Matthias's POV
The gunshot echoed in my mind as I walked through the snow.
Twelve years later, and I could still hear it. Still feel the moment Jackson fell beside me, blood spreading across the white ground. Still see Draven's face as he turned and ran, leaving us all to die.
Twenty-three wolves under my care. Twenty-three men I swore to bring home. Twenty-three graves because one coward picked his own life over theirs.
I shook my head, trying to clear the memories. They always came back stronger on Wintermoon Eve. This terrible holiday, when everyone pretended the world was good and kind and safe.
My boots crunched through the fresh snow along the Frozen Crossing. The river roared beside me, black and furious under the moonlight. Ice crusted the edges, but the middle ran fast and deadly.
This was where it happened. Not exactly here, but close enough. Twelve years ago, on Wintermoon Eve, my unit got attacked in the mountains. We fought our way down to this river, bleeding and dying, only to find Draven had already crossed with his men. He could have waited. It could have covered our escape.
Instead, he cut the rope bridge and left us to die.
I spent three days crawling through snow and ice, half-dead from cold and blood loss. By the time I made it to safety, most of my unit was gone. Frozen. Bled out. Killed by the dogs who hunted us.
Draven faced no penalties. He claimed he had to make a smart retreat. The higher-ups believed him because he was charming and connected, and I was just a soldier who survived when I should have died.
But I knew the truth. Draven was a coward and a liar. And someday, somehow, I'd prove it.
That's why I walked this line every Wintermoon Eve. While everyone else celebrated, I honored the wolves who died here. The ones I couldn't save. "Happy Wintermoon, Jackson," I said quietly to the empty air. "Happy Wintermoon, Martinez. Riley. Chen. All of you."
The wind picked up, roaring through the trees. Snow whirled around me. I pulled my coat tighter and kept walking.
Three years ago, my older brother died, and I became Alpha King. I never wanted the job. Never wanted the crown or the castle or the responsibility of ruling an entire country. I was a soldier. That's all I ever wanted to be.
But duty was duty. So I took the chair and tried to be the king my brother would have wanted. Fair. Just. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
My pack thought I was crazy for walking the border alone on Wintermoon Eve. My Beta, Owen, fought with me about it every year. "You're the king now," he'd say. "You can't take risks like this. What if something happens to you out there alone?"
But I needed this. Needed to remember why I fought so hard to be better than alphas like Draven. Needed to feel the cold and remember what my troops felt in their final moments.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed it.
My wolf suddenly pushed forward in my mind, alert and urgent. Something was wrong.
I stopped walking and focused. My enhanced senses spread out, looking for whatever triggered my wolf's alarm.
There. On the wind. The faintest smell.
Blood. Fresh blood.
And fear. The sharp, bitter smell of absolute terror.
My body went hard. Someone was hurt. Someone was close and in danger.
I ran toward the smell, my boots pounding through the snow. My wolf pushed against my skin, wanting to shift, but I held back. I needed to see what I was dealing with first.
The scent got stronger with every step. Blood and fear and something else, something that made my wolf howl inside my chest. I didn't understand it. Didn't have time to understand it.
I burst through the tree line onto a clear stretch of riverside and saw him.
A man stood at the water's edge, looking down at the black river. His shoulders shook like he was crying. Even from fifty yards away, I recognized him.
Marcus Carter. Draven's second-in-command.
What was he doing on my territory? And why did he reek of guilt and grief?
Before I could call out to him, Marcus turned and ran back toward the tree line. He vanished into the darkness, leaving me alone on the riverbank.
Something felt very wrong about this.
I walked to where Marcus had been standing. The snow was disturbed, with scuff marks as if there'd been a fight. Drops of blood dotted the white ground.
And there, at the very edge of the ice, I saw a handprint. Small. Female. Clawing at the ice surface like someone had tried desperately to climb out.
My blood ran cold.
I looked at the river. The black water churned and frothed, violent and dangerous.
Someone had gone into that water. Recently. Maybe minutes ago.
And Marcus Carter had been here when it happened.
I scanned the river's surface, my heart racing. Nothing. Just black water and white foam and
There.
A flash of pale skin. A hand breaking the surface fifty yards downstream, fingers reaching up desperately before the river pulled it back under.
Someone was sinking. Right now. Right in front of me.
I didn't think. Didn't pause. Didn't wonder why or how or who.
I just ran.
My feet hammered across the icy riverbank. The hand appeared again, farther downstream. Weaker this time. Barely breaking the surface.
Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten.
I could see her now, a woman, her dark hair flowing in the current. Her face broke the surface for just a second, mouth open in a quiet scream, before the water dragged her back down.
Five yards.
I reached the spot where the current would pull her past me. This was my only chance. If I missed, the river would take her around the bend, and she'd be gone forever.
The hand appeared one more time. Fingers grabbing at nothing. At air. At hope.
I dove.
The cold hit me like a sledgehammer. Every nerve in my body screamed as the freezing water closed over my head. The current grabbed me instantly, trying to pull me downstream.
But I was better. I'd survived this water once before. I wasn't about to let it win now.
I fought against the stream, my arms reaching through the black water. My lungs already burned from the cold. My muscles seized up. But I pushed forward, looking desperate.
My hand hit something soft. Fabric. An arm.
I grabbed hold and pulled.
She was limp. Unconscious. Maybe already dead.
No. No, I refused to accept that.
I wrapped my arm around her chest and kicked hard toward the surface. The current fought me every inch of the way. My vision started to blur. My own lungs screamed for air.
Just a little farther. Just a little more.
My head broke the surface, and I gasped, dragging in freezing air. The woman in my arms didn't breathe. Didn't move.
The river was still pulling us downstream, toward the rapids. If we hit those, we'd both die.
I kicked toward the bank, using every ounce of power I had left. My arms felt like lead. My legs barely worked. But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
My foot hit something solid—a rock. I used it to push us closer to shore. Another rock. Another push.
Finally, my hand grabbed a tree root sticking out from the bank. I hauled us both up onto the icy shore and fell, the woman still clutched in my arms.
For a moment, I just lay there, breathing and shaking from the cold.
Then I looked down at her face.
She was young. Maybe late twenties. Beautiful, even pale and unaware. Her lips were blue. Her skin was ice-cold.
She wasn't breathing. "No," I said out loud. "No, you don't get to die. Not after I just pulled you out of that river."
I rolled her onto her side and hit her back hard, trying to force the water from her lungs. Nothing. I did it again. Still nothing.
Panic clawed at my chest. I'd trained for this. Years of military rescue efforts. I knew what to do.
I turned her head back, cleared her airway, and breathed into her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing. "Come on," I growled, beginning chest compressions. "Breathe. Breathe!"
Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty compressions. Two breaths.
Still nothing.
My hands shook as I continued. I'd lost count of how many rounds I'd done. My own body was slowing down from the cold, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't lose another one. Not tonight. Not ever again. "Please," I heard myself say. "Please don't die."
One more turn. One more desperate try.
And then she coughed.
Water burst from her mouth as her body convulsed. I quickly turned her on her side as she choked and gasped, her lungs trying to remember how to breathe.
Relief hit me so hard I almost fell.
She was living. Against all odds, she was living.
Her eyes fluttered open, gray eyes, unfocused and confused. They found my face, and something like recognition flickered there, though I'd never seen her before in my life.
Her lips moved. I leaned closer to hear her whisper. "Please," she breathed, her words barely audible. "Please don't send me back to him."
Then her eyes rolled back, and she fell asleep again.