Nash
“Hold fire,” I cry as the lioness darts from cover. Whirling, I rip the gun from the wolf’s shoulder. “You might hit Denali!”
The air shudders under the helicopter’s blades, carrying the sound of the lioness’ outraged screams. A second later, two bodies fall from the helicopter to the balcony below.
“Who else is on that copter?” I demand.
“Three men. I don’t see any kids,” the wolf beside me with a pair of binoculars reports.
“Then shoot it down.” I shove the gun back at the wolf and leap from the roof on to the flagstones below. As soon as I land I race to my mate. Santiago sprawls nearby, blood leaking from a cut on his head. I ignore him.
“Denali?”
The lioness lies on her side. She’s magnificent, golden from head to paw. As I approach breath ripples through her body and she
