Her eyes widen, pupils dilating.
“We work within your limits, but you have to be honest about them. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” The word comes out soft but certain. There’s trust in her eyes, mixed with something else—something that calls to the dominant I’ve kept locked away.
“Good g—” I barely hold in theGood girlthat comes as naturally as breathing. But she’s not mine. Not like that.Neverlike that. “Um, that’s good.”
God help me, I want to keep her. Keep her safe. Keep her protected. Make her mine.
A stranger.
I’m so fucked.
We break shelter. Chaos clears ahead. Bear makes the trail.
“Stay behind me. Step where I step. If I say drop, you drop. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Two simple words. They slam into me like a physical blow. Rachel used to say them the same way—soft, trusting, completely surrendered. Until the night I woke from a nightmare aboutSyria, watching my team die while I survived, and found my hands around her throat.
The absolute horror in her eyes as I came back to myself… I swore then I’d never put another submissive at risk. Never trust myself with that kind of power again.
But Willow’s “yes, sir” does things to me I can’t control. The delicate curve of her neck as she bows her head slightly. The way her breath catches when I move close. The subtle softening of her entire body at my command. Even injured, even terrified, she responds to dominance like she was made for it.
Made for me.
STOP IT!
Fuck.
The snow’s thigh-deep in places, each step a battle against nature itself. Bear forges ahead, his massive bulk creating a path, but it’s a double-edged sword. The trail he leaves might as well be a neon sign pointing straight to my cabin. Behind us, Chaos ghosts through the white, covering our tracks as best he can, but it won’t buy us much time against experienced operators like Drake and his team.
Willow stumbles for the third time in ten minutes, a soft cry of pain escaping before she can bite it back. Those ribs are slowing her down more than she wants to admit. She keeps pushing, trying to match my pace, but her body’s reached its limit.
“Stop.” I turn back, catching her before she can fall. Her small frame fits perfectly against me, triggering every protective instinct I’ve spent years suppressing. “New plan.”
“I can keep going.” She looks up at me, snowflakes caught in her lashes, cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. “I’m not weak?—”
“No, you’re injured.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Pushing through pain is different from pushing throughdamage.”
The ridge ahead looms like a white wall. The easier path will take us around, adding an hour to our trek. The direct route requires climbing—nothing technical, but with her injuries…
A sound escapes her—frustration mixed with fear.
“They’ll find us.”
“Let them try.” The words emerge as a growl. I shouldn’t enjoy how she shivers at that tone, or how her body unconsciously yields to my authority. “Bear, break trail. Chaos, sweep, and clear.”
The dogs respond with years of training evident in every movement. I turn back to Willow, forcing myself to focus on the tactical rather than how perfectly she fits against me.
“New plan. Arms around my neck.” When she hesitates, I add the command tone that makes her pupils dilate. “Now.”
She obeys instantly, the response so natural it hurts.
I lift her easily—she weighs nothing compared to my combat load—but the intimacy of the position is dangerous. Her breath against my neck. The way she instinctively burrows closer. Every subtle submission chips away at defenses I thought were ironclad.
We climb.
