Smack. They both yelled as they landed on a small ledge, immediately flipping off, their empty hands shooting out and catching hold of the edge.
Do you have a will to survive?
Yes!
We can do this. We can do this.
They stared, tears streaking down the smaller boy’s cheeks, their breath coming out in sharp pants. The other two boys raced past them, their screams echoing into the dark nothingness below.
Jak’s lungs hurt with every breath and his body screamed in pain. Terror grabbed him. All his feelings were suddenly real. He felt real, not underwater anymore, not half-asleep, and it was an awful, terrifying wake up.
Still gripping the other boy’s hand, he raised them both, grabbing the side of the ledge so they were each holding on with both hands. In a quick glance, he saw that the ledge was too small for two boys, but there was a skinny tree root next to it that looked like it might lead to stronger ground. A chance. A small, small chance.
From the low light of the moon, Jak saw that the boy’s large eyes were starting to close, blood streamed from his nose, his face was bruised and bloody, and his head was rolling on his neck like he might fall asleep. His arms were shaking, his fingertips dark with holding on. Oh God.
Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. Where you hear that expression? That fat, stinky mailman?
His baka’s voice in his head gave him a small burst of strength and he gripped tighter, knowing he could pull himself up if he tried. The ledge though, it was only big enough for one. The boy’s half-closed eyes met his, his mouth opening a little, blood trailing.
He was about to let go.
If Jak was going to pull himself up on the ledge and slither along the root like a snake, the way he did in the backyard at home where he was king of the forest—the woods area that he played in most of the day because his baka believed that children shouldn’t be bothering, always bothering, he’d have to do it now. Or . . . he could save the other boy and take his own chances with the fall.
These thoughts streaked through his brain quickly and all at once, his body got a message he didn’t know he’d sent, as he moved his hands over, grabbed the other boy around his waist just as his hands slipped and he cried out.
“Climb up me,” he grunted, using the last of his strength to keep them both from falling. “Now!” he ordered. With a sharp cry, the boy, much lighter than Jak, grabbed at the ledge again, putting a foot on Jak’s shoulder as Jak removed one hand and used it to push the boy up onto that tiny piece of solid ground.
Jak’s other hand slipped. “Live!” Jak shouted, demanding it with the last breath in his lungs, as he rushed toward the unknown below.
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
Deputy Paul Brighton gripped the steering wheel of his patrol car. Christ, his hands were still shaking. He turned on the wipers as snow flew at the windshield, creating a field of whirling white. He squinted, barely able to see the road in front of him. “Just what I need,” he muttered, trying to slow his racing heart. He’d never seen a crime scene like that, though there’d been a similar one in town just the week before. What kind of psycho went around committing murders with a bow and arrow? He’d heard about the first one—all the gory details as a matter of fact—but the sheriff had answered that call and now Deputy Brighton knew, hearing about something and seeing it up close and personal, were two very different experiences. The picture of the victim from the scene he’d just left appeared in his mind and he grimaced. The victim had been—fuck—he’d been nailed to the wall by an arrow for Christ’s sake, his blood spreading across the floor like—
Deputy Brighton slammed on his brakes and turned sharply, as a man, larger than life, rose up out of nowhere, looming in front of his windshield. His tires slid on the icy ground and for a moment he thought he’d lose control of the vehicle. But he managed to hold on, correcting his slide, and the SUV skidded to a shuddery halt on the side of the road. Deputy Brighton’s breath came sharply. Who the fuck was that? He’d looked like a goddamned . . . caveman. He shook his head to attempt to set things straight in his brain.
He quickly opened the door, the ding ringing out into the silent, snowy landscape, the only other sound the low hum of the engine. Deputy Brighton took cover on the side of the vehicle, removing his gun from his holster for the first time in his career.
“Show your hands!” he called into the frigid onslaught, using his forearm to shield his eyes as he looked cautiously over the hood. He saw the man’s shape first—huge, muscular. “Show your hands!” he said again, his voice wavering.
The man stepped forward, his hands raised, details coming into focus. His legs were clad in denim, but the rest of him was covered entirely in . . . animal fur from his boots, to his jacket, to the hat on his head, pulled low so his eyes were partially covered. Who the hell is he? What the hell is he? “Get down on your knees!” he yelled.
The man paused as though considering, but then did as he was told, his hands still raised. Deputy Brighton saw that his eyes had narrowed. Snow clung to his dark bearded jaw, and thick, unruly hair grazed his chin. The man watched him, waiting, his gaze moving between the gun and his face. He’s a savage. The thought ran through Deputy Brighton’s mind, the gun shaking in his grip as he stepped from the cover of the car. When he moved forward, he noticed the final detail about the man.
He had a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder.
CHAPTER TWO
“Harper, there you are.” Keri Simpkins slid a pencil behind her ear as she stood from her desk, walking quickly to Harper, who was hanging her parka on a hook by the door. “Did you hear the news?”
“News?” Harper rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm them as Keri glanced behind her toward the back of the small county jail.
Keri bobbed her head. “Hmm-hmm. That murder the town’s been buzzing about? There’s been another one. And”—she lowered her voice—“they have a suspect.”
Harper’s heart constricted. “Another murder?” She frowned, the surprise of the news prickling her skin. Here? In Helena Springs? And a suspect?
“Hmm-hmm. And get this, the suspect is some kind of wild man.”