Chapter Eight: Snow Tracks and Half-Truths
1648 Words
Clara woke before sunrise, though she wasn’t sure what exactly dragged her out of sleep. A low hum filled the room, like the distant growl of an engine or a storm far off in the mountains. It didn’t belong here. Not in a cabin swallowed by white silence and pines taller than the city’s billboards.
The sound faded, leaving only her heartbeat thudding in her ears. For a moment, she lay still beneath the thick quilt, staring at the wooden ceiling glowing faintly with dawn. Her breath formed a small cloud in the cold air. Someone must’ve let the fire die again.
“Lucas,” she muttered, annoyed, because she already knew exactly who.
She tossed aside the covers, shoved her feet into warm socks, and pulled on her thickest sweater—dark green, the one her staff insisted made her look like ‘Holiday Clara.’ She hated the nickname. She liked Christmas, sure, but all she wanted was a quiet one this year, not to be a walking Hallmark poster.
When she stepped into the living room, she stopped short.
Lucas was already awake—of course he was. He stood by the window, arms folded, jaw tense. The early gray light outlined his silhouette, making him look bigger, sharper, almost dangerous. His breath didn’t fog in the cold the way hers did. It never did. She’d started to notice little things like that.
He looked over his shoulder at her, eyes bright and strangely alert. “You’re up early.”
“So are you.” She walked toward the fireplace. “Didn’t peg you for the no-sleep type.”
“I sleep enough.” His answer was too quick. Too practiced.
She crouched beside the firewood crate. “Meaning what? A full hour?”
He didn’t respond. Typical.
Clara reached for the matches on the table—but Lucas was suddenly beside her, kneeling, hand closing over hers before she could strike one. Not forceful, but firm enough to freeze her.
Her breath caught for a tiny, embarrassing second.
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
She pulled her hand back, ignoring the warm jolt that ran through her fingers. “I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I never said you were.” He lit the fire with a single motion—efficient, almost graceful. Like he’d been doing this since childhood.
She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the flames rise. “You heard it too, didn’t you?”
His head snapped toward her, too fast. “Heard what?”
“That… humming noise. Or growling. Whatever it was.”
He stared at her as if weighing his next words. Then he shook his head. “Could’ve been the wind.”
Clara gave him a long look. “That wasn’t wind.”
“It was the wind,” he repeated, voice calm but final—the kind of tone people used when they wanted a conversation dead.
She didn’t push. But the stubborn part of her—the part that ran a successful store, negotiated with suppliers, and refused to be talked down to by grumpy mountain men—filed away the lie.
Because it was a lie. She felt it.
Lucas stood, brushing ash from his hands. “I’m going out for a bit.”
“Where?”
“Just around.” His eyes avoided hers. “Stay inside. Don’t wander.”
“Lucas, I’m not—”
He paused at the door, the tension in his shoulders visible even through his coat. “Please.”
Clara blinked. He’d never said ‘please’ before. Not to her, at least.
Before she could reply, he stepped outside and disappeared into the snow.
The cabin door shut with a soft thump, and the fire crackled behind her. For a moment, Clara just stood there, confusion and curiosity pulling in two different directions. She glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of him through the trees—moving quickly, almost silently, like someone chasing a scent on the wind.
Or like someone being chased.
She swallowed.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But if you expect me to sit still all morning, you clearly don’t know me.”
---
Lucas followed the tracks deeper into the forest.
He didn’t need to shift—not yet—but his senses were sharper this morning. The world was full of clues only someone like him could read: disturbed branches, prints widening into heavier impressions, a trail that circled the cabin once… twice… then vanished, as if whatever had made them could jump whole distances without touching the ground.
Not good.
His pulse thudded in his ears. The pack scouts had warned him something might be prowling near the human settlements. A stray wolf? A challenger? Or—
He clenched his teeth.
No. He wouldn’t let it reach the cabin. Not while Clara was here.
Her scent had changed since she arrived—he’d noticed it reluctantly, unwillingly, the way a man notices something he shouldn’t. She smelled like warm cocoa, cedar smoke, and the faint sweetness of peppermint from the candy she’d been stress-chewing last night. Cute. Distracting. Infuriating.
He shook the thought away.
This wasn’t about her. Couldn’t be. She was just a human spending Christmas in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But still… he’d felt the jolt when he touched her hand earlier. He shouldn’t have. His wolf shouldn’t stir around her at all.
He ran a hand through his hair and kept walking, following the trail until it split into two directions—one deeper into the woods, the other looping back toward the cabin.
He growled softly under his breath.
Something—or someone—was watching her.
And he needed to make sure she never knew.
---
Back at the cabin, Clara brewed coffee, paced the floor, sat down, stood up again, then finally grabbed her coat.
“No wandering,” she mocked under her breath. “I’m not a kid.”
She stepped outside. The cold slapped her cheeks instantly, but it felt good—awake, sharp, real. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, soft as tiny feathers. The world smelled like pine and crisp winter.
She followed the path behind the cabin, the one she’d discovered yesterday. It curled around the hill and opened to a small overlook where the trees parted. The view was stunning—stretching valleys dusted in white, river frozen like glass, mountains rising in the distance.
She inhaled deeply. Peace. Finally.
Then she saw them.
Tracks.
Massive ones. Not like any animal she’d ever seen. The spacing was odd too—too wide, too long, almost like something walked on two legs… then four… then two again.
A shiver slid down her spine.
“Definitely not the wind,” she whispered.
She crouched, touching the edge of one. The snow was fresh here, which meant the tracks were recent. Maybe minutes old. Maybe—
A twig snapped behind her.
She jerked up, heart leaping into her throat.
“Clara.”
Lucas’s voice.
Relief crashed over her—but the moment she saw his expression, that relief twisted into worry. His eyes weren’t cold now. They were blazing with something sharp and protective.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, stepping closer.
“I went for a walk,” she replied, straightening. “I needed air.”
“I told you to stay inside.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
His jaw clenched. “Just go back to the cabin.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” She pointed at the tracks. “These aren’t normal, Lucas. And you know it.”
He looked at the tracks, then at her, then away.
“Clara… these mountains have wildlife. Big wolves. Elk. Bears. You shouldn’t wander.”
“That’s not a wolf track.”
He hesitated—just for a split second, but she caught it. His mask slipped.
She stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
Silence.
The cold wind curled between them, lifting strands of her hair. His eyes followed the motion for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and something flickered there—a softness, as quick as a spark from the fire.
He looked away sharply. “Clara, please… just go back.”
“Not until you’re honest with me.”
His breath fogged the air in a heavy exhale. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if I say it out loud…” He stopped, voice tightening. “It changes things.”
Her heartbeat stuttered.
There it was—the tiny spark. The same one she’d felt when his hand covered hers this morning.
But instead of leaning into it, Lucas stepped back, as if distance would snuff it out.
She folded her arms. “Lucas, what exactly do you think will change?”
He opened his mouth, but a howl split the air—
Long. Deep. Bone-shaking.
Clara froze.
Lucas turned instantly, body tensing, eyes flashing with something primal before he smothered it.
“Go,” he said—firm, Alpha-like, unyielding. “Get inside. Now.”
“Lucas—”
“I’ll be right behind you. Don’t run. Don’t look back. Just go.”
Her throat tightened.
The howl echoed again, closer this time.
Clara swallowed hard, nodded, and stepped backward, boots crunching over snow.
Lucas didn’t move until she was almost out of sight.
He stood between her and the forest.
Guarding.
Protecting.
And for the first time, Clara wondered if whatever hunted in these mountains wasn’t the only thing she needed protection from—because Lucas Hale, with all his secrets and silent fire, might be far more dangerous to her heart than anything lurking in the snow.
- Writer
