"Go wash up," I order, turning back to the snow. "Before I change my mind."
I hear her hesitate, then the soft padding of her feet as she retreats. The door clicks shut. I let out a long, shuddering breathand rest my forehead against the freezing glass. I’m in hell. The sweetest, most dangerous hell imaginable.
And for reasons I can’t explain, I never want to leave.
5
AVERY
My legs shake with a deep, vibrating weakness centered right where his hand worked me into a frenzy.
The cold seeps through the windowpane where I’m standing. He had walked away, the back door slamming shut as he headed into the whiteout to run from the tension between us. The heavy thud of his boots recedes into the back room, followed by the back door slamming shut against the wind. He’s going out into the blizzard. Running from the fire he just lit inside me.
I press my forehead against the frosted glass of the kitchen window. The air in the cabin feels too thin to fill my lungs. My panties cling to my skin, soaked and uncomfortable, a constant, wet reminder of how easily he unraveled me. Years of bad dates and awkward fumblings in college dorms never prepared me for this. This is a physical ache, a hollowness demanding to be filled.
You belong to me.
His words echo in the silence, louder than the wind howling outside. He said it with terrifying certainty. Not a question. A fact.
The lights overhead flicker—a dying gasp of the grid.
I pull back from the window just as the cabin plunges into darkness.
"Oh, come on." The words tumble out on a ragged exhale.
The hum of the refrigerator dies. The electric heater in the corner clunks off. Silence descends, heavy and suffocating. The only light comes from the glowing embers in the massive stone fireplace across the main room.
I stand frozen in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter. My toolkit lies scattered on the floor by the pantry—useless tools for a job I didn't know how to do. Just like everything else. I'm always the girl with the wrong tools, trying to fix things too broken to be saved.
But Oliver didn't try to fix me. He wrecked me. And now I’m standing in the dark, wanting him to come back and finish the job.
The back door opens again with a gust of wind sending a chill skittering across the floorboards. He stomps the snow off his boots. The heavy bolt slides home.
"Oliver?" My voice sounds small in the dark.
"Power’s out," his deep voice rumbles from the entryway. He sounds calm. Unbothered. "Lines probably went down up at the ridge. I’m shutting down the generator to save fuel for the furnace. We’ll rely on firelight tonight."
Fabric rustles as he sheds his heavy outer coat. His footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate, vibrating through the wood floor. He moves through the darkness like he owns it.
A match flares, illuminating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the thick beard. Moss-green eyes look black in the shadows. He lights a kerosene lantern on the dining table, then another by the sofa. The golden glow pushes the shadows back but makes the cabin feel smaller. Intimate.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. I’m still standing by the pantry, wrapping his oversized flannel shirt tighter around my body, trying to hide the trembling of my limbs.
"Come to the fire, Avery." It’s not an order this time. It’s an invitation.
I walk toward him, bare feet silent on the rug. He adds logs to the fireplace, building the flames up until they crackle and pop, casting dancing orange light over his skin. He’s taken off his own flannel, leaving him in a tight black thermal clinging to the thick muscles of his chest and arms.
Sitting on the edge of the leather sofa, I watch him. He moves with a grace that defies his size. Lethal. I saw the way he looked when he fixed my porch—dangerous, feral. But with me, he’s careful. Restrained.
"Are you cold?" He stands, turning to face me.
"No." I lie. I am, but not from the temperature. "I’m..." My voice breaks. I can't find the word.
He stops, hands resting on his hips. The lantern light catches the silver dog tags hanging around his neck. "I shouldn't have done that earlier. In the kitchen."
My heart stutters. "You shouldn't have stopped."
The admission slips out before I can check it. My face burns, but I don't look away. I’m done being the scared city girl. Done waiting for life to happen to me.
