When Ian looked at the picture of the woman again, a strange warmth tingled in his fingertips where they connected to the glossy paper. Any man with eyes could see a woman like her was fine-bred and beautiful. Much too good to couple up with a McCall. Troubled by his sympathetic thoughts, Ian shoved the entire file back into the folder and slammed the door of his den closed, then strode out of the stone-encased tunnel and crawled through the small opening in the rocks and out into the sunlight.
Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tilted his face up toward the sun. Even with half a foot of snow still covering Afognak Island, he’d never felt anything better. The woman was safe from him, and soon she’d be safe from Cole McCall and whatever idiot thing he’d done to get a price on his head. He was about to eat for the first time in six months, and he’d survived another winter. Life wasn’t all peaches and berries, but this was the best a grizzly shifter could ask for.
Getting off Afognak meant uncovering the boat he’d hidden at the start of winter and dragging it to the beach. Not many came to this island, especially in this season. Hunters and hikers mostly, but no one lived here except him. There were a few cabins dotting the island that weren’t made for permanent residence, but provided temporary protection for visitors from the wild brown bears that called this place home. Only the bravest hunters, or the most desperate, went after black-tail deer at the risk of running into a grizzly. Afognak was also said to be haunted, a rumor probably started by his ancestors and one he fueled if anyone asked because he liked his peace and quiet. The untamed land felt like home to a half-feral shifter like himself.
The boat engine was frozen and needed work and new fuel, so getting the dinghy in the water and hearing the whine of the little motor took a couple of hours. And all the while, his stomach growled.
The waters of the Marmot Bay were passable, but there were still ice chunks everywhere, so he had to be careful not to damage his hull as he maneuvered toward Kodiak Island. By trade, he was an Alaskan bush pilot, like one of his brothers and father before him, but he kept his plane in Pilot’s Point to keep the werewolves off his trail when he went to sleep for the winter.
Damn, he was hungry. The second he set foot on land, he pulled his boat out of the frigid waters and tracked down his traditional post-hibernation restaurant to tuck into. It was an old inn that didn’t get much traffic outside of tourist season, and the wait staff never commented on how much he could eat in one sitting.
It was here, in the back corner of the darkest room, that he pulled the envelope from his inside jacket pocket. The thick, heavy packet had been burning a hole against his chest. Or so it felt because the entire way here, he’d craved to take it out and stare at the woman’s picture again. This hibernation had apparently made him lose his damned mind.
The server was friendly, a local he’d seen before, and she only hesitated a moment when he ordered one of everything on the menu.
Galena, Alaska the paperwork read—the last place Cole McCall had been seen. That would be one helluva flight for a warm-up, but anything was doable for his old red and white Cessna 182. He’d get her up and running and probably get there by tomorrow, depending on how many places he needed to stop for fuel and food.
He frowned at the photo of the woman again. It was hard to tell in the grainy picture, but it looked like her lip was split. Ian swallowed a snarl that started deep in his chest, and tried to convince himself that the growl was about being hungry and not his protective instincts kicking up. He had no claim on this woman, and it came as zero shock if McCall had mishandled her. Asshole. Ian shoved Elyse Abram’s picture to the back of the stack and tried to concentrate through the rage that was boiling his blood.
“Are you okay, sir?” the waitress asked in a concerned tone.
She’d put plates of food all over the table, and he hadn’t even noticed her working beside him. Shit. Focus.
“Yeah,” he rasped out. It had been a long time since he’d used his voice, so he cleared it and tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Smile. More genuinely. “Thanks.”
He read as he ate. McCall had been on a tear for the last month. Two trapper attacks, one fatal, but that wasn’t the worst of it. That wasn’t what got Cole hunted by someone like Ian. It was the picture of the little six-year-old girl. Dark hair and dark inquisitive eyes, probably Alaska Native. She’d been attacked right outside of Kaltag by a single, unprovoked wolf with McCall’s dark gray saddle back markings.
“Mother fucker,” Ian rumbled, more growl than words.