Heat rolls out, and with it, a man.
He's huge. That's the first thing I register, the sheer size of him filling the doorway, broad shoulders blocking the light behind him. Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
Dark beard, dark hair, eyes that catch the firelight and hold it. His forearms are bare despite the cold, corded with muscle, the hands at his sides scarred across the knuckles like he's used them for something brutal.
He looks like every warning I've ever been given about strange men and isolated places. The kind of man you cross the street to avoid.
His gaze sweeps over me. It lingers on my scraped palm, the one I'm trying to hide against my thigh. On the snow melting into my clothes. On my face, whatever he sees there.
I wait for the questions. The suspicion. The anger at being disturbed.
Instead, he steps aside.
"Inside." His voice is low, rough-edged, but not unkind. A command, not a suggestion. "Now."
I hesitate for half a second—some instinct screaming that walking into a stranger's cabin in the middle of nowhere is how horror movies start—but the cold makes the decision for me. I stumble past him into warmth.
The door shuts behind me, cutting off the wind's howl. The silence that follows is almost disorienting.
I stand dripping on a woven rug, shaking so hard my teeth chatter, barely registering the space around me. Wood walls. A stone fireplace with a fire crackling behind an iron screen. Furniture that looks handmade, solid and rough-hewn. Theceiling is low, timbered, the kind of place that would feel cozy if I weren't standing here in soaked clothes, terrified and lost.
The man moves past me without touching, efficiently closing the distance to the fireplace. He grabs a thick wool blanket from the back of a chair and returns, holding it out.
When I don't take it immediately—my hands are too numb, or maybe I'm too shocked—he drapes it over my shoulders himself, careful not to brush my skin. His hands are enormous, but shockingly gentle.
"Sit." He nods toward the chair closest to the fire.
I sit. My legs give out as much as obey.
He crouches near the hearth, adding a log to the fire with practiced efficiency, then moves to the small kitchen area, and fills a kettle with water. His movements are economical, controlled. Nothing wasted. Nothing loud.
I watch him because I don't know what else to do. My brain is starting to catch up to my body, adrenaline ebbing enough to let in the reality of where I am. Alone. In a cabin. With a man who could break me in half without trying.
"You hurt?" His voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He's facing me now, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. His eyes are dark, unreadable, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my pulse jump.
"I—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat, pull the blanket tighter. "No. Just cold."
His gaze drops to my hand, the one I scraped. I tucked it under the blanket, but he saw it before I could hide the evidence.
"Let me see."
It's not a question. I hesitate, every ingrained response warring inside me—Don't make him angry. Don't argue. Do what he says.—but he doesn't move, doesn't push. Just waits, patient and still, until I slowly extend my hand from beneath the blanket.
He steps closer. I force myself not to flinch.
He kneels in front of the chair, bringing himself to eye level with me, and takes my hand in his. Slowly. Like I'm something fragile that might shatter.
He turns my hand over, studying the scrape across my palm where the skin is raw and starting to bruise.
"Not deep," he says after a moment. "I'll clean it."
He releases me and rises, moving back to the kitchen. I curl my hand against my chest, still feeling the ghost of his touch, the surprising steadiness of it.
The kettle whistles. He pours steaming water into a mug, adds something from a jar, and brings it to me along with a small first aid kit.
"Drink." He sets the mug on the small table beside the chair, then flips open the kit and pulls out antiseptic and gauze.
I take the mug with my good hand. The heat seeps into my palm, and I have to resist the urge to press it against my face. It smells like honey and something herbal. I sip, and warmth spreads through my chest, shocking after the cold.
