I pause, the axe resting on the chopping block, my chest heaving. The sweat cools on my skin.
I look up at the cabin. Through the kitchen window, I see her washing dishes. She’s humming—I can’t hear it, but I see the rhythm in her shoulders.
I made a mistake hiring her. This ends in blood or heartbreak.
But as I watch her moving in my home, filling the empty spaces with her light, I know one thing for certain.
I’m never letting her go.
The sun begins to dip behind the ridge, casting long, jagged shadows across the yard. The temperature drops rapidly. Night comes fast in Grizzly Peak.
I put the axe away and head to the garage. I need to check the bikes. I need to clean my guns. I need to do something with my hands other than touch her.
Inside the garage, the air smells of oil, rubber, and cold steel. My sanctuary. I walk over to my workbench, picking up the disassembled slide of my Sig Sauer. I start to clean it, the repetitive motion soothing the chaos in my brain.
The faint sound of a melody drifts from the house. She’s playing music.
I put the gun down and walk to the small window that faces the house. The lights are on inside, casting a warm yellow glow onto the snow. It looks inviting. It looks like a home.
I haven't had a home in a long time. I’ve had a fortress. A bunker.
A figure moves past the window. Bianca. She laughs at something Maddie said.
My fist clenches against the sill.
"You’re mine," I growl at her silhouette through the glass, my hand tightening into a fist. "I’ve already decided. You just haven't felt the weight of my cock stretching you out yet, marking the inside of your pussy with my seed to make this claiming official."
The realization is a physical weight. This is a claiming. I am claiming her. I am wrapping my dark, twisted world around her little yellow light, and I dare anyone to try and separate us.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Notification from the security system.Motion Detected - Driveway.
I stiffen, adrenaline flooding my system. I pull up the camera feed.
A delivery truck. UPS.
I let out a breath, but the tension remains. I watch the driver drop a package on the porch and leave.
Bianca opens the door to retrieve it. She steps out onto the porch, hugging her arms against the cold. She looks out toward the garage, scanning the darkness. She can’t see me, but she knows I’m here.
She lingers, standing in the cold, looking for the monster in the dark.
Then she grabs the package and goes inside, the lock clicking audibly in the silence.
Good girl. She listened.
I turn back to my workbench, the image of her on the porch seared into my mind. The slow burn has started. I feel the heat rising, licking at the foundations of my control.
It’s going to be a long winter. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to burn everything down just to keep her warm.
I pick up the gun slide again, snapping it back onto the frame with a harsh metallic clack.
3
BIANCA
The silence of the mountain presses against the frosted glass of the bedroom window, a heavy, physical weight that woke me before the alarm could ring. I stretch beneath the quilt, muscles protesting yesterday's tension.
Rough-hewn timber beams stare back at me, dark and imposing, much like the man who owns this fortress—Shane Gunnar.
