rancid breath fogs the air between us. My survival training never covered this—standing as the only barrier between four apex predators and a woman with a broken ankle who can’t stop talking, even as death circles us.
“If we die,” Bailey whispers, her voice vibrating against my shoulder blade, “I want you to know your Christmas tree decorating skills are subpar at best.”
A laugh almost escapes me, inappropriate and wild. In this moment of absolute terror, I find her jokes strangely soothing.
My training pops up in my head. Make yourself big, maintain eye contact, no sudden movements—but the wilderness manuals never addressed protecting someone else, someone whose only defense is sarcasm and a broken branch. Someone who can’t run.
Bailey’s fingers dig into my coat, ten points ofdesperate pressure against my back. A quiet swallow sounds behind me. Bailey—speechless. The universe must be ending.
The wolf’s yellow eyes lock onto mine. Intelligence gleams there, along with something else. Hunger, curiosity, or maybe both. Its fur is thick, gray mixed with white, blending with our snowy surroundings. A perfect predator in its perfect environment. And we are very much out of our element.
The cabin stands a hundred yards behind the wolves. So close, yet impossible to reach. The pack has positioned itself, cutting off our escape route. The light from our fire glows through the windows, taunting us with its unreachable warmth.
My mind catalogs every survival technique, every documentary insight, every relevant data point while looking for escape routes. Wolves: pack animals, coordinated hunters, can outrun humans in snow. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Bailey,” I whisper, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline flooding my system, “when I move, you move with me. Like a dance.”
Her fingers twist deeper into my coat.
