Chapter 1 – Ariel
The snow crunches beneath my boots with each step, the sound sharp and crystalline in the morning stillness. I sink ankle-deep with every stride, my thighs burning as I push through the pristine drifts that blanket the forest floor. My breath clouds in silver puffs, and the cold stings my cheeks despite the scarf wound tight around my neck.
God, this place is magnificent.
The trees tower above me, their branches heavy with snow that catches the early light like scattered diamonds. Everything is hushed, muffled by winter's thick blanket, as if the world is holding its breath. I pause to adjust my camera bag, the leather strap cutting into my shoulder through my thick coat, and listen to the silence.
The sound reaches me before I see it. A low, musical rushing that grows stronger as I navigate between the towering pines. Water. Moving water, even in this frozen wilderness. I follow the sound, my boots finding purchase on the uneven ground beneath the snow.
Then I see it, and my breath catches.
The waterfall tumbles down a wall of dark stone, portions of it frozen into sculptures of ice while other sections still flow freely, creating an otherworldly symphony. The morning sun strikes the ice formations, painting them in shades of rose gold and amber that make my artist's heart sing. Mist rises where the flowing water meets the frozen pools below, creating an ethereal fog that dances in the light.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
My hands shake as I pull out my camera, from cold or excitement, I'm not sure which. I strip off my gloves, stuffing them into my pockets so I can adjust the settings with numb but precise fingers. The metal is shocking against my skin, but I barely notice. This is why I came here. This moment, this perfect convergence of light and water and ice that exists for maybe an hour before the sun climbs higher and changes everything.
I drop to one knee in the snow, feeling the cold seep through my jeans as I frame the shot. Through the viewfinder, the world narrows to exactly what I want to capture: the interplay of frozen and flowing, the way the light transforms ice into liquid gold.
The shutter sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet forest.
I shift my position, seeking a different angle, my heart racing with the thrill of creation. The wind picks up slightly, stirring the mist from the waterfall and sending a few loose snowflakes dancing through the air. I pause to pull my scarf tighter, noticing how the sky has shifted from brilliant blue to a more muted gray. Still beautiful, but moodier.
I'm so absorbed in the play of light and shadow that I almost miss the sound behind me.Almost.
The snap of a twig pierces the silence like a gunshot, and every instinct I possess screams danger. I freeze, camera halfway to my eye, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. The forest has changed. The peaceful quiet now feels weighted, watchful.
Someone is here.
I turn slowly, my breath catching in my throat as a figure emerges from behind a massive pine tree not twenty feet away. He moves with almost absolute silence now, each step deliberateand controlled, as if the snapped branch was a momentary lapse in otherwise perfect stealth.
He's enormous.
Even beneath the heavy winter coat, I can see the breadth of his shoulders, the way the fabric strains across his chest. He's tall, maybe 15 years older than me, with dark hair visible beneath a wool cap, and eyes the color of winter steel that pin me in place like a butterfly on display.
When his gaze travels over my body, heat floods my cheeks despite the cold.
A gust of wind cuts through the trees, stronger now, sending snow spiraling down from the branches above us. Some of it catches in my hair, cold pinpricks against my scalp, while more settles on my shoulders. The temperature feels like it's dropped ten degrees in the past few minutes.
"You're on private land." His voice is low, rough, with an authority that makes my spine straighten involuntarily.
I scramble to my feet, nearly losing my balance in the snow, and clutch my camera against my chest like armor. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't see any signs, I just followed the sound of the water and—"
"There are signs." He takes a step closer, and I catch the faint scent of woodsmoke and something essentially masculine that makes my pulse skip. The movement brings him into my space, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You ignored them."
"No, I really didn't see—" I stop, swallowing hard as his stare intensifies. There's something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel exposed, as if he can read every thought racingthrough my mind. "I'm a photographer. I was just trying to capture the waterfall. It's so beautiful."
He glances at my camera, then back to my face, his steel-gray eyes never leaving mine for long. "Photographer." He says it like it tastes bitter. "For who?"
"For myself. For my portfolio." The words tumble out in a rush. "I'm not with any company or anything. I just—I love photographing nature, and I heard there were incredible waterfalls in this area, so I hiked out to find them."
As I speak, he shifts his stance, positioning himself slightly between me and the deeper forest. It's subtle, but I notice the way his body language changes—protective or predatory.
The wind picks up again, and this time it doesn't die down. It whistles through the pines with a low, haunting sound that makes my skin prickle. Snow begins to fall in earnest now.
"Storm's coming in fast," he says, scanning the darkening sky above the tree canopy.
My stomach drops. "A storm? But the weather report said—"
