Page 44 of Run Wild Omega

I slide on a patch of ice, my boot losing purchase. I go down on one knee, jarring Tess hard. She whimpers, a low sound of pain, and her hand claws feebly at my coat.

“I know, baby, I know,” I grunt, forcing myself back up. “Sorry. I got you.”

We inch our way across the face. It takes hours. It takes days.

Every time she drifts, a cold shock of adrenaline violently jerks through my chest, forcing me to watch her every blink. I stop, check her pulse—thready, fluttering like a moth against a lightbulb—and then force myself to keep moving.

The adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving a hollow ache in its place. I’m exhausted. Every muscle in my body is screaming, but I push it down. I’m a firefighter. I run into burning buildings. I can carry a woman down a mountain.

But this is different. This isn’t a job.

She feels like the most important thing in the universe.

“Truck!”

The word cuts through the wind.

I look up. Through the swirling white, I see the flashing hazard lights of our truck, idling at the turnout.

Kyle is standing by the open driver’s door, shivering in his heavy coat. He got the rig turned around and running as requested, but he shouldn’t have left his post. With the main radio lines down across the county, someone has to physically remain at the station to maintain the base comms relay and coordinate incoming emergency services from town.

I want to be annoyed with him for breaking protocol, but I’m too preoccupied to care.

Kyle runs toward us as we stumble into the lot.

“Is she…”

“She’s hypothermic,” I say, laying her gently onto the blanket spread across the tailgate. “Leg is compound. Watch the spine.”

Kyle quickly hands Miles the keys. “I patched through to the ER on the station’s heavy radio, but I have to get back to keep the relay up or we lose all comms with the regional medical team. Drive like hell. They’re waiting for you.”

“Got it,” Miles gasps, taking the keys. He collapses against the side of the truck, sliding down briefly before forcing himself into the driver’s seat.

Wyatt stands over us. He’s covered in snow, blood, and dirt. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He reaches out, his hand shaking, and brushes a lock of hair away from Tess’s frozen face.

“She’s cold,” he whispers, the sound stripped raw.

“Get in.” I shove at his shoulder. “We need heat. Now.”

I climb into the back of the cab with her, pulling her onto my lap. I drape the thermal blanket around us both, pinning her tight against my chest. I lock my arms around her, rubbing her back, trying to force friction into her skin.

She’s so still.

Kyle sprints back toward the station utility vehicle to maintain the emergency comms link, disappearing into the whiteout.

“Start it!” I yell to Miles.

The engine roars to life, the cab vibrating as Miles slams it into gear.

I pull her closer, burying my nose in her neck again. That scent—apples and snow—fills my head. It mixes with the smell of my own smoke and sweat, creating a new scent. A pack scent.

The mating instinct that snapped earlier doesn’t go away. It settles, damning and possessive in my chest.

Mine.

I look down at her pale face. She looks fragile, breakable. But I know what she is. She’s the storm that shook up my life the moment she crashed into me in that hallway.

I press my lips to her forehead. It’s like ice.