4. Rosalie
CHAPTER 4
ROSALIE
"Come on, it’s okay. You are okay. I’m right here." I stretch out a hand toward the tiny, shivering ball of fluff clinging to the tree branch. "You can't be more than a few weeks old, and it’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside."
"ROSALIEEEEEE, GET DOWN!" Dawson’s voice explodes through the quiet forest, slicing through the eerie stillness of the storm.
I flinch, gripping the ladder tighter. "Shut up, you’re scaring him," I snap over my shoulder. “The Kitten Distribution System has finally come for me!”
"And you’re scaring me!" He sounds closer now, his boots crunching over ice-coated ground. "That is a cat , Rosalie. You do realize they climb trees , right? They’re born knowing how to do it."
"Thank you for that," I mutter, inching higher. "I know she can climb, but she’s not . She’s scared, freezing, and I’m not leaving her."
"Yeah? Well, you should , because in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a damn ice storm happening ." His voice sharpens. "Get down. Now. Or I’m coming up."
I ignore him and focus on the kitten. The metal rungs under my boots are slick with ice, and I have to move carefully. One wrong step and I’ll be the one needing rescuing. But I’m not stopping. Not now.
"Easy, baby," I whisper to the kitten, holding out my hand. The kitten takes a half step toward me and I lunge toward her. "I’ve got you."
I catch his front paws and pull him into my arms, tucking him into my jacket. He hisses and paws at me with furious determination. But I don’t hold it against him. The poor thing can’t be any older than five months. I breathe a sigh of relief.
I take a cautious step down the ladder and then. Chomp. Pain explodes in my cheek. The little monster bites me. I let out a yelp and flinch. That’s all it takes. The rung beneath my foot shifts. My stomach drops. My grip on the ladder wobbles.
Oh. Crap.
"Dammit," Dawson growls, his voice laced with panic.
It’s the last thing I hear before I’m falling —not a graceful, cinematic fall, but a chaotic, limb-flailing cascade down the ladder, hitting each rung like a human pinball. It does nothing to calm the kitten who is currently fighting his way out of my shirt and digging his tiny paws into me.
I brace myself for the cold, hard, painful impact against the ice. But it never comes. Instead, I crash into something solid and warm .
With a grunt, Dawson stumbles back. His arms lock around me and steady me despite the force of my fall. It takes a second for my brain to catch up. It’s one long, disoriented heartbeat where the world tilts and everything feels upside down. By the time the spinning slows enough for me to process what just happened, I realize?—
He’s carrying me.
Through the threshold of the inn.
Like I weigh nothing. Like he hasn’t done this exact thing before.
“Oh my?—”
“Get the damn cat out of your jacket and sit down ,” Dawson barks, his voice sharp, edged with frustration.
But there’s something softer in it too… Is it a concern? Worry? I blink, still slightly dazed as my feet hit the hardwood floor. The second I let go, the orange menace explodes from my jacket like he’s been shot out of a cannon. He hisses as he vanishes beneath the overstuffed chair in the corner. What a big baby.
“Are you hurt?” Dawson’s voice shifts, the bite is gone and replaced by something gentler. “I need you to sit down so I can see what that demon did to you.”
I do as I’m told. Not because he ordered me to, but because my legs still feel like Jell-O. I sink onto the couch in the lobby as Dawson disappears into the kitchen. A moment later, he’s back, pressing a warm mug of tea into my hands.
I stare at it, still catching up. Then he reaches for the zipper of my jacket and I freeze.
His fingers graze the fabric, tugging it down with quiet efficiency. The second the cold air hits my skin, goosebumps ripple across my arms like a traitorous confession. It’s like my body remembers things I’m trying really, really hard to forget.
I force myself to focus anywhere but on him—on the warmth of the tea in my hands, the slight tremble in my fingers. But then I glance down, and my stomach tightens. Blood. A smattering of red has seeped through the fabric of my white shirt, spreading in tiny, clawed patterns.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Dawson’s voice is a low, gritted growl.
It’s rough, edged with something that nearly undoes me.
"Look what he did to you." His fingers brush the hem of my shirt. "Take it off."
My breath catches, but I snap out of it fast. "What? No ."
“Jesus, you are so damn stubborn.” Dawson exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. I need to clean up the bites. The last thing we need is for them to get infected while we’re trapped out here.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not trapped . I’m heading home as soon as I can coax him out and get him in the car with me.”
Dawson’s eyes widen, a flash of incredulous anger sparking behind them. “The hell you are, no.” His voice drops an octave, firm, unyielding. “No one in their right mind is driving down that mountain right now, and I’m not about to stand by and let you try. Especially not with a demon cat in tow. You’re here until the storm passes. With me. Like it or not.”
The storm howls outside, rattling the windows as if to hammer Dawson’s point home. I clench my jaw, refusing to back down. But then something about the way he looks at me makes my knees go weak. There’s frustration in his eyes, sure, but underneath that, there’s something quieter.
I exhale sharply and sink back into the couch. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the sting of the wounds on my chest settles in, sharp and insistent. Besides, it’s been a long time since anyone wanted to take care of me. “Fine.”
I peel my shirt over my head, wincing slightly, and catch the way Dawson’s eyes darken. Not just with concern. There’s an ache there. It’s subtle but unmistakable. To his credit, he tries to keep it together.
He presses a hot towel to the swell of my chest, his fingers brushing against my skin as he cleans the bites. His touch is careful and deliberate. The heat from the towel is nothing compared to the warmth pooling in my stomach.
We don’t say much while he works his way across the top of my bra. But something about the silence feels almost too natural. Like this isn’t the first time. Like it wouldn’t take much to slip back into something dangerously familiar.
It’d be so easy to fall back in love with this man.
“There you go.” He clears his throat, breaking the spell. “I’ll grab you a clean shirt from my bag and light a fire on this thing.” He stands and puts a hand on the fireplace’s mantel.
“A fire would be nice, but I’ve got clothes,” I murmur, forcing my voice to stay even. “I have my gym bag in my car.”
I start to push up. But before I can so much as lift myself off the couch, Dawson’s hand is on my shoulder, firm and steady, pressing me back down.
“I’ll get it,” he says, voice low, leaving no room for argument. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t want to risk you seeing some kind of bear or maybe a cougar you want to save.”
Just like that, the spell is broken. “Don’t be an asshole.”