Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 148

I’m still grinning like a kid at Christmas when I turn to Asher. I want to thank him again for finding the bunny, for pulling me down into the snow, for letting me feel like a little kid for a minute. But then I see his face.

The smirk is gone. His eyes are sharper, his jaw tight, the muscles in his shoulders bunched up beneath his jacket. He’s scanning the trees, his gaze flicking to the ground, the branches, the shadows.

My smile falters. “Asher, what’s wrong?”

At the same moment, a guy up ahead says, “Hey, dude, why’re you going off the trail?”

Another guy, already a few feet into the trees, calls back, “I saw something move. Probably a deer or something.”

Asher’s eyes drop to the ground near my boots. I follow his gaze, my breath catching.

Food. Scattered in the snow. Bread crusts. A piece of cheese. Some greasy, shredded paper.

And next to it, fresh paw prints. Two sets. One small, delicate, almost cute. The other… not.

He grabs my forearm, his fingers like a vice around my arm. My heart leaps into my throat.

Then Rebecca’s voice, high and excited, cuts through the air.

“Omg, look!” she squeals. “It’s the tiniest baby wolf ever!”

She’s pointing to a small, shivering ball of fur, not five feet off the trail, crouched beside a bush. Its fur is gray, mottled with patches of white and black, its eyes bright and curious. Its tiny ears flick back at the sound of Rebecca’s voice, its head jerking around.

Asher shifts. I watch his entire body tense, his fingers flex on my arm, his eyes going from the cub to the food on the ground, to the tree line, to the wide, chaotic cluster of people around us.

This is not the Asher I know. This is not the guy who teases me, who smirks at me, who brushes flour off my nose and calls me princess in that low, teasing voice. This is something else.

A soldier.

A weapon.

He moves me behind him, his hand going to my waist, pressing me into his back as he takes a step forward.

“Rebecca,” his voice is low, deadly, sharp like the crack of a rifle. “Step back. Now.”

She blinks, her head tilting, her manicured hand reaching out towards the cub. “But it’s so cu—”

“Step. Back.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order.

Rebecca’s eyes go wide. She pulls her hand back, stumbling a little as she steps away, her boot sinking into a patch of soft snow. People around us pause, their confused murmurs dying out as they take in Asher’s stance, his tone.

Someone, maybe Max, says, “What’s going on, man?”

Asher doesn’t answer. His eyes flick to me, and his jaw tightens. He grabs my arm again, pulls me toward Max, his grip firm but not painful. He shoves me into Max’s chest, his arm coming around my back.

“Keep her behind you,” Asher mutters to him, his voice like gravel. “Don’t let her move.”

“What—?” I start, but Max’s arm tightens around me, holding me close.

Asher turns, his gaze sweeping the ground again. The paw prints. The food. The baby wolf, trembling and whining in the snow, its tiny nose twitching.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, the pieces clicking together in my head, cold and sharp and horrible.

I meet Max’s wide eyes, and he sees the realization in mine.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

The cub whines again, a high-pitched, fearful sound, and Asher’s eyes snap to it, his entire body going still.

I feel the panic building, my pulse thrumming in my ears, every hair on my body standing on end.

“Oh no,” someone whispers.

The food. The cub. The paw prints.

Mama wolf.

Asher’s head whips to the side as someone stumbles back onto the path, his face pale, his eyes wide.

“Bro, come back,” his friend shouts. “What’d you see?”

The guy’s eyes lock on Asher, terror written in every line of his face.

“Dude,” he gasps, tripping over his own feet as he scrambles back onto the path, his eyes wild. “Big ass wolf. Huge. Just—just staring at me. I thought it was gonna—”

As if summoned by his words, the trees behind him part, branches cracking, snow falling in a soft, ghostly shower.

The wolf steps out.

She’s massive. At least 100 pounds, her fur a dark, smoky gray, her eyes the color of wet stones. Her lips are pulled back in a snarl, her teeth bared, saliva dripping from her black gums. She’s crouched low, muscles bunched, her sharp, yellowed claws digging into the snow.

She’s furious.

I hear someone behind me whimper. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

“Step back,” Asher says, his voice a low, calm command. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his body angled, his eyes locked on the wolf’s. “Slowly. No sudden movements.”

Most people listen, their boots crunching in the snow as they back away, their breaths coming out in frantic, misty bursts. But then—

Someone screams.

And a girl near the back of the group, I don’t even know who, maybe one of Zoe’s friends, grabs a branch off the ground and throws it at the wolf, a high, terrified scream ripping from her throat.

The branch hits the snow with a thud, and that’s all it takes.

The wolf lunges.

It’s a blur of gray fur and flashing teeth, a deep, guttural snarl ripping through the air.

Asher’s there before I can even blink. He steps in front of the wolf, one arm shooting out, his hand wrapping around its throat. The wolf’s jaws snap, her claws raking down his bicep, ripping through his jacket, but he doesn’t flinch.

He slams her into the ground, snow spraying up around them. I hear the crack of ribs, a high-pitched whimper from the wolf, and a pained grunt from Asher.

The wolf struggles, her claws slashing at his arms, but he pins her, his weight pressing her into the snow, his other arm raised, fist clenched.

Time freezes.

He hesitates.

Then he lets go.

The wolf scrambles up, her eyes wide, her breath coming in harsh pants. She stumbles back, turns, and disappears into the trees, her cub a tiny shadow following in her wake.

The world seems to breathe again.

People start cheering, clapping, someone even whistles.

Asher stands, his shoulders heaving, his arm dripping blood onto the snow, staining it red. He turns to us, his eyes sharp, his jaw tight.