This is not my first rodeo—I’ve spent plenty of nights with less than a tent over my head. So really, I’m doing pretty good for myself.

I mean, if you gloss over the whole I-just-killed-a-man part.

Sitting cross-legged on my sleeping bag, inside a two-person tent, I pull out the Tupperware of spaghetti. Sadie scooped some up for me, gave me a Ziploc with the garlic bread, and kissed me on the cheek as she handed me a flashlight.

I ran with the tent under my arm and the backpack strapped to my back, into the trees behind the apartment complex.

Deep into the woods.

Where else could I go?

I guess if I’m going to be living on the run, Alaska is a pretty good place to disappear. And hell, I don’t need the conveniences of modern living. Just fresh spring water and a place to rest my head. Though a knife, or say, a gun, would help my not-starving-to-death plan. Because this serving of spaghetti is only gonna last one night.

As I pull out the fork Sadie shoved into my backpack, I smirk. Guess my only weapon is a four-pronged metal object.

Eating, with the flashlight propped up to light the tent; I can’t help reeling from what went down tonight. Not only am I now a fugitive, I also ruined Sadie’s life. Not that she had much of one. Looks like she followed in her mother’s footsteps. It breaks my heart, Sadie being with a man like Ray. She deserves better—everyone deserves better than that.

Part of me is glad I killed him—got him out of her life for good—but the other part of me wonders what snapped inside of me tonight. How did my hands control a man twice my size? How was I physically able to suppress him? The fury inside me was so intense it literally killed a man.

I close my eyes, savoring the taste of red sauce doused with fake parm. This might be my last meal for a while, so I’m going to enjoy it.

But outside the tent, the crack of a branch forces my eyes open. And as they open, I see shadows playing on the tent’s walls. I flick my flashlight toward the shadow and instead of retreating, it only grows.

Uncertainty courses through my veins. It’s been a helluva night, and I am not about to get mauled. I know a thing about survival—and the first lesson is to avoid wild creatures—humans, animals or otherwise— when you’re unarmed.

A low growl tells me what’s coming to get me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I don’t want to just sit here waiting to be someone’s supper. I need to get out of this tent, now. With tense fingers I crawl forward, peeling back the front flap of the tent. My heart pounds, terrified to see what’s waiting for me.

It’s a grizzly bear, high on its haunches, paws raised, claws out. I stifle a scream, knowing terror has no place here. Right now, what I really need is to get the fuck away.

Tightly holding onto the fork, I push my way through the tent as the bear paws the thin fabric. If I can make it into the trees, maybe I can climb one… or else I will just keep running, all night. Forever. I just don’t want to die before my life has really begun.

I make a break for it, flashlight in hand, wishing as I run that I’d grabbed my backpack—or at least the fucking garlic bread. Right now, it’s just the fork and me against the world. It’s not looking good. I’m cornered within seconds, my back against a tree.

The bear faces me, the full moon dancing across his eyes, shining bright and beautiful— but I don’t fall for smoke and mirrors. He may be stunning in his absolute strength, but he is a wild beast and I am the prey.

I snarl at him as he approaches, knowing I can’t outrun this beast. He moves closer, his dark coat gleaming in the moonlight. My fists are tight, my chest constricting—this can’t be the end. I raise the fucking fork in the air and try to dart past him. But of course, it’s no use. He reaches out but I swing my fist hard against his outstretched paw.

Again, my fist is more powerful than I remember. When my knuckles graze the bear it backs away quickly, staring me down with intensity, as if shocked I touched him at all.

But this bear knows nothing about me, about what I’m capable of. I hold the fork, foolish and full of fire and desperate for some way out. The bear bellows, his angry claws swiping across my shoulder.

I grab hold of my shoulder and from the corner of my eye I see three wolves emerge from behind the bear. Their coats are silver and their eyes black and their intentions clear. They jump toward the bear. One wolf lands on his back, the other nipping at the bear’s heels, and the third on his throat. Their howls pierce the night, and as the wolves attempt to stop the bear, I dive toward the tent, grabbing my backpack, desperate to get away.

But the bear crashes down on the top of the tent before I’m able to grab my things. The animals roll aggressively, and the bear must sense the wolves are out to get him, because he moves quickly from the ground, running back to the forest. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it.

The bear retreats, looking over his shoulder, my blood thick as our eyes meet. But I don’t want to look at him. I scream, the ground shaking, and the bear pauses for a moment not breaking eye contact with me. But the earth’s floor rumbles low and the bear turns away, running fast.

I press my hand to my chest, scared and alone with three wolves. I step back gingerly, not wanting to call attention to myself. Thinking, naively, that maybe they’ll just leave. Of course, instead, they come closer.

Covering my face, I can see the writing on the wall. The police will find my body tomorrow, ripped to shreds, my tent disturbed and an empty container of Tupperware and know that Ray’s killer is dead.

A bear attack wasn’t my biggest worry. Three wolves with intense eyes, hungry and on the prowl—that’s what will be the end of me.

“Please, stop,” I scream, my face still covered, unable to watch as these beasts jump toward me. My words are meaningless to these wild animals, but my voice is desperate, wanting so badly to make it out of this night alive.

The forest seems to still, my words hanging heavy in the night air. I look through my fingers, and as I do, my breath catching, my throat suddenly dry.

There are no wolves here.

Only men.

Three of them. Eyes dark and faces turned toward the moon, letting it lead them.

They’re dressed in low-slung jeans and boots, shirtless and dripping with sweat, men so ruggedly sexy it’s as if they just stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.

They walk closer, close enough that I can see one’s chiseled jaw, and one’s thick beard and the other’s day old stubble. They move toward me as a pack, as if I’m the only woman they’ve ever seen. They want me, that I am certain. The look in their eyes is full of hunger and longing.

I exhale, truth is, I’ve been starved for days.

I have no freaking clue what is happening, but I find myself lowering my hands.

I’m no longer terrified, suddenly I’m mesmerized.