Logan’s thumb traced the pulse point at my wrist, his touch gentling as his focus returned to me.“When did you get so wise?”
“Always have been,” I said lightly.“You were just too stubborn to notice.”
Night had fully fallen as we walked to Logan’s truck.The air had grown sharply colder, carrying the bitter wind of approaching snow.
“Barometer’s dropping fast,” Logan observed, glancing at the heavy clouds gathering above the peaks.“Storm’s coming in.Might delay Tanner.”
As if confirming his words, the first snowflakes began drifting lazily around us, catching in my hair and melting against our skin.I tilted my face upward, catching the flakes on my tongue as I had as a child.
Logan stopped abruptly, his expression unreadable in the darkness as he scrolled on his phone.“The Song pack challenged her leadership,” he said.“The news just came through.She’s out.”
I blinked, processing the unexpected information.“When?”
“An hour ago.”His exhale fogged in the cold air.“It’s over.The pack council voted unanimously after the evidence of her schemes became public.They’ve stripped her of alpha status.”
Something tight unwound in Logan’s posture as he spoke.It was not triumph, but the release of a long-held tension.I realized this wasn’t just about business rivalry or territory disputes.Victoria’s downfall represented freedom from a shadow that had hung over him for years.
“She can’t hurt anyone else now,” I said softly.
“The meteorologist is predicting a blizzard by tomorrow afternoon,” Logan said, looking toward the mountains.“If Tanner doesn’t make it in by early morning, he’ll be grounded until it passes.”
I considered the implications.“That gives us time to prepare.To organize the medical records and review the environmental reports.”
“Always the optimist,” Logan said, his voice warm with affection.“Finding silver linings in snowstorms.”
“Someone has to balance out your doom and gloom,” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his arm.
We began the drive home.The path to the mansion stretched before us, with snow already accumulating on the ground.
“I never expected this,” Logan admitted, his voice barely audible above the soft hush of falling snow.“When you first arrived in Angel Spring, I thought you were just another complication.”
I laughed, the sound crystallizing in the cold air.“I thought you were the most infuriating man I’d ever met.”
“And now?”His eyes reflected the scattered moonlight breaking through the clouds.
“Still infuriating,” I said, smiling up at him.“Just mine.”
Back at the mansion, I stoked the fire while Logan poured whiskey into two crystal tumblers.The fire’s warmth battled the increasing chill as snow pattered against the windows.Outside, the world was disappearing beneath a blanket of white, cocooning us in isolation that felt more like a sanctuary than confinement.
Logan pressed a glass into my hand, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of my wrist.The heat of his touch contrasted with the cool glass, sending shivers up my arm that had nothing to do with temperature.
“To forever,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving mine.
The amber liquid caught the flames’ light as we drank, warmth blooming in my chest that wasn’t solely from the alcohol.The word forever hung between us, enormous in its implications, yet somehow fitting.
“When I was in medical school,” I said, settling beside him on the couch.“One of my professors said we should never make major life decisions during times of crisis.That emotions run too high for clear thinking.”
Logan’s arm curled around my shoulders, drawing me against his side.“And what do you think, Dr.Wu?Is this just crisis thinking?”
I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek.“No,” I answered with certainty.“This is clarity.”
The whiskey warmed us from within as the fire crackled and popped.Time seemed to slow, each moment stretching like honey as Logan’s fingers traced idle patterns along my arm.Words gave way to touches, soft at first, then increasingly urgent as we sought deeper connection.The journey from couch to bedroom passed in a blur of heated kisses and discarded clothing, the cold forgotten in the heat building between us.
Later, tangled in sheets, I traced the scars on Logan’s chest, the old ones, white and raised with time, and the fresh pink lines from his confrontation with Vance.
His hand covered mine, stilling my exploration.“You healed these,” he said roughly, voice catching on the words.
I leaned down, pressing my lips to each mark, first the oldest, then the newest.“We healed each other.”
