Alaskan Sanctuary (22 page)

He took her hand. Her fingers, cold as ice, wrapped around his and squeezed. Tight. As if she was in danger of drifting away if she didn’t hold on to him.

“I started saving food. Bits and pieces of leftover dinner. Sometimes I skipped my meals altogether so I could bring that dog something to eat. I gained his trust that way. After a couple weeks, he let me put a rope around his neck and I took him home.”

Ethan had a few guesses where this story was going, and none of the possible scenarios playing out in his head were good. “What happened next?”

“My foster parents were furious, of course. They said they could barely afford to feed me, much less an enormous, flea-bitten stray. I was devastated. I begged. I cried. I even considered running away. Finally, I settled on taking the dog to the local animal shelter. At least that way, they could find the poor thing a permanent home. A real family.”

“So I took the dog to the shelter, and the staff promised me I could stop by for visits until he was adopted. I left in tears, but knew that deep down I was doing the right thing. I’d done all that I could do. I let myself think that the dog would get adopted, find a forever home and live happily ever after. When I went to the shelter after school the next day, and the dog’s cage was empty, I thought that’s what had happened.”

Ethan closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the rest. He knew it had been something like this. Some painful genesis that could never be undone. Something he couldn’t fix.

He opened his eyes, and she shook her head. “The shelter vet had identified the dog as a wolf hybrid and immediately euthanized him. They said he was too dangerous to place in a home. I knew better. I’d fed that animal by hand for nearly two weeks. I’d bathed him with a garden hose in the front yard of the house where I lived. He’d licked my face and let me hug him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged someone like that. But that animal, that wolf they thought was so deadly, had let me.”

Ethan’s arms ached to hold her. It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed not to reach for her.
The house where I’d lived.
Not her home.
My foster parents.
Not her family.

The differences weren’t lost on him.

All this time, she’d been trying to create a family for herself. A place where she belonged. In rescuing those animals, she’d rescued herself. And along Ethan had come and systematically, day by day, word by word, torn what was left of her world apart.

“So that’s the story of the first wolf. He’s the only one I lost, the only one I failed.” A single tear slid down her cheek. “Until now.”

“Don’t,” Ethan said, more firmly than he intended. “Don’t think like that. There’s still time.” It was running out, though. Each second, each minute, each hour that Koko didn’t wake up brought them closer to the end.

“I know. It’s just...” Her gaze fixed on something behind him, and she smiled and pointed to the sky. “Look.”

Ethan turned to see a wisp of color dancing in the northern sky. Pale pink. “The auroras.”

The northern lights were back, just like the night he’d told her about the bear attack. And once again, Ethan was tempted to believe in signs. Not folk tales like the
revontulet
fox fires. But reminders of a real and caring God. If those pink lights stood for something, if they were more than just a scientific phenomenon, he would have liked to think they meant God was there. He knew the secret hurts they’d both carried for so long. Releasing those burdens meant something. Something so profound it had to be written across the sky.

* * *

He was going to kiss her again. Piper could feel it coming this time.

The moment Ethan saw the auroras, his expression changed. And when he turned back around, he looked at her with eyes filled with awe and wonder. As if he’d seen something exquisite for the first time in his life, a rare orchid or a delicate bird that had been thought to be long extinct. But he wasn’t looking at a flower or a bird. Nor was he looking at the auroras. He was looking directly at her.

“I’m sorry, lovely,” he whispered, and brought his hand to her face. “About everything.”

I’m sorry.

Words she’d never heard from her mother. Once upon a time, when she was a little girl, she’d thought those words could fix things. If her mother had ever come for her, they would have.
Baby girl, I’m sorry.
That’s all it would have taken. Piper would have followed her anywhere and forgiven all.

Things had changed by the time Stephen had come into her life. Or maybe it was just that she herself had changed. She’d grown up. She’d made a life for herself. She knew she didn’t need anyone. Not people, anyway. She’d survived her entire adulthood with no one but the wolves, and it had been okay. Maybe not perfect, but okay. An apology didn’t carry the same weight it once had. Not that Stephen had ever come right out and apologized.

I’m sorry, lovely. About everything.

They were just words. But right here, right now, with a dying wolf in her lap and the auroras dancing overhead, Ethan couldn’t have said anything more perfect.

His hands slid through her hair until he cradled her face. Piper could see a world of color in his eyes, and though she knew it was only the auroras reflected back at her, it seemed like more, like an apology for every wrong she’d ever experienced. And his touch carried the promise of a balm.

She swallowed hard. The sky glowed pink and violet, the colors of romance and lilacs and the rebirth of spring. Snow fell around them like falling stars. And with excruciating slowness, Ethan’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

He was definitely going to kiss her again. But only if she didn’t kiss him first.

She leaned into him, and their lips met. Two long-lost travelers who’d finally found their way home.

Piper was suddenly spent, more exhausted than she’d ever felt in her life. She felt as if the weight of her past and that of every wolf she cared for was pressing down on her. So much time. So much pain. She wasn’t sure she could do it anymore. Not by herself.

She kissed Ethan as if it was the last breath she’d ever take, as if she was gasping for air. He stroked her hair, whispered words of comfort and told her everything was going to be fine. Koko would wake up. The sanctuary would survive. She would be okay. And in that moment, she loved Ethan for it. She’d never heard such beautiful lies.

“Sleep, lovely. I’m here. You’re not alone. Not this time.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, and she dropped her head to his shoulder and burrowed into the crook of his neck. To that warm, intimate place where his pine scent and beautiful words lived. And that smell, that warmth, those lovely sentiments she wanted so desperately to believe, they were all as soothing as a lullaby.

* * *

Ethan held Piper as she drifted off to sleep, his mind fixed on the idea of memories and how they shaped people. How they’d shaped Piper. How they’d shaped him.

How strangely sad it was that some experiences burned themselves into one’s being like a forest fire, destroying everything in its path—relationships, hopes, dreams and faith. Moments and lifetimes lost. Until by some act of godly grace, something happened to break the stifling hold of those traumatic memories. Feelings long forgotten were brought back to the forefront, at times in the blinding light of an amethyst sky, and other times, in the quiet hush of snow falling on a wolf’s dark pelt.

Ethan had known something was happening to him from the first day he stepped onto Piper’s land. He’d fought it. He’d fought it as best he could. But how long could a person fight something as exquisite as sanctuary?

It still didn’t seem quite real—the idea that he could finally be free. He knew it with his head, and he knew it with his ears, as he listened to the mournful howl of the wolves, their saddest of songs in the bitter Alaskan night. But for all Ethan’s newly recovered awareness, he still didn’t know it in his heart. It was almost as if the bear attack had altered him to such an extent that he couldn’t possibly be the same man who’d carried a dying coyote along the banks of the Last Fork River or had dug snow caves until his hands bled. All for a wolf. Where had that man gone?

He wanted to be that man again, at long last. For Piper. For Koko. For himself.

He reached out and rested his hands on Koko’s back. It was the first time he’d touched a wolf since he’d come back to volunteer at the sanctuary. All this time, he’d steadfastly avoided actual physical contact. As if he’d known a touch was all it would take. As if things could be so simple.

Maybe they could. It felt that way now. At long last.

He held on for dear life—for his life, for Piper’s, for Koko’s. He buried his hands in the wolf’s ebony fur and wept like a baby. Reborn.

He wasn’t sure how long the three of them stayed that way. Him. Piper. Koko. Together under the stars. Long enough for the indigo darkness to fade to a sparkling sapphire blue. Long enough for Piper to stir and awaken. But not long enough to see any change in Koko.

“He’s still asleep,” she whispered, and the grief in her voice almost broke Ethan’s heart all over again.

“But he’s still alive,” Ethan said. “I think we should call Stu. Maybe there’s something he can do.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “But my phone is in the cabin.”

“Mine’s in the car. I’ll get yours, and I’ll bring you something warm to drink. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He hated to leave her, even for a second, but he wanted Stu here. Ethan couldn’t keep sitting around, waiting for the wolf to die. And he
really
couldn’t stand watching Piper do the same.

When he let himself into the cabin, a shaft of pink light from the auroras drifted through the narrow opening in the curtains, illuminating a vase of flowers in the center of the rustic pine table that Piper apparently used as both her dining table and makeshift desk. Books on ecology, animal husbandry and wildlife management were stacked five deep. A pile of papers had been placed neatly on top of her closed MacBook computer. Ethan recognized the seal at the top of one of the pages as the insignia for the National Nature Conservancy.

Her grant paperwork.

He had a mind to take a look at it and see if there were any adjustments or additions he could make in order to improve her chances for an amended application. But now wasn’t the time. He needed to get back outside and check on Piper. He was worried about her. Koko still hadn’t regained consciousness, and already the auroras were growing fainter and fainter, like a faded watercolor painting. Dawn loomed upon them with all its fatal implications.

Time was running out.

He strode toward the door, but something made him pause. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. A feeling. An impression of something out of place.

He turned back around and took in the cozy scene with Piper’s books and papers, pieces of her life he wanted to thumb through so he could know her better. The tiny room glowed pink as a cherry blossom. Ethan felt as if he was looking at it through rose-colored glasses. Then, as the auroras ebbed and flowed, the hue faded to a whisper of blush. Ethan blinked. Everything looked different all of a sudden, most notably the flowers in the center of the table.

Only now did he notice the ultraviolet petals, so bright they almost looked blue. Soft velvet trumpets, all clustered together and dangling elegantly from their shooting green stems like a blooming chandelier.

Ethan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He took a step closer, just to be sure, and bent to inspect the lush bouquet, careful not to touch them with his bare hands. As he did, Piper’s voice resonated in his soul, as real as if she were whispering in his ear.

Open his eyes, Lord.

He blinked, and knew with absolute certainty what he was looking at—the key to the mystery. The answer.

Those flowers. They were a special variety, one that thrived in melting snow. Alpine aconite, sometimes called by their more common name, wolfsbane.

Queen of the poisons.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hile Ethan was gone, Piper rested her head on Koko’s still form—face-to-face, her skin against the velvety softness of his thick, dark fur.

“Wake up. Please wake up,” she whispered, her breath sending waves rippling through his ebony pelt.

This couldn’t be the end. It didn’t feel right. All through the night, while she’d been talking to Ethan, she’d been trying to prepare herself for this. For goodbye. Beneath the beauty of the night, amid the auroras, the swirling skies and even the wonder of Ethan’s kiss, the ending had loomed. The culmination of everything she’d ever wanted. Dreams dashed.

And now that the enchanting pink sky grew dim and faded before her eyes, she could no longer pretend it wasn’t coming. The breaking dawn.

Still, it didn’t seem real. She squeezed her eyes closed and rested her palms on Koko’s side.

Open his eyes, Lord.

“Piper!”

She jerked upright and saw Ethan coming toward her through the snow in a blizzard of euphoria. He screamed her name again, too loud for the quiet hour. He seemed almost triumphant, which made no sense at all.

“Piper!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, fingertips buried in Koko’s fur. She couldn’t let go. Not now. Not yet. She knew it was almost time, but she just couldn’t.

He flew through the double gates, carrying something in his hands. Flowers. Dazzling purple blossoms. At first Piper simply thought it odd that he would choose such an unlikely moment to give her a bouquet. Where had he gotten them, anyway?

Then she recognized them as the ones Caleb had given her. “What are you doing with those?”

He’d wrapped the stems in a plastic bag and held them away from his body, arm extended as far as humanly possible. “Where did you get these?”

“Caleb gave them to me.”

“Where?” he demanded. “Where did Caleb get them?”

“He picked them for me. Right here on the grounds. I’m not sure where, exactly,” she said, but Ethan only seemed to be half listening. His gaze scanned the horizon, flitting frantically from one end of the enclosure to the other. “Ethan, why are you acting like this? You’re scaring me.”