A huge dark form loomed above her, nearly black against the snow. Vast ragged plumes of hot breath condensed in the air as the huge grizzly spread its paws wide in a killer’s embrace.
Joey had no time to consider her final moments of life, before the grizzly could reach her, an explosion of gray fury scattered the snow between them and hurled itself at the huge animal like a sparrow harrying an eagle. In the agonizing seconds that followed, Joey grasped only bits and pieces of the drama that played out before her: the low grunts and angry roars of the bear as it maneuvered to face its attacker, the snarls of the wolf that whirled like a demon about the bigger animal, and once a single yelp of pain as the massive claws struck home, the unmistakable smell of animal heat and blood, the cold caress of the snow that spattered her face. And always, over and under all of it, the pain that urged her not to breathe, to let go.
She tried to call out his name, to use that one word as a focus that might keep strong the desire to live. The sound caught in her throat, though her lips moved in the snow, she tasted blood. The hot flow of it traced paths over her temple and burned like acid into the chill white that cradled her head.
Perhaps it was the shock of seeing her own blood in the snow that enabled her to come back to herself. She clung to awareness and stared at the place where the deadly struggle had played out, the bear was gone. The snow was marked with the struggle, torn away from the ground to expose the raw flesh of earth beneath. There were dark splotches that Joey knew the deadly meaning of. She used the last of her will to focus, to search for the one thing she wanted so desperately to see.
The wolf was there, suddenly, filling her vision. Even now she could spare enough thought to admire it the heavy coat in disarray, erect along its spine, the sheer magnificent size of the beast, the eyes that burned into hers with the familiarity of an old friend. Familiarity. Joey squeezed her eyes shut and slowly opened them again. The wolf was staring. But her eyes were playing tricks on her, because it was also changing. Changing so gradually and so subtly that it took several long moments before she realized the impossibility of what she was seeing.
She knew then she was truly dying. Only a bizarre end-of-life vision could account for this. Still she stared, unable to look away, while the wolf blurred and shivered and became something else. Something she could not believe and yet had no choice but to accept.
The wolf was Luke.
He was the last thing she saw as she let herself descend back into the peaceful sanity of oblivion.
Once again he had failed her.
He cradled her in his arms while her blood dripped into the snow, and for an eternity that single numb thought overwhelmed all the world. The howl that rose in his throat choked him, but it brought back sanity, the sanity of the need for survival. The sanity his wolf’s nature demanded. The need to take his mate back from the embrace of his dark and ungiving rival.
He snarled as he lifted her and carried her back into the cave, defying death to take her from him. Enough of the nature of his man’s form remained to enable him to find the first-aid kit, to clear away the clotted blood that matted her hair and streaked her body, halt the deadly escape of her life’s blood before it could carry her away with it. He located the deep gash at her temple and bound it up, and then patched the lesser wounds, tearing up his spare shirt when the bandages ran out. Her breath came slight and soft, but it came, he paused to bend his head over her and call upon the spirit of life to keep that one steady rhythm unbroken. The cold certainty of her condition did not leave him, but when he had done all he could, he was able to gather up the vestiges of human logic and weave them into resolution.