Emmett stirred awake, his body stiff and cold. The first thing he noticed was Eira’s face, mere inches from his own. Her breath fogged in the cold air, her blue eyes snapping open just as he tried to shift away. For a brief, awkward moment, their eyes locked. Then Emmett rolled onto his back and quickly scrambled away, muttering under his breath as if trying to erase the whole ordeal. Eira rubbed her face, shaking off sleep with a low groan.

  “Gott, I smell foul,” she muttered bitterly, brushing the fur on her arms and sniffing. “I need a bath.”

  Emmett pulled his jacket tighter, glancing at her with his usual scowl. “Yeah, you’re stinkin’ up the place. Wet dog’s not exactly my favorite scent.”

  She smirked, her ears twitching with amusement. “As if you’re one to talk. You reek of sweat and… how do you Americans say?... ‘God knows what.’”

  He shot her a sharp look, jaw tightening. “Shut up and pack your shit. We’re movin’.”

  Eira chuckled but didn’t argue. She adjusted her tattered uniform, shaking loose the pine needles that clung to her coat. Emmett crawled out of the shelter first, boots crunching against the fresh layer of snow, and she followed close behind. The cold bit at any exposed skin, wind cutting through even the thickest layers. Above them, the sky stretched a dull gray, heavy with clouds. Snowflakes drifted down, soft but persistent.

  Emmett took the lead, his improvised snowshoes crunching steadily through the snow. His gaze remained fixed ahead.

  Eira followed, her gaze wandering to the branches overhead. Her sharp ears twitched, catching the faint sound of their footfalls and little else. After a stretch of silence, she found the quiet gnawing at her nerves. Without thinking, she began to hum again. A soft, familiar tune, something she’d been taught years ago. The melody carried gently through the trees, filling the void between them.

  Emmett groaned without looking back. “Jesus Christ... would you shut up or change the damn station?”

  Eira paused mid-note, lips curling in amusement. But instead of stopping, she switched melodies. Her voice lifting into a soft, almost playful rendition of “You Are My Sunshine.” The words were gentle, her German accent adding a peculiar charm to the American song.

  Emmett froze mid-step. His head turned slowly, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in his single eye. “Where the hell did you learn that?” he asked, voice rough but edged with disbelief.

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “I know many songs. I was taught some American ones. This one is... pleasant.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “It seems you know it.”

  Emmett exhaled a breath that misted in the cold air. His gaze drifted away. “Ain’t heard that in years,” he muttered, something softer slipping into his tone for just a moment before the usual gruffness returned. “Doesn’t mean I wanna hear it now. Russians might hear you.”

  Eira chuckled but let the song die off. The silence returned, save for their footfalls and the soft hiss of falling snow. After a few minutes, unable to help herself, she spoke again. “What music do you listen to?”

  “Drop it,” Emmett replied flatly, eyes fixed ahead.

  “Come now,” she pressed, quickening her pace until she was beside him. “Everyone loves music. Even someone as miserable as you. Or… am I wrong?” Her tone was teasing, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath it.

  His jaw worked silently for a few steps, teeth grinding. Then, as if the effort to ignore her was more exhausting than answering, he exhaled heavily. “Jimmie Rodgers,” he muttered.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Wer? I am unfamiliar.”

  “Not surprised,” Emmett grunted. “Figured they would’ve just taught you the German national anthem and called it a day.”

  Eira ignored the jab, undeterred. “So... tell me about this Jimmie Rodgers. What kind of music does he play?”

  He shot her a glare. “What do you expect? Me to start fuckin’ singin’ for you?”

  Her smirk widened. “Ja, I wouldn’t mind. A little entertainment would be welcome.”

  He stopped walking, turning to point a gloved finger at her. “I’d rather gouge my other damn eye out.”

  She sighed dramatically. “Always so hostile.” Still, there was amusement dancing in her eyes.

  He grunted and kept walking, the conversation seemingly over. But as they trudged onward, snow falling steadily around them, a faint tune began to work its way into Emmett’s thoughts. Unbidden, but persistent. In the Jailhouse Now. Its easy-going melody a sharp contrast to the cold misery of their march.

  His thoughts returned to Adele, and Julien. When he had sung it for him. Or at least his best attempt at singing it.

  Without even realizing, he started humming under his breath. Soft, barely audible over the soft crunch of snow and the gentle whisper of wind through the trees. But Eira’s ears. Keen and always attuned picked it up. A melody. A bouncy, old tune, hummed low and unconsciously. He was humming.

  Her grin widened, but she said nothing, choosing instead to enjoy the small victory in silence.

  Emmett carried on humming, like a man walking half in memory. His steps stayed steady, but something about him changed. His shoulders slouched just a little less. The tightness in his jaw eased. For a fleeting moment, he wasn't trudging through snowbound nowhere with a wolf woman he hated.

  He was somewhere warmer.

  And then, like someone waking from a daydream, he stopped. A blink. A small frown. He shook his head once, as if snapping out of it, and muttered something too low for her to hear.

  Eira considered commenting, maybe tossing a barb or even a quiet compliment. But something about the way he looked right then made her hold her tongue.

  They walked on in silence for another minute or two, until Emmett came to a sudden halt.

  “Hold up,” he muttered, squinting through the skeletal trees.

  Eira followed his line of sight and spotted it too. Something caught in the branches up ahead, swaying ever so slightly with the wind. As they moved closer, the shape became clearer, and the unease in Emmett's posture grew.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A man.

  Frozen stiff, suspended in a tangle of parachute cords. His limbs hung limp and lifeless, his uniform crusted with snow and ice. The chute had snagged high in the branches, leaving him dangling like a grotesque ornament.

  Emmett exhaled hard through his nose. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, the words laced with tired anger.

  Eira tilted her head. “Someone you knew?”

  “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Never caught his name. Might’ve. Don’t remember.”

  He stared up at the body, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his gaze followed the cords winding through the skeletal branches above. A dozen ugly possibilities churned in his mind. Maybe the chute had half-deployed, dragging the poor bastard through the treetops like a rag doll until he slammed against a trunk and shattered his spine. Or maybe he'd hung there alive, kicking and clawing at his harness until the cold gripped him and put him to sleep.

  Emmett clenched his jaw. The snow and ice had embalmed the man in place, turning him into a frozen, dangling piece of meat.

  Emmett sighed. “Give me a boost.”

  Eira folded her arms, smirking. “Nein. I will go.”

  He didn’t argue, just handed her his knife with a grunt. “Don’t fall. I’m not going to catch you.”

  She was already climbing before he finished the sentence. Her movements were quick, practiced, almost effortless. She navigated the branches like she belonged in the trees, claws sinking into bark, her lean frame weaving between limbs with the grace of a predator.

  She reached the body in seconds, paused only to brace herself, and began cutting the cords one by one. With the last strand severed, the corpse dropped with a heavy thud, kicking up a cloud of powder. It lay there in the snow, twisted and crumpled, the expression frozen on its face eerily calm.

  Eira leapt down after it, landing beside Emmett and handing him his blade.

  “There,” she said, brushing snow from her sleeves. “Satisfied?”

  Emmett didn’t answer. He knelt beside the body, eyes scanning it with the cold efficiency of a scavenger. His hands moved fast, checking the man.

  The griswold bag was missing.

  The strap was torn clean, just like Emmett’s own had been during his descent. That bag had held everything. The mans primary weapon, medical gear, food, and most importantly, the tranquilizer gun and darts meant for the hybrids. That stung the most. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

  He clenched the torn strap in his fist, jaw tightening. Eira noticed but said nothing.

  His eye drifted to the belt still fastened around the man’s waist. A holstered sidearm. Some magazines. A sheath with a knife still secured.

  Without hesitation, Emmett unfastened the belt and gave it a sharp tug, snapping it free from the frozen corpse. He drew the 1911 from its holster, inspecting it with a practiced eye. The slide refused to move. Frozen solid by a layer of ice. He let out a faint grunt of irritation and gave the sidearm a hard look. It wasn’t ruined, just frozen stiff. A little time, some oil, and a steady hand would bring it back to life. He returned it to its holster, his jaw working slightly as he did.

  Emmett tore free the man's dogtags and stuffed them into his pockets. He reached back to the man's coat and inside the inner pocket, his hand found a folded square of waxed canvas. A map. Emmett unfolded it carefully, scanning the familiar marks.

  Eira crouched beside him, her breath fogging the air. “One of the nine, yes? What happened?”

  He paused then shrugged. “A wonder jet took us down. Kraut engineering at its fucking finest.”

  Her ears flicked, but she didn’t press further.

  Emmett opened the man’s small survival kit. Some crushed rations, a flare, a few water purification tabs. Better than nothing. He packed it into his pockets and stood.

  Then, surprisingly, he held out the gun belt.

  “Here,” he said, not looking at her. “Don’t shoot me in the back. Or stab me for that matter.”

  She blinked, caught off guard. Slowly, she reached out and took it.

  “Until Berlin,” she said. There was weight in the words. Not quite a promise. Not quite a threat.

  Emmett muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Then, tossing something else at her, he said, “Put this on.”

  It was the man’s outer coat. Stiff with frost, but thick.

  She pulled it on without argument, tugging it over her tattered uniform. It fit awkwardly around her frame, tight across the shoulders, but it would mercifully add another layer.

  “Didn’t realize you cared so much,” she said with a teasing grin.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped.

  But there wasn’t as much bite in it as usual.

  She chuckled and adjusted the belt at her hip, her fingers brushing the grip of the 1911. She cast one last look at the body, now stripped to its undershirt and socks, lying half-buried in the snow. His face was still and blank, as if even in death he hadn’t fully realized what happened.

  Eira turned away and followed Emmett as he started off again. She didn’t thank him. He wouldn’t have wanted that. But she fell into step beside him without hesitation. She drew the weapon slowly from the holster.

  She noticed Emmett stiffen slightly but he didn’t look back.

  She turned her gaze to the weapon, turning the pistol over in her hands. Studying it with mild disdain, silently comparing it to the sleek engineering of German counterparts. She attempted to work the slide, but the buildup of ice made it nearly impossible. With a low growl of frustration, she tucked the pistol within her layers, wincing as the icy metal pressed uncomfortably against her fur-covered body. She grumbled under her breath, hoping her body heat would thaw it enough to be usable.

  Ahead of her, Emmett came to a halt, pulling the map from his pocket. His single eye scanned the paper, his brow furrowing as he looked between the map and their surroundings. Trees stretched endlessly in every direction, offering no clear landmarks. He muttered to himself, frustration etched into his face.

  “I need to get my bearings,” he said, half to himself, half to Eira.

  Eira stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. Her sudden presence earned her a sharp glare from Emmett, but she ignored it, her gaze fixed on the map. “I could climb a tree,” she offered, her tone casual. “See what I can see.”

  Emmett looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You must like climbing trees or somethin’,” he said dryly, remembering how easily she’d scaled one earlier.

  She held out a clawed hand, palm up. “The map,” she said simply.

  With a reluctant sigh, Emmett folded the paper and handed it to her. She tucked it into her jacket, then pulled the frozen pistol from her waistband, holding it out to him. “Keep this warm for me,” she said with a smirk.

  He grunted, taking the weapon without a word and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “You fall and break your neck, I’m leaving you here,” he muttered, stepping back as she approached a sturdy-looking tree.

  Eira grabbed the lowest branch and began to climb, her movements fluid and efficient. Emmett watched her ascend, crossing his arms. “You sure you weren’t made from a monkey?” he called up sarcastically.

  She paused briefly, looking down at him with a smirk. “No. That would be humans… if, of course, you subscribe to the theory of evolution.”

  “Great, a smartass.” Emmett shot back. “Who the hell gave you a science book, anyway?”

  Eira shrugged, still climbing. “At the facility, we were taught combat and tactics, of course, but also sciences, history, and religion. They wanted us well-rounded.” She paused, glancing down with a mischievous grin. “What about you, cowboy? Did you even get an education?”

  Emmett grunted, removing the pistol in his jacket and examined it. “I learned what I needed,” he said tersely, clearly not eager to discuss his past.

  Eira chuckled. “Let me guess. How to start a fire, craft a spear, maybe make cave drawings?”

  “Hardy fuckin’ har,” Emmett growled, narrowing his eye. “You see anything yet, or you just up there flapping your gums?”

  Eira laughed softly but climbed higher, the branches thinning as she neared the top. She stopped when she had a clear view of the horizon, carefully pulling the map from her jacket. After a few moments of studying the terrain, she spotted distinct landmarks. Mountains on either side and what looked like a break in the trees where a river might flow.

  “I think I’ve found something,” she called down. She folded the map and began her descent, her movements graceful. She landed lightly on the ground and approached Emmett, holding the map out to him.

  Emmett tossed her the pistol, which she caught instinctively. “Got it workin’ again,” he said gruffly.

  Eira checked the slide, finding it smooth and functional. She nodded approvingly and muttered, “Danke.”

  Emmett shrugged, smirking faintly. “Not bad for a caveman.”

  Eira rolled her eyes but allowed herself a small smile as she unfolded the map. “If my guess is correct,” she said, pointing to the landmarks she’d seen, “we’ve made little to no progress west. It’s as if we’ve been walking in circles.”

  Emmett groaned, snatching the map back and studying it with renewed frustration. “Goddammit,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. After a moment, he refolded the map and stuffed it into his pocket. “Alright. Let’s get movin’.”