The world tilts violently when I try to shift. A groan scrapes out of my dry throat.
"Easy."
The low rumble vibrates in my marrow, a tectonic shift freezing the breath in my lungs. I force my heavy lids open.
Amber glow from a wood stove flickers in the corner, battling the gray light filtering through rain-lashed windows. Exposed rafters and heavy timber beams stretch overhead—a fortress of a loft.
My body sinks into a mattress that seems to swallow me whole. To my right, a stack of stiff pillows elevates my leg, immobilized in a custom-molded splint wrapped in dark bandages.
"Drink."
A shadow detaches from the gloom. My heart gives an erratic thump before steadying as the figure moves into the firelight.
Tristan.
Memory crashes in. The fall. The bone snap. The biting wind. Then him—the giant from the road, the Broken Halos Road Captain. He carried me. He cut my clothes off.
I look down. I’m drowning in a black hoodie smelling of clean sweat and pine. It hangs off my shoulders, sleeves swallowing my hands. Below the hem, cool air brushes my bare thighs, though a wool blanket covers me to the waist.
Tristan blocks the light from the stove. Standing this close, he is terrifyingly large.
His muscular frame, covered in intricate tattoos that snake from his shoulders down to his forearms, glistens with a sheen of sweat. The worn leather vest clings to his broad chest, revealing the defined planes of his abs and the powerful stance of a man who commands attention without saying a word.
He holds out a heavy ceramic mug. "Water."
My arms feel like noodles when I try to push up. Agony spikes up my leg.
Before I can collapse, a large hand slides behind my neck. Calloused palm against my sensitive nape, yet his grip remains shockingly gentle. He supports my head, lifting me just enough to bring the mug to my lips.
"Small sips."
Cool, clean water soothes my parched throat. He controls the angle, tilting it back when I’ve had enough, then lowering my head to the pillow with a delicacy that belies his size.
"Where are we?" My whisper sounds weak to my own ears.
"My place. Above the garage." He sits on the edge of the mattress. The bed dips, gravity warping around him to pull everything into his orbit.
"The hospital." Panic flutters in my chest. "I need X-rays. A doctor."
Tristan shakes his head. "No hospital."
"My leg is broken, Tristan. I know the sound. I felt it."
"Tibial fracture." He recites the term with clinical detachment. "Clean break. I set it. Splinted it. You’re loaded with enough morphine to drop a horse. You’re not going anywhere."
My biologist brain tries to process the data while the woman in me reacts to his proximity. "You set it?"
"I’ve fixed worse on the side of the road with a tire iron and duct tape." His eyes drop to my leg. "This was easy."
"You can’t just kidnap me."
His gaze snaps back to mine, burning with dark possession. "You were dying, Alexandria. Hypothermia setting in. No signal. Rescue team wouldn’t have made it up the ridge before nightfall." He leans in, his scent flooding my senses. "I didn't kidnap you. I saved you."
"But—"
"Storm’s washed out the access road." He jerks his chin toward the glass where rain hammers like shrapnel. "Power lines are down in the valley. Nobody’s getting up here, and you sure as hell aren’t getting down."
I look at the bruised purple sky. "How long?"
