"Mike talks too much." Logan turns back to the road, jaw setting. "Don't worry about the patch, Savannah. You're safer with me than you are anywhere else on this mountain."
"Why?" The question hangs in the air. Why me? Why help? Why look at me like you want to devour me whole?
He maneuvers the truck up a steep incline, engine roaring. Finally, as the silhouette of a large, timber-framed cabin comes into view through the snow, he speaks.
"Because I found you," he says simply. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. And on this mountain, it's the only law that matters."
He kills the engine. The silence returns, different now. We aren't stranded in the middle of nowhere. We are parked in front of a dark, secluded cabin, miles from civilization.
He unbuckles. The metal clasp release is loud in the quiet cab. He shifts, draping one arm over the steering wheel to face me. The leather of his cut creaks.
"You scared?"
I look at his hands—huge, capable of violence. I look at his mouth—full lips hidden in that beard. Lips that look like they could bruise.
"Yes," I admit.
"Good." He nods. Satisfaction darkens his eyes. "Fear keeps you sharp. But you don't need to be scared of me."
He reaches out. His hand hovers near my face. I hold my breath. He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, catching a stray tear.His skin is rough, creating friction against my softness. Electric. It zaps straight down to my core. My thighs clench.
"I'd never hurt what's mine," he murmurs, eyes tracking the path of his thumb. "And make no mistake, Savannah. The second I saw you in that snow... the second I pulled you out of that car..."
He leans in. Breath hot on my lips.
"You became mine."
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Insane. Stockholm Syndrome in record time. Every stranger-danger warning my mother ever gave me.
But when he pulls back and opens his door, inviting the cold in again, I don't hesitate.
"Come on," he orders. "Let's get you warm."
I scramble out of the truck. Boots crunch in the snow. He’s there instantly. He scoops me up, holding me high against his chest. I wrap my legs around his waist this time, instinct taking over. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling him.
Winter. Danger. Home.
He carries me up the steps to the cabin, kicking the snow off his boots. He unlocks the heavy wooden door and carries me across the threshold.
He kicks the door shut. The world is gone.
Inside, it’s dark and freezing, but dry. He walks through the darkness with the confidence of a predator in his den. He sets me down on a soft, leather sofa.
"Stay," he commands.
I curl my legs under me. My teeth chatter. Adrenaline fades, letting the cold seep back into my bones.
He moves around. The strike of a match is followed by the crackle of dry kindling. A stone fireplace roars to life, casting dancing orange shadows across the room.
The light reveals the cabin. Masculine. Sparse but expensive. Taxidermy on the walls—a stag, a bear. Heavy wooden furniture. And Logan, standing by the fire, stripping off his leather cut.
He tosses the vest onto a chair and turns to face me. Without the bulk of the leather, he’s even more intimidating. His thermal shirt clings to a chest broad and thick with muscle. Arms like tree trunks. He rolls up his sleeves, revealing tattoos—black ink, tribal designs, skulls, and roses winding up his forearms.
He walks toward me, firelight catching the glint in his eyes.
"You're shaking."
"I'm c-cold."
