“I already found it,” she answered, stepping out beside him. The mug in her hands shook a little from the cold. “At least, I found what passes for coffee around here.”
“That’s the good stuff,” he said dryly.
Wren smiled, brief but real. “You mean barely drinkable?” He liked the way sarcasm softened her fear. It made her seem not as fragile, but deliberate—someone who chose to stay standing even when she could have curled up and waited for rescue.
“You sleep?” he asked.
“Enough. Walls aren’t exactly soundproof,” she mumbled.
Buck’s jaw tightened. “Did any of my guys give you trouble?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not them. I heard voices—yours and Ghost’s.” She paused. “You two argue a lot?”
“Sometimes, yeah,” he breathed.
“If I heard correctly, you two were arguing over me,” she said. He met her gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Wren just looked straight up at him like she wanted the truth, no matter how hard it was for him to give it.
He thought about lying, then decided against it. “Yeah, we fought over you.”
Something flickered in her eyes, part curiosity, part regret. “Because I’m a problem.”
“Because you’re a question that we don’t have an answer for,” he said. “We don’t like strangers around here, if you haven’t been able to tell by your less-than-warm welcome.” She took that in quietly, turning toward the yard. The bikes lined up in the snow were dusted silver, the insignia on each tank glinting faintly. She studied the emblem like she was trying to figure it out.
“So this is all of it?” she asked. “Your kingdom.”
“More like what’s left of it,” Buck said. “We used to run three chapters north of here, too. And it’s not mine. It belongs to Gorgon. I’m just keeping it safe for him until he gets back.”
“What happened to the three chapters up north?” she asked.
He stared into the trees. “Winter got longer, and we stopped pretending we were immortal.”
Her voice softened. “You make it sound like a war. Winter vs. you guys.”
“It was a war,” he said with a shrug. They fell silent again. Somewhere behind them, a door slammed shut, and Ghost strolled into the yard, cigarette hanging from his mouth with his jacket half-zipped. He wore the same dangerous grin when he looked at Wren—the one that worried Buck. Even in the daylight, he looked like someone had carved him out of trouble.
“Mornin’, sweet thing,” he called to Wren. “Sleep okay in the madhouse?” Buck shot him a warning look, but Ghost ignored it.
Wren folded her arms. “Better than you, from the looks of you,” she sassed.
Ghost chuckled, flicking ashes into the snow. “You’re feisty before breakfast. You keep talkin’ like that, we might start likin’ you.”
“Enough,” Buck said, tone low but edged with authority. Ghost only shrugged, but his eyes slid toward Buck—sharp and meaningful. The same unspoken argument from last night was still in them. She’s already changing things.
Wren caught the exchange. “If you two are done posturing, I’d like to see the trap sites,” she said evenly. “That’s why I’m here—to work.”
Buck frowned. “They’re miles out, and the roads will be solid ice.”
“Then I’ll ride with one of you,” she said.
He almost laughed. “You ever been on a bike, Doc?”
“No. But you have,” she said. “I’m betting that you can handle the ice.” The way she said it, steady and matter-of-fact, hit him harder than it should have. She wasn’t asking for permission; she was demanding respect, and damn if that didn’t spark something dangerous under the calm he’d been building.
Ghost tipped his chin toward Buck. “Guess you’re drivin’ her then, VIP escort style.”
Buck sighed and set his mug down on the rail. “Fine. You get an hour to see what you came for. After that, we talk about you leaving.”
“And if I find proof someone’s setting traps here?” Wren asked.
