The mountain air was turning bitter.I sat at the wooden island counter in the kitchen, pushing a small piece of scrambled egg around my porcelain plate with a silver fork. The thick, gray morning fog pressed heavily against the cabin windows, entirely blocking out the sun.Killian walked into the kitchen. He wore dark tactical pants, heavy black combat boots, and a thick black leather jacket over a dark sweater. The leather stretched tightly across his massive shoulders. He looked incredibly dangerous, blending the sharp, violent edge of the Russian Pakhan with the rugged isolation of the forest.He set a large, scoped hunting rifle down on the wooden dining table. The heavy metal clunked loudly against the wood."Eat," Killian instructed quietly, pouring himself a mug of black coffee. "Put on your thickest boots and your heavy coat. We are going on a hunt."I looked up from my plate. My fork paused halfway to my mouth.A hunt. My green hazel eyes widened. I had never been in a fores
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