CHAPTER TWO

He sensed the minute Angel gave in to sleep. The tension in her body, steeled for pain, eased. The stress of that pain would tax her heart. He was relieved she’d allowed him to make her more tea.

If he could, he’d take her pain on himself, but he couldn’t understand what it felt like. He’d been burned the first time he encountered fire, having had no one to teach him that it could hurt, but as the decades had gone by, his sensitivity to temperatures and pain had been dulled.

He no longer feared what man or beast could do to him. The knowledge that his misery would continue into eternity, his just punishment for his early years, kept fear at bay…with one exception. But to feel pain as she did, her tears leaking past the scarf and wetting her cheeks, was beyond him. If only he could spare her that as well.

And her pain had just begun.

Since he’d treated someone for frostbite before, he was confident in his ministrations on that level, and on the progression her hands and feet would take, but the only hypothermia victims he’d come across were either dead, had soon died, or were air-lifted away. He had no idea what the procedures were once they were taken to a hospital.

For the first time since he’d met his closest neighbor, Timber, he wished for his company, if only to plot out Angel’s care. Rising, he lifted the tin cup from the bed and walked across the cabin to set it in the sink. He returned to her and gently removed the flannel wrapped rocks from around her body, their temperature no longer warmer than her. Turning next to the wood stove, he added the last of the split logs to it.

He needed to bring more wood inside and he preferred to do so while she slept, so he shucked off his shirt and folded it neatly before returning it to the chest. Grabbing up his axe, he strode outside and around the corner of the cabin to where his wood was stacked. The ledge his cabin was built on was large with a sloping decline on one side, an incline on the opposite northside and even ground directly across from the cabin.

He didn’t need as much firewood as men did for staying warm, but with Angel requiring greater heat, he would have to fell a few more trees before winter set in. The logs he had stacked were too large for the wood stove, so he set one on the stump he used and swung the axe.

Lifting one half of the log onto the stump, he swung the axe down again and split it in half. He continued to split logs into quarters, the physical activity easing some of his anxiety over his guest.

While he’d help people in the wild, he’d never taken care of anyone for more than a day before. He’d owned a dog once, but it hurt too much when it died. Everyone and everything died…except him.

Loading the split wood into his wood box, he carried it into the cabin. As he entered, he was careful to be quiet. He’d rather Angel slept. He hated that she was in pain and there was nothing he could do to help.

That she had pain was a good sign. It meant she was healing, but the process would be agonizing.

Her hands were far worse than her feet. He had no doubt that blisters would occur. She must not have had insulated gloves, but her boots had been good until she’d taken them off.

He’d gathered all her belongings while she’d slept earlier and laid them across his table to dry. It was a strange phenomenon of hypothermia that people disrobed. She must not have disrobed much before he found her. For that he was thankful.

Quietly, he stacked the wood and checked the fire before sitting in the chair by his bed. Angel was so fair, her skin, her hair. It made him anxious to see her eyes. He’d never seen the eyes of his mate, but she had been dark, her hair the black of night, her skin in the tallow candles appeared dusky.

His mind drifted back to that night almost three hundred years ago, while his creator yet lived, his memory sharp with every detail. He’d stood at the window watching Dr. Victor Frankenstein work, gazing at the creature that would be his mate. He’d promised to quit the company of man and leave Victor in peace in return for being given a female creature like himself. All he wanted was another like him. Man had woman and every beast had its mate, but he had nothing. He needed a mate.

It was not much to ask. Victor had abandoned him when he’d taken his first breath. The man owed him. Progress had been slow on the cold rock in the Sea of the Hebrides, Victor vacillating between walks along the windy beach and work in his small croft. The doctor seemed to prolong the process.

One night he looked in the window and knew she was almost complete. He’d smiled at her from outside, his joy building. He was anxious to have someone to share his life with, to end his miserable lonely existence. But Victor had seen him, and for no apparent reason destroyed her before his very eyes, ripping her apart like the monster Victor claimed him to be.

He closed his eyes at the remembered pain, the wail of anguish, and the terrible deeds he’d gone on to commit for the sake of revenge. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at Angel. Could she be his salvation?

~~*~~

Angela woke to pain. At first it was so intense, she wasn’t even sure where it emanated from. Slowly, she was able to distinguish that it came from her hands and feet. Opening her eyes didn’t help. It was pitch black.

She took a deep breath before remembering she shouldn’t, just before she coughed.

“You’re awake.” The deep, scratchy voice was strangely reassuring.

“It hurts.” She sounded like a five-year-old who wanted a band aid instead of the thirty-year-old she was. “The pain.”

“I know. It’s part of the healing process. It means you’ll live.”

Her breath caught at his statement. She would live? The relief in his voice made it clear he had doubted that she would. She released her breath and determined to find her backbone.

She was in the middle of nowhere with a man who said he’d lived most his life in cold climates. She’d been lucky. What if he hadn’t found her. Despite the pain, her head had cleared considerably since she’d last woke up. “How long was I asleep this time?”

“Half a day.” From his voice, she could tell he’d moved closer.

“Can I move now?”

She felt him lift the blanket and pull her arm by the wrist before replacing the covers and setting her arm down. “Yes, you may move, but start with small movements and avoid—”

She tried to curl her fingers to ease the pain, but it made it worse. “Ow! Shoot that hurts.”

“As I tried to tell you. Don’t move your hands. Your frostbite is serious.”

She heard his words, but her brain was still dealing with the stinging that seemed to radiate from her fingers to her shoulder. “How long?” She took shallow breaths as the extra spike in pain subsided, and her hands simply throbbed.

“They will hurt for days and then they will blister, which will cause a different kind of discomfort.”

“You’re just full of good news, aren’t you?” Her sarcasm didn’t make her feel any better and when he didn’t reply, she felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help and I am grateful.”

He still didn’t say anything, but she heard him walk across the cabin. He had to be a big man. Based on his voice, she would guess he was in his fifties with a big bushy white and black beard. His steps were hard but confident, like a man who’d seen a lot in his years, but they were heavy as if he had a significant paunch. From what she’d read about the northern areas, people were perfectly happy with carrying a bit of weight into the winter.

When he strode back toward her, she gave him a sightless smile, hoping he’d forgive her short temper. She was usually easy-going, but her hands were agony. She hadn’t even tried to remove the other from beneath the blanket. She barely felt the sting in her feet compared to her hands.

“Are you hungry?” His voice came with the scent of food.

She took a deeper breath, but not too deep. She wasn’t sure what it was, but her stomach immediately told her the answer to his question. “I am. What do you have there. It smells good.”

“It’s chicken soup.” From the sound of his voice, he’d sat down as he said it.

Chicken? She would have expected venison stew or fish soup. Did he have chickens? She listened for a moment but didn’t hear anything. “You made me chicken soup?”

From the way his breathing rippled after her question, she guessed that he chuckled silently. “Yes, I opened a can and heated it on the wood stove. I can’t take credit or blame for its taste, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

She smiled before grimacing as she accidently moved her hand and caused the stinging to spike again. Sucking in air through her teeth, she held herself completely still, waiting for the pain to go back to its normally high level of intensity.

“Would you like me to put your hand beneath the quilt again?” His concerned voice gave her something else to focus on.

“No. Call me a coward, but the idea of having it moved scares the crap out of me right now.”

“That’s understandable, but I wouldn’t call yourself a coward. The fact that you’re still alive is proof that you have an inordinately strong will to live.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do like to get the most out of life. It’s so short, you know? I want to experience so much.” Talking to him helped her ignore the worst of the pain. “You still haven’t told me your name. I can’t believe you don’t have one. Everyone has a name. Some of us are happier with what our parents picked out than others.” She gave him a smirk. He probably didn’t like his name.

“I thought you wanted chicken soup, but if you prefer, we can talk instead.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, reminding her she was hungry. “No, no. Please. Food first.” She couldn’t see him, but she imagined him smiling at her and feeling pretty proud of himself for bringing her back on track. But he didn’t know her. If he thought she’d forget what she’d been asking, he was in for a surprise.

“I think it best that you sip at the soup like you sipped the tea, so I will hold your head up.”

She smirked. “I hope it’s not too heavy for you. I do have a big head.” At least her brother was always telling her she thought too much of herself.

“Your head is perfect and very light.” He didn’t give her time to reply to his compliment before he lifted her head and placed the cup at her lips. As with the tea, he judged how quickly she could sip and swallow and did an excellent job.

When he lowered her head, she’d finished all of it. “I know it was canned, but it tasted wonderful. Was that all of it?”

“No, there is more, but your body is just starting to function again. I don’t think you should eat any more right now.” He paused as he wiped her face with a wet cloth. “Do you know how long you were out in the cold?”

Did she? “I’m not sure. What’s today’s date?”

“Today is September twenty-seventh.”

“What? That can’t be right? Are you sure?”

He didn’t answer her immediately, which convinced her he was right.

“I am correct.”

At his words, she groaned. “The ship left Seattle on September twentieth. We were only three days north when I took the helicopter to the glacier. It was not the experience I expected. There were at least a hundred people there with helicopters coming and going. I walked away from it, certain I would hear the helicopters and easily find my way back.”

“But the snow carried the sound and it rebounded between the mountains.”

At his words, she sighed. “Yes.”

“You lasted four days.” The surprise in his voice was evident. “Did you have food and water with you?”

She thought back on her trek. When she’d first regained consciousness, she’d avoided doing so, not sure she could face it. Apparently, it was time. “I left on the excursion with my pockets pretty full of snacks because I planned to take another tour when I got back to Wevok. I’m what’s called a grazer. I eat a little all day. I was on an ecological adventure tour of the arctic region. The ship was nice and even boasted a hot tub, but the itinerary focused on nature. That’s why I didn’t expect so many people.”

“It was the last week of the season before tourism shuts down for the winter. If your ship had waited another week to start the trip, you would have been alone.”

And then someone would have noticed she was missing, but her tour wasn’t like that and with all the people, no one would miss her until the four weeks ended and she didn’t return to work…unless— “Do you have a phone or radio or some way to communicate with the nearest town?”

“I don’t. I have no need to.” He walked away from her.

She could hear him cleaning the cup she used. Did he have running water? Did that mean there was electricity? “What is the name of the closest town to here?”

He finished washing her cup and probably something else by the sound of it. When he was done, his footsteps drew closer. “There is no town. We have Savik, which is an outpost. The closest ‘town’ is Tavva, but that is on the other side of the Noatak River. I’ve never been there.”

Her heart sank. It sounded like the nearest town was too far. She’d have to figure out something else, but the pain in her hands was taking all her concentration and her patience. “I want to sleep now but my hands are throbbing. Do you have any more of that tea?”

He laid his hand on her forehead again.

“Do I have a fever?”

“Yes, but it’s not high. I have the tea heating now. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

Yes, take away this awful pain. She wanted to scream it at him, but the fact she was even alive to endure it was thanks to him. “Yes, talk to me until the tea is ready. It helps take my focus from how much it hurts. Tell me about you. How long have you lived here?”

“Nine years.”

She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. Maybe living alone, or as alone as he lived, did that to a person. “And where did you live before that?”

“I lived in the Queen Elizabeth Islands of Canada.”

“Are you Canadian?”

“No.”

Okay, this was just frustrating. She needed to come up with a better question, but half her brain was still on her hands. “Tell me about this cabin. I can’t see it. What does it look like?”

“It’s one room. The wood stove is in the opposite corner from this bed. Next to it are the cabinets and a cold box for items needing to stay cool, but that I want easy access to.” His voice sounded like he was looking in the direction of the area he spoke about.

“My bed, where you are, is in the northeast corner. The wall behind your head backs up to the mountain and my chest of clothes is at the foot. The table I eat at is in the middle of the cabin against a supporting post. Cattycorner to this bed is where I store my tools. Opposite the foot of the bed is a couch along the west wall and between it and the bed are the bookcases I made.”

She envisioned each area and filled in her own décor. She pictured the couch with deep red cushions, the chest as an antique, and the bookcases filled with trophies from his hunts. It would be a very manly abode.

His bed was comfortable as far as she could tell, but she hadn’t moved beyond lying on her back and she didn’t plan to. The pain in her—No, she wouldn’t think about that. “If I’m in your bed, where are you sleeping?”

The chair near the bed that he often sat on scraped back. “On the couch.” His footsteps moved to the other side of the cabin.

This mountain man, deep in the wilderness of Alaska had saved her life and continued to care for her, but wouldn’t tell her his name. Was he a criminal? If he was, she couldn’t understand why he would save her. Even after she woke, he’d been nothing but kind.

Maybe he was just odd, like a hermit. Though, he didn’t seem strange, except for not having a name. His voice sounded cultured despite his rough surroundings. Maybe a discussion on Shakespeare would be a good test, though she might embarrass him or herself. She wasn’t exactly an expert in that area.

Metal scraped against a hard surface. Ah, the stove top…the wood stove top. That probably meant no electricity. She was getting good at this detective work.

He poured the tea into the cup. She could hear the liquid as it hit the tin at the bottom, and the scent that wafted over to her made it clear her tea was ready. The thought of sleep and relief from the constant pain in her hands made her anxious. “I’m beginning to love that smell.”

His footsteps travel across the floor, purposeful and long. Either the cabin was small or he was tall. She would guess tall simply based on the deepness of his voice, though one had nothing to do with the other. She couldn’t wait to see what he really looked like and how close her guess was to being correct.

He sat down on the chair, its creaking making that clear even before he spoke. “Sleep will help you heal as well as take you away from the pain.” He lifted her head and held the cup to her lips.

For the first time since waking, she took control of how much she drank and when, pulling back after a sip at the heat. “It needs to cool a little.”

He lowered her head and sat back, the creaking of the chair letting her know.

She was disappointed she couldn’t swallow down the whole cup immediately because her mind immediately focused on her burning hands. She forced herself to find a question to ask. “Do you have any children?”

“No.”

Shoot, he was back to one-word answers. “I’m not trying to pry. I just need to think about something besides the pain. Can you tell me where you were born, where you lived before here?”

At first, he didn’t answer. Was he ashamed of where he came from or was he hiding something?

“My first home was Germany, but I moved to Geneva, Switzerland. I lived in Austria, Holland, England, Scotland, and France before returning to Geneva. I then began my journey north to Greenland and various places across the Arctic Circle. I lived near the north pole before heading south to Ellesmere Island, Inuvik and finally here.”

His answer left her speechless. She couldn’t reconcile the raspy-voiced Alaskan man with someone who’d traveled and lived so extensively.

He took advantage of her momentary loss for words to lift her head again and entice her to drink.

She was quite happy to. The sweet liquid was cool enough to drink comfortably and it both tasted and smelled good to her. Almost as if conditioned to it, her body started to relax.

She pulled her mouth away, and he lowered her head for her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to lift it on her own. It wasn’t as if she’d had much to eat in days. She hadn’t even had to use a bathroom since she woke up. Was that yesterday? She paused at that thought. Her caregiver didn’t say anything about there being a bathroom.

“You need to finish this if you want to sleep soundly.” His voice, so close, redirected her thoughts.

Now she understood why he sounded cultured. If she could get him to talk more, there was a lot he could tell her.

He lifted her head again, and she obediently drank, the pain in her hands already fading as her body relaxed. If she could just get her mind to stop spinning over what he’d just revealed.

She finished the last of the tea, and he lowered her head to the pillow. He was so gentle, yet she was sure he was a big man. Just the size of his hand under her head told her that. She needed to give him a name. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as simply a mountain man.

The question was what type of name? Should she pull one from Germany where he was born or should she come up with something more American? Or maybe she could make up a name or…

“It’s time to go home, Angie.”

“But I don’t want to go. Our vacation just started. I haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I know, but mama is very sick. She needs a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Her stomach tightened. “Will he make her better?”

Her father looked away. “I want that with all my heart.” He turned back to her. “Don’t forget your shovel and pail.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

That frightened her. She grasped his hand. “It’s okay Papa. I’ll leave them for Cindy. She doesn’t have as many toys as we do.”

Her father didn’t say anything, but he held her hand tight as they walked off the beach toward the car. When they came to the parking lot, he didn’t have her wash her feet by the spigot like he usually did. Instead, he opened the back door for her to climb in without telling her to buckle her seatbelt or to keep her hands inside.

She looked at her younger brother, but he was busy sucking his thumb and clutching his stuffed dog. Her mom didn’t say anything either. She always asked about her day.

When her father got in, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at mama. Were they mad at each other?

When they arrived home, her Aunt Ginny was waiting for them.

Panic set in. “I want to go to the doctors, too. Don’t make me stay home, Papa.”

“You go inside with your Aunt now, Angie.”

“But I want to go to the doctors.” She covered the seatbelt buckle with her hand so he couldn’t unbuckle her.

Aunt Ginny came to the car and took Mikey out of his car seat.

Her father crouched down. “Angie, I need you to be a big girl now for your brother. You need to help Aunt Ginny, so I can bring Mama to the doctor.”

“No, I need to help Mama, too.”

Her father’s eyes were so sad, she started to cry.

He stood and bent over her, easily unbuckling the belt.

She yelled. “I want to go to the doctors! Take me to the doctors!”

Her father pulled her from the car. “Stop it. Your Mama doesn’t need to hear this. Think about someone besides yourself.”

His harsh tone stunned her, even as he pulled her toward the house and forced her inside. Then he strode down the walkway to the curb and opened the car door. He didn’t look up before getting in. Within seconds the car was driving away.

She ran out the door after them. “I want to go to the doctors! I want to go—”

“Shhhh. You will get well. I promise.”

The deep, scratchy voice pulled her away. She blinked her eyelids open but it was still dark. As the dream faded, her memory returned. She had snow blindness and the comforting voice and arms around her were the mountain man.

Somewhere in her foggy brain, she questioned her position, her head on what she believed to be his biceps and his body against her side, but since he was on top of the quilt, she relaxed into the solace he offered instead.

She hadn’t dreamed of the day her mother went into hospice since she’d become an adult. It was weird that it would suddenly reoccur. Maybe it was fear over her own condition that had it resurfacing. Being held certainly helped the dream dissipate. It would have been pleasant if her hands hadn’t started to throb.

“Do you believe me?” There was a vulnerability in his need to have her trust him that tugged at her heart.

“I do believe I’ll heal under your care. It was just a dream from when I was a child. Probably because my hands hurt so much.”

Was it her imagination, or did his biceps relax beneath her head?

“I’m relieved to know you were dreaming. Worrying about your condition will slow the healing process.”

With statements like that one, he sounded so old, as if he’d had too much experience with people being sick or in pain. It was a sad thought, and she brushed it away.

“I will let you return to your sleep.”

“No.” She said the word too loud and too quick, betraying her residual fear. “I mean, could you stay a few more minutes. In the middle of this cold wilderness with no sight, it makes me feel better to know there’s someone else out here.”

“Of course.” He seemed pleased by her request. “I have lived alone for so long that I sometimes forget man is by nature a social being.”

He spoke of man as if he was something else. How odd. “Why have you lived alone?”

She could picture his shoulders slumping as he sighed, though she didn’t actually feel any movement on his part.

“I have found it better that I do so.”

“What about brothers and sisters? Do you have any?” Before he even spoke, she sensed sorrow, maybe in the way he shifted. Were her other senses really honing in on such subtleties?

“I have no family.” The words were said carefully, as if he wished to hide his own emotional pain.

For the first time since she’d regained consciousness, she was thankful she couldn’t see. She was learning so much more about her caretaker than she would have if she was distracted by her sight. She was absolutely sure of that. “Have they all passed?”

“You should rest now.” Before she could react, he slipped his large arm out from beneath her head and lowered her back to the pillow.

“Why? Is it night time?” She hoped the answer was no because she wanted to learn more about him. It was better than focusing on her own predicament.

“The more rest you have, the faster you’ll heal, and yes, it’s night. It will be four more hours before daylight.”

Shoot. There was no way she could keep him talking. The poor man had been taking care of her twenty-four seven and he was sleeping on what must be a short, uncomfortable couch instead of in his own bed. Still, she had one more request. “Could I have some water before you go back to sleep?”

“Yes.” He moved away from the bed.

She listened to the noise made by the water pouring into the tin cup and then his footsteps returning to her. Within seconds, he had lifted her head and helped her drink. “Thank you.”

He moved away again. “Good night.”

She listened as he cleaned the cup before he walked to the couch. The frame of the furniture creaked as he settled on it. She readjusted her image of him now that she’d felt his large arm and hard chest against her shoulder. Despite his age, he had to be very strong, probably from cutting down trees and lugging his kill back for food.

That brought to mind a much younger man, but his voice, experience and the many places he’d lived still placed him in her mind at about sixty years of age. The idea of finally seeing him, maybe as early as tomorrow, made it hard to fall back to sleep. But somewhere between imagining what he looked like and wondering about his past, she did.

He waited until Angel’s breathing turned regular then he quietly donned his boots and slipped outside. The moon was almost full and the snow on the surrounding mountains glistened in the bright light. How many times had he escaped into the wilderness to bury his pain?

The urge to run through the forests, over the mountains and across vast tundra rose within him, almost choking out all reason.

Not this time. He couldn’t leave the woman inside or she’d die. He’d sworn over three hundred years ago that no one else would ever die because of his actions. The lives he saved could never atone for the ones he’d taken, but he was determined never to add to that number, no matter the circumstance.

It was her need to talk. Without awareness, she dug at age old wounds, something the men of the arctic didn’t do. Everyone was here for a reason. Here, being alone, was accepted and respected. Angel, though, didn’t live here, and as therefore, sought conversation.

He understood her need to escape the pain, but he needed to redirect her and keep her from learning too much. He didn’t want to arouse her curiosity because he didn’t wish to lie to her. She stirred feelings in him he’d never had.

At first, he thought she cried for a doctor because he’d hurt her when he changed the padding beneath her. That she had urinated in her sleep had pleased him greatly, and the plastic and towels he’d set under her the first time she fell asleep after drinking tea had worked well. He hadn’t thought he moved her too much, but when she cried out, he’d grown anxious. It was a relief she’d only been dreaming.

Looking back at the cabin then up at the sky, he calculated the time until dawn. He could take a short run to assuage his restlessness and still have time to work on the chair he planned to make her.

Turning south, he took off at a quick jog, jumping over logs and scaling rocky hills before he came upon Two Beaver stream. Jumping across in three lunges, he continued his run. Night was the only time he dared make a naked run, the bracing cold the only thing that made him feel alive, almost human.

After Victor had died on the ship of the explorer, he thought his life over. He had no purpose and expected to die. The revenge he’d sought had rebounded back upon himself, first when Victor died and left him with no focus and completely alone, then when he’d discovered he could not die himself.

He scaled a black spruce tree, hoisting himself up between the branches until he reached the thinner top. The trunk swayed under his weight, but he ignored his precarious position to enjoy the view. The moon’s white light made deep shadows among the under growth, but the snow reflected it, making the entire landscape appear black and white.

Looking back the way he’d come, he found his mountain. A quarter way up was his cabin, which was cast in shadow by the moon’s location behind the towering peaks. From here, there was no way for man or beast to know an angel slept there.

He’d learned so much in his extended existence. He’d finally discovered how to hide his scars and yellowed gaze, both having faded with the passing years. After numerous attempts to end his life, to no avail, he’d come to know how to live with minimal discomforts.

Most of all, thanks to an Inuit elder, he’d finally understood right from wrong as it applied to man and beast. Unfortunately, that had shed a clearer light on his own depraved soul…if he had one. Akiakook was convinced he had one because of his feelings of guilt, but sometimes he wasn’t so sure.

A wolf crossed a small clearing not far away, its coat appearing black against the moonlit snow. It was joined by two more. He couldn’t tell if it was the same pack that occasionally visited him when he had marten skins drying. Night was the wolves’ prime hunting time.

He didn’t mind sharing his space with the wolves or bears or eagles. He preferred their company to man’s. Still, there were a few men he’d met that had shown him not all were as self-involved as Victor.

A dull ache lodged in his gut, so old now it was like an old friend. He’d asked only one thing of his creator. Though he’d wanted a father and all that relationship entailed, he’d only asked for one thing. The denial, though over a century old, still hurt—more penance for his wrongdoings.

The alpha wolf sniffed the air before trotting off to the west. The other two followed. He lifted his own nose to the air and inhaled the crisp spruce scent deep into his lungs and dared to dream. What if Angel was his salvation and reward? Would she be willing to stay or would she want to return to civilization? She was a tourist who’d lost her way, but he believed he was meant to find her.

Despite his habit of suffocating any hope, the tiny flame Angel ignited refused to be extinguished. But a memory of that feeling came sharp and angry to blur his vision. He’d felt the same when Victor promised to create a mate for him only to destroy her.

He was a fool if he thought Angel would do anything but leave once she’d healed. There could be no salvation for the cursed creature he was.

Angrily, he climbed down the tree, ignoring the scrapes and stabs of the branches and needles. The stings were fleeting since any evidence of damage disappeared almost immediately from his skin. Jumping the last twelve feet to the ground, he headed for home. Despite the hopelessness of his life, Angel had the rest of hers before her, and it was his responsibility to insure she lived to enjoy it.

Once again, he crossed Two Beavers stream and loped across the snow laden boulders and through the not-yet coated forest until he reached his mountain. He paused and looked opposite to the place he’d found Angel. Even in the setting moonlight, he could see his tracks up to the spot. He wouldn’t rest easy until the next snowfall.

Winter was fast approaching, so his wait shouldn’t be long. He had prepared well for his solitary existence, but if Angel remained throughout the winter, they would need more food.

A strange peace settled in his chest at the thought of caring for her over a long period of time, and his confidence grew. He may not be worthy of her, but he could take care of her until she was able to return to her family. That he could do well.

Striding up the slope toward the large shelf where his cabin sat, a new purpose formed. He hadn’t had a purpose beyond existing in decades, and it felt good. So good, it brought with it an equal measure of guilt, but for once, he ignored that.

Arriving at the front of the cabin, he unlaced his boots and left them on the steps. He walked barefoot across the snow around to the south side of his home where a set of pipes directed the mountain run-off toward his sink inside, to a barrel high above him, and to a spout that dropped the water down the mountainside to resume its regular course to a small stream that ran along the base. He pulled a rope to open a door in the barrel and freezing water rushed over him.

Letting the door close, he pulled the soap he’d made from the outside shelf and quickly washed. The cold always invigorated him, lightening his mood. After rinsing off in the frigid shower from his barrel, he shook himself of excess water and walked back to the front porch where he grabbed up his boots and quietly entered the cabin.

The warmth hit him and he ignored the towel he kept by the door to stand next to the wood stove to dry, adding more wood to insure Angel didn’t grow cold. He stilled. She’d also ask to urinate soon. She’d had enough to drink that she would need to. He usually went outside, but she couldn’t. He needed to prepare the chair he had in mind.

Anxious to fulfill her needs, he lit his main lantern, pushed open the door that covered his storage area, and entered the cave.

He stood staring at the piles of supplies and odds and ends he’d accumulated since arriving in northern Alaska. He’d studied much on female anatomy and understood how everything worked, but creating something Angel could use could be a challenge.

His gaze fell on the refrigerator he used to bathe in during the coldest part of the winter. That would work for Angel. He picked it up and set it next to the pantry door, but didn’t open it. It would make too much noise, and he wanted Angel to stay asleep until he solved the issue of a toilet.

As quietly as he could, he moved aside extra boards, baskets of potatoes, a crate of onions and a barrel of smoked salmon. Buried behind those items was an old chair with a woven seat. He’d taken it in trade from Timber when the mountain man had run out of fish last winter and had a “powerful craving” as he put it.

Pulling the chair out, he examined it. Three-quarters of the weave had come away from the seat frame, which he’d planned to take off anyway. Gripping the decaying material, he ripped it from the chair. It would need some modification, but he could get it done before sunrise and hopefully before Angel woke.