She stares at me for a long moment, war waging in her blue eyes, and finally she gives in to exhaustion and closes them. I don’t sleep, and couldn’t even if I tried. I’m too worked up, my thoughts racing. I stay awake, hours ticking by through the night, while I hold her close, keeping her warm and ensuring her breathing remains steady.
The wound on my head has stopped bleeding, but it still throbs with a vengeance. I wouldn’t be surprised if I need stitches, and if so, that will have to wait till morning.
Right now, all that matters is the woman in my arms.
The woman who’d rather die than be mine.
The woman I’m going to marry, anyway.
As the storm rages outside and the fire burns low, I make a silent promise: I will keep her alive. I will keep her safe. I will make her mine in every way that matters.
Even if she hates me for it.
Even if it destroys us both.
Because the alternatives—watching her die or letting her go—are not something I can do. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. I’ve made my choice. Made her choice too. And that’s just something she will have to learn to live with.
Saint
I waketo the smell of coffee.
For one disoriented moment, I think I’m home. That the past few days have been nothing but a terrible nightmare conjured by too many true crime podcasts and an overactive imagination. As I shift, the ache in my muscles and soreness in my legs remind me where I am. I feel like I was hit by a dump truck.
Then the memories of last night filter in with a vengeance.
Escaping the cabin, disappearing into the blizzard. It was so cold, every breath I took felt like knives in my lungs. Calder found me, carried me back, and stripped off my wet clothes, holding me against his body until the deadly chill released me. I can still feel the heat of his skin on mine. The unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressed against my hip.
He saved my life.Again.This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Not only did I not die but I also humiliated myself. I’m still burrowing in the blankets that smell just like him.
It’s hard to ignore my attraction to him when he’s surrounding me. My clothes from last night are draped over a chair near the fire; the fabric looks dry.
A blessing since I don’t have any clothes of my own.
Looking down the length of my body, I notice I’m wearing a T-shirt.His T-shirt.My stomach clenches at the thought. He dressed me while I was unconscious.
Again.
I know I should be grateful. That I should say thank you. But I don’t want to, and that makes me feel… unlike myself.
My body aches in ways I’ve never experienced. Not just from the cold or the running but also from something deeper. My feet throb with each heartbeat, probably frostbite, though I’m too scared to look. My lungs burn with every breath, raw from inhaling frozen air. Even my bones seem to ache, like the cold penetrated so deep it hasn’t fully released its hold.
But I’m alive.
I didn’t want to be, but I am.
Calder moves into my line of sight, and I quickly close my eyes, pretending to still be asleep. I’m not ready to face him yet. Not ready to see the satisfaction in his eyes at having caught me, at having saved me, at having proven that escape is impossible.
Through my lashes, I watch him move around the small cabin with quiet efficiency. He’s fully dressed now in jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots. There’s a white bandage on his temple where I hit him with the pan, stark against his dark hair.I did that.Pride fills my chest, but it extinguishes just as fast.That’s not me.I shouldn’t be happy about hurting someone, even Calder.
He pours coffee into a mug. The sound of liquid hitting ceramic is unnaturally loud in the quiet cabin. Then he just stands there, staring out the window at the forest beyond.
I study his profile in the morning light. The strong line of his jaw, shadowed with stubble. The way his shoulders carry tension even when he’s standing still. The bandage that marks where I wounded him, however briefly. He looks tired. Worn down.Not the cold, controlled enforcer I’ve seen before, but something more human. More vulnerable.
The thought unsettles me. It’s easier to hate a monster than a man.
“I know you’re awake,” he says without turning around.
I freeze, debating whether to keep pretending. What’s the point when he already knows? It’s infuriating how he always seems to know.
