Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
“What the hell were you thinking, Emma?” I shout over the wind, my voice rough and edged with the fear I refuse to admit. “You want to die out here?”
She wrenches her arm free, glaring up at me even though her face is flushed from the cold, snow sticking to her lashes. “I had it under control.”
I bark out a laugh, harsh and humorless, the sound almost swallowed by the wind. “Yeah, sure. You were doing great—right up until you were about to pass out in the snow.”
She shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge, my hands still gripping her arms tightly. She might as well be shoving at the side of a mountain. “I don’t need you to save me, Slate.”
My frustration boils over, my grip tightening on her arms. “You don’t need me, huh? Look around, Emma! There’s no one else out here but me. And if I hadn’t shown up, you’d be a popsicle in the snow by now.”
Her eyes flash with anger, but beneath the fire, there’s something else—a flicker of vulnerability that twists the knife deeper in my chest. “I can handle myself, Slate. I don’t need you coming in here, acting like you always have to be the hero.”
I lean in, letting the words spill out between us, rough and edged with the cold. Our breaths mingle, fogging the air, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world drops away—just the two of us standing in the middle of a storm. “Maybe if you stopped being so damn stubborn, you’d realize that I’m not trying to play hero. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Her chin juts out, defiance blazing in her eyes despite the way she shivers under my hands. “Why do you even care, Slate? You made it pretty clear back then that you were done caring.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, dredging up memories I’ve tried to bury for years. My jaw tightens, my voice dropping to a rough growl, the wind carrying the words between us. “Yeah? Well, maybe I never stopped.”
For a heartbeat, everything goes still. The snow swirls around us, a cocoon of white that wraps us in, muffling the storm’s fury. Emma’s breath catches, her gaze locked with mine, and I see the way her resolve wavers, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something—but then she bites it back, shaking her head.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she mutters, but her voice is softer now, the anger fading, leaving something raw and uncertain in its place.
I feel that uncertainty, that unspoken question between us, settle into my bones, but I push it aside. We’re not having this conversation out here. Not when the storm is clawing at us, trying to bury us under feet of snow. My hands slide down to her wrists, my grip firm but gentler now, my heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the chase, the rescue, and the fight.
“You’re right. It doesn’t change anything,” I say, and I mean it. “But we need to get out of this storm before it does change us into human icicles. Can you walk, or do I have to carry you?”
She glares at me, but there’s a flicker of grudging gratitude in her eyes as she nods, shifting to find her footing in the snow. “I can walk. But this conversation isn’t over.”
I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth. Even now, with the snow whipping around us and the cold turning my fingers numb, she manages to keep that fire burning. “Oh, I’m counting on it, Emma.”
I keep a hand on her arm as we start moving, guiding her through the snowdrifts, matching my steps to hers. The wind howls around us, throwing snow in our faces, but I keep her close, every muscle tensed, ready to catch her if she falters again.
She keeps pace beside me, her breaths coming out in sharp, pained bursts, but she doesn’t complain. She’s tougher than she looks. Always has been. But as much as I admire that strength, it makes me want to pull her in, press my lips to her temple, and promise that she doesn’t have to do it alone—not anymore.
We push through the snow together, our shoulders brushing, the cold biting into us with every step. But the heat between us is hotter than the storm, simmering just beneath the surface, a slow burn that licks through my veins with every glance she throws my way, every time her hand brushes mine.
I know this isn’t over. I know as soon as we’re out of this, she’s going to push back. Hell, I expect it. But for now, she’s here, beside me, leaning on me more than she probably realizes.
The old trapper’s cabin comes into view through the swirling snow, a shadow against the white, the faint glow of light barely visible through the thick flakes. Relief floods through me, but it’s mixed with a darker, more possessive need. A part of me wants to drag her inside, strip off those wet clothes, and warm her up the best way I know how. A part of me wants to remind her exactly what we had—what we could still have if she’d just let go of that stubborn streak.