I can taste metal on my tongue from breathing too hard. My whole body hums, strung tight. I shift slightly, trying to get a look through the branches.
The glow is gone.
Shit.
I twist around, searching the shadows. Nothing. Just white and gray and quiet.
Then, there’s warm breath against my ear.
“Looks like the monster found a pretty boy to play with.”
I gasp, twisting, but he’s already got a hand at the back of my neck, the other catching my wrist before I can pull away. He drags me up easily, spinning me so my back hits his chest.
He’s breathing hard too, the heat of it seeping through the mask, his body solid and hot against mine.
“Thought you said you were fast,” he murmurs.
“I—” My voice breaks, more air than sound.
“What’s the rule, baby?” he says, tightening his hold just enough to make my breath hitch. “You get caught…”
My body trembles. “You win.”
He hums, pleased. “That’s right.”
His hand slides lower, over my chest, his thumb dragging down the zipper of my jacket just enough to let the cold bite at my throat.
“But I think,” he says, voice low and rough in my ear, “you like losing.”
Miguel’s breath fogs next to my ear, warm even through the mask. I can’t see his face, can’t see anything except that electric blue glow bleeding through the snow haze, but I can feel him, every hard line of him pressed against my back.
“Stay still,” he murmurs.
Like I could move.
Part of me wants to sass him, but that will only make things worse.
The snow is cold and soft against my knees. My pulse is so loud it drowns out the wind. I feel him shift behind me, his hand still at my throat, not choking, just a reminder.
A weight.
A promise.
He leans close enough that I can feel the plastic of the mask graze the fabric of my balaclava when he speaks. “You’re shaking.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out uneven. “It’s freezing.”
He hums low in his chest. “We both know that’s not why you’re shaking, baby.”
His hand slides from my throat down my chest, flattening over my heart. I know he can feel it hammering. His thumb strokes over the fabric of my base layer, a slow drag that leaves heat in its wake.
“Tell me,” he says softly. “What’s got you trembling, pretty boy?”
I swallow hard. My mouth is dry, my voice caught somewhere between truth and fear. “You.”
The sound he makes isn’t quite a laugh, more like satisfaction turned quiet and dangerous. “Good.”
Miguel moves then, guiding me forward until my palms sink into the snow. The world is all white and breath and heartbeat. I can feel the weight of his stare even through the mask.
