I bite back the growl rising in my throat. The world narrows to three priorities: stabilize her, keep her warm, and protect her.
That last hits like an IED, setting off warning bells in my head. She’s not mine. Can’t be mine. The last time I claimed responsibility for someone’s life…
No. Focus on the mission.
Chaos returns, materializing from the white void like a specter. His posture tells me we’re temporarily clear, but his agitation confirms my suspicions—someone’s out there, hunting through this storm.
Hunting her.
The wind picks up, driving the temperature lower. The storm’s no longer just a threat—it’s a full-scale assault. We’re officially in white-out conditions. The kind that swallows men whole and spits out frozen corpses in the spring thaw.
The storm provides cover but traps us. It traps those hunting her too.
I’ll take the win.
Because there’s no way out until the weather breaks and she’s stable. I grab my spare thermals out of my pack. They’ll swamp her small form, but they are dry. I wrap her in anemergency blanket, tucking her against Bear’s flank. Then I take the other side, sharing my body heat with her. My sidearm rests within easy reach.
Her head rests in the crook of my arm.
I should feel nothing.
Instead, I feel everything.
She fits too perfectly.
Feels like heaven.
Smells like redemption.
I should be back at my cabin, processing that buck I was tracking, stoking the woodstove against the storm. Instead, I’m hip-deep in someone else’s nightmare, with an unconscious woman who carries more secrets than answers, two dogs, and a blizzard bearing down that could last days.
Whatever she’s running from, whoever marked her with such cruelty, they’ll have to go through me to get to her.
Hours pass in a blur of howling wind and soft breaths. The storm rages beyond our snow walls, but inside we’ve created our own warmth. Bear’s massive bulk heats her left side while I’m pressed against her right, my body curled protectively around her petite body.
Her color improves. Pulse steadies. Her body seeks heat, burrowing instinctively closer into me.
Her soft curves pressed against me are a special kind of torture—one I’ve earned, maybe, for thinking I could play protector again.
My body thrums with awareness, combat instincts tangled with baser needs I can’t afford to acknowledge. I spent a year drowning that part of me in whiskey, isolation, and silence. She brings it all raging back to the surface.
Chaos maintains his vigil by the entrance, occasionally shaking snow from his coat. Bear’s bulk and thick coat shield against the wind.
The night stretches, marked only by the howling wind and the steadily warming body in my arms. The professional part of my brain monitors her vital signs: stronger pulse, better color, regular breathing. The rest of me catalogs things I shouldn’t: the delicate curve of her neck, the way she unconsciously burrows closer, seeking heat.
Dawn creeps in, barely visible through the thick clouds still spitting snow. The storm’s fury has ebbed, but the snowfall continues—lighter now, almost peaceful. Nature’s perfect camouflage for whoever might be tracking her.
Her cheek brushes my chest. My fingers twitch.
Don’t move. Don’t react.
She stirs.
Whimpers.
Then her eyes open.
Green. Gold-flecked. Sharp and too clear.
