“Can’t have you dyin’ on my land, now, can I?” The words were gruff, he knew that, but he loved her attitude. Loved the way she wouldn’t just give in.
“This is your land?”
He nodded, then turned to look out his window. “Can’t see for shit tonight. Bad night to spend out here.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my choice.” She shivered visibly, despite the tepid air finally blowing through the vents.
“Here, give me your hands,” he said. She complied, and he gently closed his fingers over them. “Ah, hell, you’re freezin’. We gotta get you outta here.” Before she could react, he grabbed her keys from the ignition, hating himself for making her do things she didn’t want to do. But he couldn’t exactly let her freeze, could he? “Let’s go.”
He put on his big man’s voice—the firm one that brooked no argument but was gentle when focused on a skittish animal. She stiffened by his side, clearly infuriated, but he hadn’t left her with much of a choice.
Oops. Maybe not the best idea.
Fuck it. This was about her safety. He’d deal with the rest later.
That thought made him nervous. In a good way. Besides, he’d rather see her mad than scared.
By the time he walked around to the driver’s side door, she’d opened it and seemed to be having trouble getting out.
“How long you been out here?”
“Since I got back from self-defense class.”
“You jokin’?” He’d been kidding about her dying on his land, but a couple of degrees cooler, and a person could expire in less time than she’d sat out in this goddamn tin can. Ive went from worried to almost crazy, but he forced his movements to slow.
“Come on,” he said, his voice as calm as he could manage. “Let’s get you out.”
“I’m fine, Ivan. I’ll be—”
As she managed to stand, Uma started to collapse.
He caught her just in time and swung her up into his arms, frantic, but still careful. She was shivering hard.
He held her tight against him, wishing he could take on some of that cold, and made his way up the drive, back toward the forge, excited and anxious and completely uncertain about what the hell he thought he was doing.
8
Where the hell was he taking her? His feet crunched over gravel, going Lord only knew where. Images of hatchets and shallow graves flashed in Uma’s brain, only slightly counterbalancing the comfort of his arms.No way. Not this guy, said Uma’s heart. This is one of the good ones.
Right, the sarcastic voice in her head cut in,because you’re such a good judge of men.
“Your house is up there,” she muttered into his chest. “Where are we going?”
“Got to get you warm, okay?” His voice, so sure and solid, reminded her of his eyes earlier that evening. How patient he’d been with her in self-defense class. Surprisingly, the fear dissipated.
A few more steps, accompanied by the swish of grass and eventually the scrape of flagstone. The jingle of the dog’s collar shepherded them to wherever they were going. How could he see? Neither animal nor master seemed bothered by the dark.
Werewolves, thought Uma with an edge of hysteria.
Finally, the swaying of his steps stopped, and the creak of a door sounded. His foot bumped something metal on the threshold. A trickle of light from the doorway illuminated several food bowls on the stoop.
He stepped in, and Uma squinted her eyes against the glare.
“Sit here.”
He sat her in a chair in front of a merrily roaring fire.Merrily, she thought.Why would fires be merry? Happy fires?
“Stay.” Uma barely had time to settle in before rough hands plunked something heavy over her. A quilt. He went outside with a hefty cast-iron kettle, only to return and plop it atop the woodstove. The fire was beautiful, alive. It had every right to feel pleased with itself. She got lost in the flames, then in the steam curling from the kettle’s black spout.
