We’re almost to the bottom of the mountain, and Hudson has disappeared into a clump of trees far below me. At first, I don’t worry too much about it—it’s hard to see someone through a forest of spruce trees, especially when you’re flying above them.

But long minutes go by without so much as a glimpse of his bright-blue snow jacket peeking through the trees, and it starts to make me nervous. Really, really nervous.

Not because I think he’s ahead of me and I’m worried about losing (although that is certainly a valid concern with Hudson) but because this is freaking Alaska. Anything can happen out here in the middle of the wilderness.

One second of inattention, and you can be lying at the bottom of a ravine with a concussion or a compound fracture while a bear or pack of wolves tries to eat you.

Or a pissed-off moose might decide to use you as target practice for his antlers.

Or you could be impaled by a giant icicle coming around a curve…the list goes on and on in my head, getting a little more irrational with each second that passes. Admittedly, Hudson is the most dangerous predator on this mountain, despite the very wild wildlife, and I’m sure he can handle himself with them just fine.

But I still want to see him. Still want to make sure he’s okay—and that he hasn’t taken a wrong turn somewhere. And if he has taken a wrong turn, he could be halfway to Canada or the North Pole by now, and that means we’ll never get to the Bloodletter’s cave.

It’s that thought and not any worry for Hudson that spurs me to fly lower so I can get a better look in between the trees—or at least that’s what I tell myself. But no matter how low I fly, I can’t see any sign of him.

Worry settles into my stomach, as heavy and unignorable as one of those giant boulders he’s been jumping over ever since we left Katmere, and I prepare to drop almost to the top of the trees. I could text him, see if he answers. Service isn’t the best out here, but we aren’t that far from Denali National Park, so maybe—

I scream as something broadsides me out of nowhere and sends me spinning straight toward the ground.

24

Beauty and

All the Beasts

I have a split second to think of bears and mountain lions, wolves and lynx, as my scream echoes across the snowy mountain, before it registers that I’m being held by a (very) strong pair of arms. And that the spin I’m currently in is definitely controlled.

Hudson. Not in trouble but deliberately hiding. The jerk.

“Let me go!” I screech, even as I reach out with a balled-up fist and punch him in the shoulder as hard as I can.

In my human form, I know he would just laugh at such a blow, but my gargoyle stone packs a lot more of a wallop than my human hand does, and Hudson actually grunts in pain. What he doesn’t do, however, is loosen his grip on me. At all.

“What are you doing?” I cry out as we finally stop spinning.

“Hitching a ride,” he answers with a wicked grin that is somehow both extremely charming and extremely suspicious.

“Don’t you mean cheating?” I shoot back.

“I suppose it all depends on your perspective.” His breath is hot against my ear, and it sends all kinds of sensations careening through me. Sensations I have no business feeling for the brother of the guy I love, even if we are broken up.

“Considering you’re the one tagging along for the ride, I’m pretty sure my perspective is the only one that matters,” I mutter. Still, I stop struggling against his ridiculously strong hold. Not because I’ve given up but because there’s no other way to lull him into a false sense of security. The second our feet hit the ground, he’s not going to have a clue what hit him.

Except we never actually touch down on the ground. Instead, Hudson drops us onto the top branch of one of the tallest cedar trees around.

“Stop fighting me,” he says once he’s got us balanced properly on the branch. “Or we’re both going to end up falling out of this thing—and gargoyles are a hell of a lot more breakable than vampires.”

“If you want me to stop, you should let go of me!” I answer as I struggle against him, preparing to rack him if I have to.

“Okay.” He lets go abruptly, and sure enough, I start to tumble straight off the branch.

The fact that I squawk like a chicken and grab on to him for dear life is something neither of us is going to forget for a long time—him, because it means he was right, and me, because there’s no way he’ll let me forget.

We’re face-to-face now, so close that we’re pretty much breathing the same air—which is not okay on a whole bunch of levels. Hudson must feel the same way, because he takes a step back. But this time, he keeps one firm hand on me so that I don’t do my best impression of a Weeble Wobble.

And can I just say that it’s really hard to balance on a tree branch at the best of times, let alone when you are made of stone? Which is why I say to hell with the whole gargoyle thing at the moment and reach inside for my platinum string.

Seconds later, I’m human again, which is way better when it comes to being able to balance properly. It’s so much easier, in fact, that I actually feel comfortable taking a couple of steps away from Hudson, until my back is resting against the tree trunk.

As I do, I get my first good look at Hudson since he grabbed me. And he looks…good. Really good, with the wind blowing through his silky brown hair and a touch of color from the sun and wind kissing his normally pale cheeks. The giant grin doesn’t hurt, either, along with a lightness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

I don’t know if the changes are just because we’re outdoors and having a little bit of fun for what feels like the first time in forever or if it’s because he’s finally close to getting rid of me.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks, and the lightness in his eyes clouds over.

“Just thinking.” I smile, even though it’s a lot harder than it was just a few moments ago.

His brows draw together. “What about?”

I don’t have an answer to that question, at least not one I want to share with him. So after I look him over, I say the only thing I can think of. “I guess I’m just wondering why you’ve got one of your hands behind your back when you had no trouble grabbing me with both of them when you dragged me out of the air.”

“Oh, that.” Even more color floods his cheeks.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously, preparing to shift into a gargoyle again at the first hint of another dirty trick. But then he pulls his hand out from behind his back, and I realize he’s carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers in all the shades of the rainbow.

He holds it out to me with a small smile and watchful eyes. And I melt.

“You picked flowers for me?” I gasp, eagerly reaching out to take them.

“They reminded me of you.” He puts his tongue firmly in his cheek. “Especially the bright-pink ones.”

But I’m so overwhelmed by the gesture—no one has ever hand-picked a bouquet for me before—that I don’t rise to the very obvious bait. Instead, I bury my face in the flowers and inhale the scent of spring after a long, long, long winter.

Nothing has ever smelled so good.

“They’re amazing,” I say and watch the uncertainty on his face fade away. Impulsively, I throw my arms around him in a hug.

“Thank you so much,” I whisper in his ear. “I love them more than anything.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling away just a little so he can see my face.

“Yeah,” I answer.

He smiles. “Good.” Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he pulls me closer to him, even as he turns me around.

“What—”

“Look!” he whispers and points out across the huge ravine we’re on the precipice of.

I follow where he’s pointing and gasp, because on the ground, barely thirty feet in front of us, is a giant brown mama bear and her two half-grown cubs. The mom is lying in the sun, watching as her cubs tussle and tumble over each other.

Ears get pulled and tails get nipped, but their claws stay firmly sheathed as they roll around the ground together. And, I realize with delight, bear hugs are absolutely a real thing.

Hudson laughs when one of the cubs trips over a fallen tree and goes rolling down the shallow edge of the ravine and her sibling goes tumbling after her. When they don’t immediately climb out of the ravine—choosing instead to roughhouse up and down its slippery, craggy slopes, Mama Bear roars her annoyance and walks over to investigate.

The bears climb out pretty quickly once she growls at them from the edge of the ravine, and then the three of them lumber away.

“That was …” Hudson breaks off with a shake of his head.

“Incredible? Awe-inspiring? Amazing?” I fill in the blanks for him.

I don’t know how long we stand there, checking out the truly breathtaking view of snow-covered mountains meeting a canyon covered in wildflowers.

Long enough for the bears to finally wander fully out of sight.

Long enough for a bald eagle to swoop across the canyon on a powerful gust of wind.