Drasko held his mate in his arms, blinking up as light shards pierced the warped door above them. Somehow, they’d survived the crash, but now they were trapped inside a giant, twisted sardine can, and whatever had shot them down was still out there. His head throbbed and blood trickled into his eye, but all he cared about was getting his pregnant mate to safety. With a roar, he kicked the jammed door open as a ray of sunlight struck his face. The metal crumpled beneath the weight of his powerful blow. He had enough sense to remember to grab a first aid backpack before he slung his limp mate into his arms. Her head was bleeding, but she had a strong pulse. He had to get her the hell out of there.

He threw the backpack out of the helicopter and climbed outside, letting out a predatory roar should whoever shot at them think to try again. He cradled Amara to his chest and jumped into the snow, quickly scanning his surroundings, a flat, white wasteland. The wind was picking up speed, bringing fresh snow with it and reducing visibility. Stinging ice pelted his face and strange voices carried across the wind as he snatched up the backpack and ran across the tundra.

“Medved!” he heard a male voice cry out behind him. Mid vid? He recognized that word. It was Russian for bear.

Russians! What the fuck were Russians doing here? And why had they shot down their helicopter?

He ran faster, dodging bullets that chased him like the flames of hell lapping at his heels. Chest heaving as icy air burned his lungs, he raced for an outcropping of trees in the distance.

Amara moaned in his arms as his feet pounded the ground. He had to get her to safety, though he feared nowhere out here was safe while they were being hunted in the middle of a hostile wasteland.