Chapter 7

The airport was a blur of motion and noise, bodies pressing too close, voices echoing off sterile walls. I clutched my duffel and followed Darien through security, through the gates, into the belly of the plane. He moved with the kind of confidence that parted crowds, never looking back to see if I was keeping up. I was, barely, my boots scuffing against the industrial carpet as I tried not to lose sight of his dark coat in the sea of travelers.

Our seats weren't together. Of course they weren't. Darien disappeared toward the front of the plane, first class probably, while I wedged myself into a middle seat near the back between a man who smelled like stale coffee and a woman who immediately claimed both armrests. I shoved my bag under the seat in front of me and buckled in, staring at the headrest ahead like it held answers to the questions in my head.

The flight was long. Longer than I'd expected. I watched the landscape shift beneath us through the tiny window when the coffee man finally dozed off and I could lean over without invading his space. Green gave way to blue, then white, endless fields of snow stretching out like the world had been erased and redrawn in monochrome. I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn't settle. It kept circling back to Shane's face when I'd walked out, to Mary's theatrical sobs, to Anton's arms around me and the way he'd held on just a little too long.

We changed planes at some point and if I thought this plane was uncomfortable the next one was worse. It was a tiny plane with no assigned seats. And lucky me, I found an open seat that was even too small for a child. I crammed myself in for the bumpiest ride of my life.

By the time we landed, my neck ached and my legs felt like they'd been folded into a box. I shuffled off the plane with just a few others, dragging my duffel behind me, expecting the usual airport chaos, the baggage claim, another security checkpoint.

Instead, the door opened directly onto the runway.

The cold hit me like a fist. It wasn't just cold, it was vicious, biting, the kind of wind that found every gap in your clothes and burrowed in deep. Snow swirled in thick gusts, turning the world into a white wall that I couldn't see through. I raised a hand to shield my eyes, squinting against the assault, my breath coming in short gasps that burned my lungs.

A strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me forward with enough force that I stumbled. I would have fallen if the grip hadn't been so solid, guiding me through the storm with mechanical precision.

"Welcome to the north." Darien's voice cut through the wind, laced with dark amusement.

I couldn't see him, not really, just the shadow of him beside me as he pulled me toward a dark shape that slowly resolved into an SUV. He opened the door and shoved me inside, not gently, then climbed in after me. The door slammed shut, muffling the howl of the wind, and suddenly I could breathe again.

Someone else was in the driver's seat, a man with a thick beard and eyes that flicked to me in the rearview mirror before looking away, uninterested. Darien settled into the seat beside me, brushing snow from his coat with an air of complete indifference.

"You good?" he asked, not like he actually cared, more like he was checking off a box.

"Peachy," I muttered, peeling my frozen fingers off my duffel strap. My face felt raw, my nose numb. I could still feel the cold in my lungs.

The car lurched forward, tires crunching over packed snow. I stared out the window as we drove, watching the storm rage against the glass. Everything was white and gray, no definition, no landmarks, just endless snow and wind.

"Tell me about your wolf," Darien said, breaking the silence.

I turned to look at him. He was watching me with those silver eyes, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to peel back my skin and see what was underneath.

"What about it?" I asked.

"How active is your pack with shifting? Do you train in your beast form? Fight?"

I frowned, considering. "We shift when we need to. For the hunting games, mostly. Some of the warriors train in wolf form, but most of our work is done as humans. My wolf's instincts aren't as wild as they used to be, I guess. But I can shift when called upon."

Darien's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "That's the problem with packs everywhere," he said, voice hard. "You're all getting too domesticated. Soft. No hierarchy, no discipline. Some of you can't even shift anymore."

I bristled at the accusation. "I can shift just fine. And fight," I added, lifting my chin.

His lips twitched, almost a smirk but not quite. "That remains to be determined."

I wanted to snap at him, to tell him he didn't know anything about me or what I could do. But something stopped me. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he was waiting for me to prove him wrong. Or maybe it was just exhaustion seeping into my bones, making everything feel heavier than it was.

Instead, I studied him. Really studied him. In the dim light of the car, his features were all sharp angles and cold elegance. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, silver eyes that glinted like frost under moonlight. He was handsome in a way that felt dangerous, like a blade honed to perfection. The kind of face that made you forget to breathe if you stared too long.

I looked away before he could catch me staring.

"What about you?" he asked, voice casual but eyes still locked on me. "Leaving your home. Your brother. Your pack. Is that going to be a problem?"

I shrugged, watching the snow blur past the window. "I've been supporting Anton since our parents died. Helping him run the pack, keeping things together. After he lost his mate …" I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat. "I've felt alone even when I shouldn't have."

Darien was quiet for a moment. "What does that mean?"

I shrugged again, not willing to dig into the mess of feelings. "Just what I said."

He didn't push, but I could feel his gaze on me. Then, after a beat, he asked, "What about boyfriends?"