Winter Lost

Zane knew they seemed an odd lot. Ezra was a forty-something retired MP and looked it, the son of migrant parents who had grown up working hard and continued to do so. Leon was twenty-seven, and he’d grown up harder than Ezra—whose family was still tight.

Leon was an inner-city kid and wore gang tattoos on his shoulders, though that part didn’t show—much. He’d gotten himself out on scholarships, had a newly minted medical degree, and was working on his internship—the reason that they hadn’t gone to Montana days ago. Medical interns were at the mercy of their programs. Finally, there was Zane himself, who was an advertisement for a life of privilege.

The avenger and the caretaker and the scion. Part of the carefully balanced magical equation that was his destiny. Two years ago, he’d known neither of them—now they were his best friends.

They shouldn’t have been friends at all. But, his inner selves told him, fate was a funny thing. He knew they’d continue to be friends throughout his lifetime. They always did.

Leon caught his elbow. “You okay, Zane?”

“Fine,” he said, planting himself firmly in the here and now. “Let’s get going.”

7

Mercy

The storm resumed its fury as soon as the gryphon flew away.

“What do you think?” I asked Adam.

It had been too bad he’d been stuck in wolf form, unable to help negotiate. He was better with words than I was. I hoped I could deliver on my part of the bargain.

“Maybe I should have tried to contact Coyote instead of coming here.” As soon as I said it, I realized that might have been smarter. Instead, I’d dragged Adam out into this storm on a wing and a prayer—and the word of a lying frost giant who lusted after our pack. “Coyote might have been able to free Gary without this journey to winter hell.”

Or not. Coyote was unreliable help at best—and I knew exactly what Gary would say about asking our father for anything. Gary knew Coyote better than I did.

The wolf gave me a sly smile, and warmth blossomed through our bond. Apparently, my husband preferred the path we’d taken. I hoped we could deliver on my promise. Finding a stolen harp and returning it didn’t sound too difficult, given that we knew it was at the resort. I hoped it wouldn’t take very long.

The wind hit my wet jeans, and my toes burned from the cold. My boots were too short, although I wasn’t sure they made boots tall enough for this kind of snow. Snow had snuck in from the top, and my socks had wicked the moisture all the way to the soles of my feet. Adam bumped me toward the SUV.

I shut myself in the blessed warmth of the car, leaving Adam outside to continue his role as guide. My wet jeans clung to my knees, fighting me when I put my foot on the accelerator. Once we left the area Hrímnir had cleared, the snow got deeper. There were a couple of times that even in four-low, I had to back up and hit the drifts at higher speed before the SUV could break through.

We’d traveled another two miles in about twenty minutes when the road made a few sharp turns and ended abruptly in front of a huge log building fronted by a massive porch. A giant rustic sign hung from the rafters in two parts. The top sign read Mountain Home Guest Ranch. A larger sign hung below it, connected by two thick chains. It read Welcome friends.

I turned off the engine and got out of the car. The wind whistled around the buildings, and there were a few shingles on the otherwise pristine white surface. The covered porch had a few feet of wooden planks visible, where the wind had scoured the snow. The rest of it was buried deep. Beyond the ranch house, set at a little distance, was a huge red barn.

“We missed the turnoff for the resort,” I told Adam, who huffed an acknowledgment.

“Since we’re here, I might as well see about those horses that could be tucked up somewhere in the barns.” The horses had been bothering me since the conversation I’d had with the people at the gas station.

It was legitimately an accident that I’d missed the turnoff. But I’d have felt driven to find my way up here tonight anyway. I was here on Gary’s business, and part of that was taking care of his responsibilities.

There were other buildings visible—cabins and garages—but I didn’t care about those. The barn, painted bright red, was maybe a hundred yards behind the main building. I picked it as the most likely place to confine a couple of horses out of the weather. In the summer, the barn was probably a convenient distance from the main building. In knee-high snow with drifts up to my hips, it was a trek.

Even with Adam breaking trail in front of me, I was dripping sweat from effort by the time I made it to the barn, though my toes were still freezing. My coyote could have made this trip a lot easier—and I’d do it that way tomorrow. Because I could hear and smell the horses in the building.