Outside, the wind’s howling across the trees, sweeping the snow into waves. My headlights catch the flakes in rapid bursts, like the world’s flickering in and out of existence.
I check my phone again—no signal, of course. The battery icon blinks red. I turn it facedown and stare out at the white void.
Time passes.The sun sets. The sky turns to the purplish gray of dusk.
My teeth chatter, even though I’m not remotely cold—just scared and strung out.
Then—a sound.
At first I think I imagined it—the wind’s been playing tricks for an hour—but it comes again: a low growl, steady and close.
My heart leaps.
Headlights bloom in the distance, cutting a narrow tunnel through the storm.
I sit up straighter, breath fogging the glass. “Please don’t be a snowplow,” I whisper. “Or a murderer. Or Santa. Actually, Santa’s fine.”
The lights draw closer, bright enough now to throw long shadows across the trees. A vehicle shape emerges—a truck, big, old, solid.
Relief rushes through me.
I shove the door open and step out, snow biting through my jeans, wind tearing at my hair. I wave one arm over my head. “Hey! Over here!”
The truck slows, crunching over the snow until it’s idling a few feet away. The headlights flare full on me.
For a moment I can’t see anything but glare. Then the driver’s door swings open.
A man drops down from the cab in one fluid motion, boots crunching against the ice.
Holt.
He’s out of the cab and down the slope before I can find words. Snow swirls around him. He looks like something the storm itself threw out—massive, solid, fearless.
He opens my door and leans in, his eyes alive with relief. “Lila.”
Hearing my name in his voice—low, certain, full of something I can’t read—does strange things to my heart.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, throat too tight to speak.
“Thank goodness.” He exhales, shoulders easing just a fraction. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He reaches for me, big hands gentle, supporting me as I climb out. When my boots hit the ground, the snow gives way, and I stumble. He catches me instantly, one arm strong around my waist, pulling me against him.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re all right now.”
His breath warms the side of my face. I can feel the big, slow beat of his heart where our bodies meet.
For a moment neither of us moves. The storm howls, the truck lights blaze, and all I can think is,he came for me.
He helps me up the incline, his hand never leaving my waist. The wind claws at us, sharp enough to steal my breath, but he shields me without even seeming to notice. When we reach the truck, he opens the door and guides me in, carefully, like I might break.
The heater blasts warm air. My fingers tingle painfully as the feeling returns.
Holt circles the hood.
When he opens the door, I remember?—
