briefly wondered if her sister, Lana, had made it to safety, and then knew she must be with her fiancé, Sven. Surely, the Nordic Warrior, as some in the pack called the blond bruiser, would protect her. Lexi wanted to look for her, but more urgent was ensuring her father’s safety. She hadn’t gotten to his room to let him know the courier had arrived before the avalanche struck. The principal’s room was in the south tower, and he was the first she’d radioed when the avalanche had struck. He hadn’t responded, but he was ill, so he could have slept through it all. She hoped for that. Father didn’t need another thing stressing him out and pushing him closer to the unstable edge he trod.
Liam raced past her with a bleeding wolf in arm. The Irish werewolf was broad and stout, quiet yet constant. “He was just outside the doors and was slammed up against the glass when it hit,” he explained to her. “His body must have been crushed but he’s breathing.”
“Natalie and Reese are setting up triage in the keep. Take him there. Have you been able to get outside? Do we know who was outside?”
Liam shook his head. “Where’s Vince?”
Vincent Rapel was pack scion and had assumed control over the pack during the principal’s sickness. Vince was a dutiful, capable wolf who would seek her immediately at any sign of trouble, because he understood Lexi’s standing in the pack. She may be a female, but she was truly the second in command under her father’s reign. She handled the security for the castle, and nothing happened here without her knowledge. Chatelaine was her unofficial title, which she liked much better than the official one she had been born with—princess.
“I hope Vince is all right,” she said under her breath as she observed the scatter of wolves heading toward the safe sections of the castle.
A sound on the roof alerted her, and she nodded, confirming what she knew but hadn’t come to mind until now. “The roof access. The best way to get a good look at the damage.”
Racing toward the escalator, which was stalled because the avalanche must have taken out the electricity, she took the unmoving stairs two at a time yet paused before pulling open the roof access door. It was on the wall hit by the snow. It could be unstable. Yet it was far from the shattered glass window.
She gave it a pull. It opened freely, and she was not hit with snow. Rushing up the stairs, the brisk winter air smacked her in the face and she tugged up the coat hood over her head. The sun shone too brightly for the disaster that had just occurred, which reminded her how deadly Mistress Winter could be beyond her deceptive cloak of glittering white snow.
A crew loitered at the edge of the roof, shovels in hand, and one held a long thin stick. A ski pole? The snow wall had pushed all the way up to the roof. As Lexi approached the men, she saw that the entire courtyard at the front of the castle, where visitors and pack members arrived and departed, had been covered over with snow. Probably ten to twelve feet deep, she decided, and it had pushed all the way up to the doors of the storage shed, where they kept the snowplow and pack vehicles.
Two men were carefully making their way down the snow mountains formed up against the castle walls.
“What’s the situation?” she asked anyone who would answer, noting that Vince was not standing in the crew. “Who is that?”
“Said his name was Trystan Hawkes,” one of the men offered. “He’s the one that suggested we go down with shovels and sticks to start looking for men. Just jumped right in and took charge. Said time is of the essence.”
Lexi lifted her chin, not sure how to take that. She liked a man who took charge and, especially in a situation like this, they needed someone to take command. But did he know what he was doing? He could be risking his life by stepping on unstable ground.
“Said he helped rescue a couple after an avalanche in Germany,” another said. “The guy knows what he’s doing. Where’s Vince?”
“I think he was with the skiers this morning,” the other man replied.
Lexi’s heart dropped. If the scion was trapped in the snow, they had only hours to get to him before the unforgiving snow crushed his lungs. While werewolves could withstand much, they were not immortal, and his death would prove slow and suffering.
She cast a glance at the man with wavy red hair who appeared to be sniffing as he walked. Even if a man were buried deeply, the werewolf’s senses should be able to track him. He towered over the pack members. A natural leader who stood out among the average. He calmly delivered instructions to the men. That command appealed to her inner need for order, and touched a curious part of her that lifted her chin and kept her eyes pinned to the bold newcomer.
“Trystan Hawkes,” she whispered against her gloved hands as she clasped them to her mouth to keep her face warm. “What have you brought to Wulfsiege?”
Chapter 2
Wind whipped icy crystals up about the site where Trystan had sensed a heartbeat under the hard-packed snow surface. He’d stowed the titanium case in a cubby near the cafeteria on the way outside. Now he instructed the three men digging to be cautious: a live body was beneath the snow. They didn’t want to cause further injury with a misplaced shovel. But, as well, they had to act quickly.
None of the pack members had been wearing transceivers, as skiers often did, so the search proved difficult. They had been digging for over an hour and the sun was falling toward the horizon. Tryst left the diggers to continue the search for more live bodies. Using a makeshift probe, a ski pole he’d broken off the basket to poke through the snow where he sensed life, he directed another team of shovelers.
“Here. He’s closer to the surface. Can you sense the heartbeat?”
The first rescuer to arrive nodded and knelt to the ground, listening. “Can’t be more than a foot under. I can hear him breathing.”
Thank the gods, werewolves had supersensitive noses and hearing.
Tryst rushed over to another trio who dug where the snow was perhaps only five feet high, near to the front of the storage shed. The ski team must have been heading in for the day, or else the avalanche had carried them this far, which seemed unreal but not out of the realm of possibility.
“Another?” he asked.
“Yes, here’s his hand.”
Tryst bent and clasped the hand sticking out of the snow. The cool fingers clasped back, strongly. Good energy there. “Hurry,” he instructed. “He’s going to be okay.”
Shouts from the first dig site brought him around to assist as they pulled a limp body from the snow. Tryst bent to listen at the wolf’s chest but didn’t hear a heartbeat. He grabbed his wrist, but the man did not react and his hand fell limply across Tryst’s leg.
“Hell, it’s Vince,” one of the wolves who had been digging said. He knelt beside Tryst and bowed his head. “Pack scion.”
Not good, Trystan knew. If the principal was ill, then the scion was the next in line to take charge. This news would shake the Alpine pack to its core.
“Bring him inside. Carefully,” he said. “There may yet be life in him. Get him to—” He didn’t know if there was a medical team on site. “Bring him to the female wolf. What’s her name? The one walking around like she’s running the place?”
“Alexis?”
