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I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

The thought is loud. So loud that I actually feel myself start to lean up toward him, my lips parting, before my brain finally catches up and screams that I met this man just last night.

I jerk back.

"Thank you," I mumble, staring hard at his collar. "For catching me. That was... thank you."

Kaelen blinks. His jaw locks tight.

He doesn't say anything. He just carries me to the bed in three long strides and lowers me down onto the edge of it so carefully you'd think I was made of eggshells. Then he lets go and steps back.

"I'm going outside," he announces.

I stare at him. "There's a blizzard."

"Yes."

"A raging blizzard. You told me so yourself. Nobody should be out there."

"I know," he says.

And then he turns around, crosses the cabin, pulls open the door, and walks straight out into the storm. Snow blasts inside. The door slams shut behind him.

He's gone.

I sit there on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. What just happened? Did I offend him? I go back over it in my head. I fell. He caught me. I thanked him. I almost kissed him, but I didn't, and he couldn't have known I was thinking about it.

Could he?

Gods, I hope not.

Maybe it's the other thing. Maybe he's still upset about the whole together, together business. Maybe in his head, he's out there right now, shouting into the snow about how he's never been with a man.

I look at Rhydian and Zarek, but they're looking at each other. It's a long, strange look, the kind people trade when they know something you don't.

Neither of them explains it.

Instead, Rhydian claps his hands together and turns to me with a big, bright smile. "So! Maybe it's time to reconsider our clothes after all?"

I sigh. "Fine. Yes. A shirt and trousers have to be better than wearing a blanket all day."

"That's the spirit."

He goes to one of the dressers and digs through it, humming. He comes back with a soft linen shirt, a pair of trousers with a drawstring waist, and thick wool socks.

"Here," he says. "Roll the sleeves, tie the waist tight, and they'll do. Socks are the warmest we've got."

He hands them to me, and his fingers brush mine. It's nothing. It's the smallest touch in the world. But warmth flutters right up my arm and through my belly.

I look up.

He's watching me. That crooked, mischievous smile is back on his face, and his golden eyes are warm and far too knowing.

And Zarek is standing beside the bed, arms crossed over his chest. He hasn't said a word. But his gray eyes are following every move I make.

Every single one.

And suddenly, I'm very aware of a few things.