Page 74 of Easy, Tiger

When I present my wrists, a hard muscle jumps in his cheek when he sees the angry red marks where the zip ties cut deep. Dark bruises ring both wrists, and dried blood crusts the worst spots where I kept twisting against the plastic.

His fingers hover right above the wounds. "Halsey, I'm so glad you're okay, but these look terrible."

"They feel worse than they look."

"That's not reassuring." He moves to a cabinet mounted on the far wall, returning with a white metal box marked with a red cross. "When this is over, I'm getting Amelia to examine these properly. She'll want to check for nerve damage."

The first aid kit clanks as he sets it on the table beside me. Inside, everything's organized with military exactness—antiseptic wipes, gauze, medical tape, and even a small bottle of pain relievers.

"Owen stocks these?" I ask as Nolan tears open an antiseptic packet.

"Owen, Dave, and the other rangers. They are thorough about everything." He takes my left wrist gently, supporting my hand while he cleans the cuts. The antiseptic stings, but his touch stays gentle. "This one's deeper than the other."

"I kept working at it. Thought maybe if I could get one hand free..."

"You did everything right." He wraps clean gauze around my wrist, his movements quick and expert. "The trail you left, the false information about the denning sites. You bought us time we needed."

"He's hunting you for profit, Nolan. He's been selling samples of blood and fur. I saw a case full of vials with price tags in his tent. Wealthy collectors pay him for proof you exist. But it's more than money to him. He wants to be believed. Wants the world to know he was right." Hugging my bandaged wrist close to my ribs, I remember the fervor in his eyes when he talked about it. "That's why he wanted you alive instead of dead. A live specimen is worth more than every vial in that case combined."

Nolan's muscles lock, something dark passing behind his eyes. "So I fed him a lie about denning sites, told him I mislabeled some field sketches, and let him believe every word. Sabotaged his GPS and his satellite phone while he was outside. He never once suspected the woman he kidnapped might be smarter than his research."

"You were smarter than his research." He plants a kiss on my knuckles, right above the bandage. "Learned from watching you handle emergencies." I wince as he secures the bandage with medical tape. "You always stay calm and figure out three moves ahead."

"I wasn't today. When I found your torn sketches, when we realized what happened..."

The vulnerability stops whatever joke I was about to make. "Nolan."

"I finally found my forever, Halsey, and for a few hours tonight I thought I might lose it before we'd even really started." He moves to my right wrist, starting the cleaning process again, his hands betraying a faint tremor. "I already told you I love you. I don't think I understood how much until I thought that might be all I'd ever get to say it."

The antiseptic stings again, but my attention drifts to the torn sleeve of his flannel, where the shallow knife slash he took for me is already sealing itself closed thanks to his shifter metabolism. "You're not losing me. Not to him, not to anything. I love you too. More, if that's even possible after tonight."

He finishes wrapping the second bandage, then lifts both my hands and applies gentle kisses to my palms, avoiding the injured skin.

Firelight catches the amber flecks deep in Nolan’s irises as he follows the edge of the bandages on my wrists with feather-light fingertips. Outside, the blizzard howls against the cabin walls, but in here, warmth pools low in my belly. His thumb brushes the pulse point beneath the gauze. "When this is over...I want mornings watching you sketch from our porch. Coffee steaming while the mist lifts off the pines."

I melt into his touch, the chill of snow clinging to his flannel. "Our porch?"

"On the ridge above the enclave." His palm cups my jaw, calluses scraping gently. "South-facing. I’ve had the timber curing for months."

"You planned a porch?"

"Planned a life." His gaze drops to my mouth. "With you. Gardens for Sadie’s herbs. A studio with north light for your drawings. Room for..." He hesitates, the unspoken word suspended between us—family.

Narrowing the last inch between us, my lips meet his in a kiss that tastes like promise and woodsmoke. "Yes," I breathe against his mouth.

He deepens the kiss, one hand sliding into my hair, the other splayed against my spine to anchor me closer. "Want you teaching our cubs to track rabbit prints in fresh snow." Another kiss, slower, deeper. "Want your laugh echoing in our kitchen when I burn breakfast."

Nipping his lower lip, I earn a growl that vibrates straight through my torso. "Cubs plural, Maren?"

"At least two." He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the bottom bunk in the corner. "Want you sketching them asleep in my arms after midnight feedings."

The worn wool blanket scratches my back as he lays me down on the narrow mattress, his body a welcome weight above me. He braces himself above me, something fierce and unguarded written across his face. "Want decades of autumns watching you fall in love with these mountains all over again."

Arching up, I reclaim his mouth, my fingers tearing at his shirt buttons. "Stop talking."

He laughs, low and warm, peeling my layers away with patient slowness. "Make me."

Silencing him with a fierce kiss, my fingers tangle in his hair to trap him exactly where I want him. When we separate, both of us breathing hard, I tilt my forehead to his.