“I know.” She took a steadying breath, her gaze locked on his. “But it still stings that he thinks he owns me. That’s why when he comes, I want to be ready to face him. I’m going to be the surprise he never saw coming.”
A fierce approval kindled in Korrak’s eyes. It was hotter than any lust she’d ever seen. This was the Alpha recognizing a kindred spirit, a fellow fighter. “Then let’s not waste the night.”
He kept one hand on her back, guiding her past the dark silhouette of his cabin toward a smaller, squared-off outbuilding half-buried in the snowdrifts. He produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, ushering her into a space that was all function.
This wasn’t a gym. It was an armory for the body. The air carried the faint scent of pine boards, old sweat, and gun oil. Rough-hewn racks held an arsenal of purpose. Weights with worn grips, weapons gleaming, and survival gear organized with military precision.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat of nerves and fierce, rising determination. She could do this. She needed to become a factor—someone who could meet the coming storm on her own two feet.
She watched Korrak shrug off his parka, revealing the familiar thermal shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and move to a central mat with absolute focus. Winslet peeled off her own parka, the sweater and jeans underneath suddenly feeling absurdly civilian.
That’s fine, she thought, forcing her hands to her hips to start a series of stretches.Fights don’t wait for yoga pants.
“We start with the foundation,” Korrak said firmly. He stood atop a wide, unstable platform meant to simulate shifting ice.His balance was perfect. “Control comes from the core. Not the feet.”
He demonstrated, shifting his weight with minute, precise adjustments. The platform wobbled but he didn’t. It was a lesson in contained power. Winslet mirrored him, her concentration narrowing to the feel of the unsteady surface beneath her boots. But her body, still whispering with the lingering fatigue from Viktor’s sedative, betrayed her. A slight tremor in her thigh, a misjudged shift, and her balance fractured. She windmilled an arm.
He was there before the thought of falling fully formed. His hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her with an immovable strength. He didn’t pull her close, didn’t offer a word of pity. He simply became her anchor until the world righted itself.
“Again,” he said firmly.
She nodded, and the moment his hands released her, she felt the absence like a drop in temperature. She refocused, pushing the distracting warmth of him aside. This was about survival, not… whatever this electric pull was becoming.
“Warm-up’s over,” he announced after several more minutes of grueling balance drills. “Now you learn to make space.”
He moved behind her, his presence a wall of heat. “If he comes from behind.” His arms snaked around her, a simulation of an attacker’s grasp. “Your elbows are your first weapon. Don’t fight the hold. Break the leverage.”
He guided her through the motion—a sharp, backward thrust of the elbows, a stomp on the instep, a twist of the hips. His body was the perfect resistance, unyielding but controlled, letting her learn the mechanics of force against his immutable strength.
When he turned to demonstrate a frontal grab, the dynamic changed. His large hands encircled her wrists. Her eyes werelevel with the strong column of his throat with the faint pulse she could see there. His scent wrapped around her senses.
“Focus, Winslet.” His voice was a low growl, vibrating in the space between them. He’d seen her attention waver.
“I am focusing,” she insisted, her own voice breathier than she intended.
She executed the wrist-break maneuver he’d shown her, her smaller hands slipping from his grasp with a technique that relied on speed, not strength.
“Good.” A flicker of hunger crossed his face. “Now faster. He won’t be standing still admiring the view like I am.”
The comment sent a fresh spark through her. She attacked the drills with renewed fervor, using the flare of irritation and attraction as fuel.
For an hour, the gym echoed with their movements, her sharp exhales, and his terse corrections. Sweat dampened the hair at her temples, her muscles burned with a righteous fire, and a new, gritty confidence began to settle in her bones. She was actually doing this. She wouldn’t be easy prey anymore.
The chime was a jarring, alien sound in the midst of their controlled violence. It came from the pocket of her discarded parka. A phone. Her phone.
Winslet froze, mid-pivot. She’d carried the thing for a week like a useless talisman, assuming the Arctic was a dead zone.
“Satellite’s back now that the storm has passed,” Korrak said, not even looking at the coat. He wiped his brow with his forearm, his gaze locked on her. “We’re remote, not extinct.”
Her stomach plunged. She knew, with a sickening certainty, who it would be before she even crossed the room. The cold dread was back, an old friend she’d hoped to forget. She pulled the phone from the pocket. The screen glared in the dim light. A text from Bracken.
Hello sweetheart, I see your phone is finally pinging again. You really should’ve ditched it so I couldn’t find you so easily. Oh well. I know where you are now, and I know Viktor is probably dead. Let your new playmate know that he doesn’t scare me.
The words were a psychic punch.So stupid.In her panic to flee Seattle, she’d committed the cardinal sin of the hunted. She’d kept her leash. She’d led him right to Korrak’s door.
A wave of self-recrimination so intense it was physical washed over her.
“Look at me.” Korrak’s command was quiet but absolute.
