but their packs and families protected them as if gold, and were very choosy about whom they were allowed to interact with and marry. Or so Tryst’s dad had told him. He’d met a female wolf in a nightclub once, and indeed, members of her pack had carefully watched her every move. He hadn’t been able to say more than “Hey, baby” when a bruiser had forced him to the opposite side of the dance floor where the vampires lurked. He’d challenged the guy to a fight, as his pride had demanded, and had limped for days after. Still, he’d counted himself a winner simply for surviving the beating.
It surprised Tryst this woman was out in the forefront and with no apparent male to guard her. He looked around. No guards posted in secret nooks, not even security cameras tucked at the ceiling or in corners.
“Trystan Hawkes,” he offered, holding out his hand.
She shook it, firmly. The brief contact, though shielded by her leather glove, sent a scurry of excitement through his system. He was touching a female werewolf and no one was stopping him. A triumphant howl blossomed in his gut, and it was only with great restraint that he kept it silenced.
He wished he could see her eyes beyond the blue lenses, but the mystery heightened her appeal. Her mouth, prettily natural and not painted with bright lipstick, smiled softly, and Trystan imagined kissing those lush lips—
“You’re here to see Principal Connor?”
“Er …” He snapped out of the fantasy. He shouldn’t even go there in his mind, because if he so much as looked at a pack female the wrong way he suspected he’d never get out of castle Wulfsiege alive. “Yes, I’ve a package for your pack leader from Hawkes Associates.” He tapped the case. “I’ve been instructed to hand it directly to him.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She appeared to assess him from snowcapped boot toes, up his white-and-gray snow camo pants and over his Gore-Tex jacket to his shoulder-length hair, which he never remembered to comb. And no, it was not red, it was auburn.
Tryst winked, just in case her eyes were on his.
She gave him a “really” tilt of her head, and he felt the admonishment, but that didn’t erase the smile he could not stop.
“Wait here,” she instructed. “I’ll check with the principal.”
“No problem. I didn’t catch your name?”
“No, you didn’t.” She turned and marched off in a precise line that took her around the steel railing that curved along the castle wall, and out of Tryst’s sight.
“No, you didn’t,” he mocked. “Tough chick. But sexy. And a wolf. Whew!”
The howl still clambered for release and his smile went full-on goofy. Tryst shrugged his hands back through his hair. He figured every wolf in the castle had to have his sights set on Miss No You Didn’t. But had they spoken to her as he just had?
Didn’t think so. He was so ahead of the game.
On the other hand, a gorgeous chick like her was probably already mated to the strongest, most alpha wolf in the pack. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. But the fantasy was always a kick. And hell, look up glutton for punishment in the dictionary and his face would be featured.
A sudden unnatural roar lifted the hair all over his body.
Tryst swung around and saw the massive cloud of billowing snow just before it broke through the glass wall that overlooked the stadium. The entire castle shook. Male shouts punctuated the calamity.
Tryst lost his balance but managed to stay upright. The roar, as from a beast unearthed after long centuries of hibernation, engulfed the area—and then it suddenly grew deathly quiet as if a damper had been clamped over all.
Or a heavy wall of snow.
With glass and snow scattering across the tiled floor, Tryst turned to find the lobby doors through which he had entered had gone dark. The window that had once looked over the stadium area was also dark and filled in with a wall of snow.
“Avalanche,” he muttered, and started toward the hallway down which the female werewolf had left. She had walked right by the window.
Werewolves ran by him, shouting for help. A few were bleeding. The structure of the castle seemed intact as Tryst let his eyes scurry up and down the limestone walls, and he guessed the walls must be three or more feet thick if built so many centuries ago. He hoped so.
He sighted the female wolf in the long white coat and called out to her, but she was running toward him, shouting orders into an intercom device she held to her mouth.
“You all right?” he called as she ran past him.
She nodded. “Get away from this wall! It could collapse inward.”
“Right.” He turned and ran along beside her. “We need to go outside and see where the snow moved and what areas it covered. How many outside do you think?”
“Too many,” she said. “A group of at least a dozen was out skiing.” She ran off ahead of him.
Trystan stopped in the lobby, standing near the shattered glass and snow. The wall hushed in an icy cold wave of air that crept up the back of his neck like a deadly poison. Fresh snowfall over hardpack last night, and then today a group had gone out skiing? That had been asking for disaster.
He didn’t think the snow blocking the window would move in any farther. But having been in the vicinity during a few avalanches, he knew there was always danger of aftershocks and even another avalanche. The people inside the castle needed to be moved to safety, which could be the other side of the castle. He didn’t know the layout.
The female wolf raced by him again, telling whoever was on the other end of the walkie-talkie to start gathering the castle’s inhabitants and move them. She had a plan, so Tryst would leave that to her.
But if anyone had been outside, they could be trapped under heavy snow. A rescue team had to be formed. He’d worked on a team once to bring up a mortal couple who’d been trapped eight feet under snow, and so he knew what to do. He needed a few strong men. And they had to move quickly. No one lasted for more than a few hours under snow, and in fact, most mortals could withstand no more than half an hour unless they had a pocket of air and their lungs hadn’t been crushed.
Werewolves had an innate ability to heal, and could withstand a lot. He figured if any wolves had been buried they had maybe four to six hours before death.
Alexis Connor marched through the Wulfsiege lobby, her boots crushing broken glass, and her mind racing in twenty different directions. They’d experienced avalanches before, but never one that had hit directly on Wulfsiege grounds or that had caused such damage as she now assessed.
The north window had been busted out, and she couldn’t be sure if the surrounding wall was stable. The medieval castle walls were thick, but she had felt the walls and floors shake, as if an earthquake had occurred. She had to find Liam, he was the only pack member she knew who might be able to make an assessment on the structure thanks to his past, which involved a stint as a construction foreman.
She’d rallied two wolves to move everyone they could find in the castle to the south rooms and the keep, which was the sturdiest place she could imagine, with nine-foot-thick limestone walls and which had originally
