I take her in one impossible detail at a time: the snow glittering in her dark, curly hair like tiny stars, the pink of her cheeks, the tremor in her lip.
Five years ago, she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.
Now, she steals the breath from my lungs. Curves I shouldn’t stare at, eyes that could pull a man under. All grown up.
She looks at me, wide-eyed and startled, and something inside me gives.
My beast surges forward with a single thought:
Mine.
My girl.
I bend, offer her my hand. “You’re going to freeze out here.”
She hesitates, staring at it, shoulders tense, her pretty lips pressing together, cheeks quivering like she’s fighting something inside herself.
Then she reaches out anyway, her fingers closing around mine through the glove.
The contact jumps straight up my arm.
My pulse quickens.
So does hers.
When I pull her up, she stumbles, shoulder brushing my chest.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, like she can’t process the fact this moment is happening.
Her scent is thick in my nostrils now—warm and ripe—ready to unravel me.
Everything in me tightens with the need to wrap her up, lift her, warm her, keep her.
“You lose something?” My voice comes out harsher than I intend.
“You could say that.” Her laugh is half breath, half disbelief. “The darn cat escaped.”
I scan the dark, senses wide open. Through the wind I can hear the faintest sound—a fearful meow, far to the left. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait—Holt?—”
But I’m already moving.
The snow’s knee-deep in places, but it barely slows me. I slip between the trees, following the sound until the faint shape of the cat appears, huddled against a tree trunk. I lunge before it has time to react. It gives a pathetic little hiss as I scoop it up, then curls instantly against the heat of my chest.
“Good boy,” I murmur, rubbing a thumb along its head. The bear inside me settles, pleased with this small act of rescue.
When I turn back, Lila’s a dark outline, one hand lifted to shield her eyes. She looks lost and brave all at once. My chest aches.
I cross the distance quickly. “Found him.”
Her face lights, relief softening her features. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “But—how did you even?—?”
“Good ears.” It’s true. They’re far beyond the range of any human. But I don’t explain that part.
The cat squirms in my arms, reaching toward her, so I hand him over. Our fingers brush. Even through her gloves, the touch is electric.
Lila hugs the cat close, still staring at me. “You must be freezing,” she says. “You don’t even have a coat.”
