Page 43 of Run Wild Omega

My vision narrows down to just her. Her heartbeat. Her breath. Her safety.

Wyatt stirs, his eyes fluttering open. They’re wild, unfocused, but they lock onto me.

“Is she…?”

“She’s breathing,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears—rough, guttural. “I have her.”

I reach in, my hands moving with a gentleness that contradicts the violence of my heart. I undo the bent clips of the harness that ties her to the twisted frame.

“Wyatt, let go,” I command.

He resists for a second, his arm tightening around her waist, before his training seems to override his instinct. He releases her.

I lift her out of the twisted metal.

She’s so light. Too light.

Her head lolls back, her eyes fluttering. They’re glazed, unfocused, the pupils blown wide.

“Dylan?”

Her voice is barely there. Her hand moves weakly, twitching toward my chest.

“I got you,” I say, cradling her against my chest. “I got you, Sunshine.”

She shivers, a violent convulsion that racks her whole body, and then she goes limp, her head falling heavily against my shoulder.

“She’s drifting again,” I say to Miles. “We have to move. Now.”

“The slope is reloading,” Miles says, his head jerking toward the mountain above us. He’s checking his tablet, his fingers flying over the screen despite the cold. “Wind shear is peaking. We can’t stay here.”

“Can we take the ridge?”

“No,” Miles snaps. “The cornice above us is thirty feet out and ready to cut. We have to traverse the scree field. It’s exposed rock, but it’s the only stable ground.”

“I’ll carry her,” I say, adjusting my grip. There’s no way in hell I’m putting her back on that twisted frame. “Wyatt, you take point. Miles, you watch the rear.”

“Miles.” Wyatt struggles to his feet, swaying slightly. He looks like death—pale, blood running down his temple from a cut on his hairline. “You sure the scree is stable?”

“It’s our only shot,” Miles says grimly. “Move.”

We start the descent, and it’s a nightmare.

The wind is howling, a physical force that tries to tear us off the mountain. The snow is coming down sideways, stinging like buckshot. My legs are burning, the lactic acid building up in my quads until every step is agony.

But I don’t feel the pain in my legs. All I feel is the weight of her in my arms.

She’s freezing. Even through my turnout coat and her layers, I can feel the chill radiating off her. Her breathing is shallow, a wet, rattling sound that terrifies me.

“Stay with me, Tess,” I mutter into her hair, burying my face in her neck to smell her. The scent of apples calms the frantic roaring in my blood, focusing it into a laser beam of intent. Get her down.

We hit the scree field.

The footing is treacherous, loose shale and ice hidden under a dusting of fresh powder.

“Watch your footing!” Wyatt screams from above. He’s breaking trail now, kicking rocks loose to clear the path. “Dylan, don’t slip!”

“I got her!”