Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
EMMA
A fucking boathouse.
Not a nice little warm inn with maybe some sort of one-bed situation.
Not even a cold cave where we’d had to sit close, body heat and all, sharing whispered secrets in the dark.
No. What did I get? A damp, ugly ass, dilapidated boathouse that smelled like mildew and dead fish.
The author of my life had a serious fucked-up sense of humor.
The roof was half collapsed, the walls sagged like they’d given up years ago, and every step made the floorboards complain. Romantic getaway of the year.
Not that I needed—or wanted—a romantic getaway with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Distant.
As soon as the door closed behind us, the latter muttered a curse and dragged a hand through his hair, wringing out the remaining ice water in a rough shake. His jacket was gone, and his shirt clung to him like a second skin, every line of hard muscle visible in the dim light.
Then, without ceremony, he grabbed the hem and yanked it over his head in one motion, the fabric tearing faintly as it peeled away. He twisted it tight in his hands, wringing the water out, the sound of it obscene in the silence.
I bit my bottom lip before I could stop it.
His shoulders rippled, muscles shifting under his skin in a way that was borderline unfair. And his torso…seriously. No one needed that many abs.
Who the hell looked like that?
He wasn’t even pretending to be human at this point.
He tried to stand still, to hide the faint tremor running across his shoulders, but the tension only sharpened every line of him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, tearing my gaze to the rotting wall instead of letting it linger where it absolutely shouldn’t.
“Trying not to freeze to death,” he said, bone-dry, as if stripping half-naked in front of me was the most logical decision in the world.
A familiar and treacherous heat throbbed low through me. I pretended to study the mold in the corners while every nerve in me stayed tuned to the heat of his body, bare and far too close.
“Sorta seems counterproductive to take off your clothes, then,” I muttered, shivering and hands shaking, while deliberately ignoring every basic fact about hypothermia like an idiot.
“Thompson.” His voice went flat and dangerous. “You have exactly three seconds to undress, or I swear I’ll rip those clothes off myself.”
Fuck me. How the hell was this my life?
I cursed a hundred thousand words under my breath—every single one a tasteful variation of Caden having to go screw himself on a large extra-spikey Morningstar—then pulled at the soaked hem of my shirt up with numb fingers. The fabric stuck to my skin, clinging like a second, freezing sheath.
Caden didn’t look away; he stood there, something rigid in the set of his face, unreadable in the dim.
“Happy now?” I bit out as I peeled the shirt free, breath fogging in front of my face.
“I will be when you stop shaking.”
And somehow, that made me shiver even harder. The fact I was standing in front of him in only a bra—and not exactly mission-approved panties—didn’t really help. The fact he was unapologetically roaming my body didn’t either.
“Eyes up, soldier,” I muttered, crossing my arms in a halfhearted attempt at modesty.
He didn’t falter. “Just making sure you’re not turning blue.”
“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes at him. “You know, next time you and I go on a mission, we should really check out some more tropical destinations. Between our brilliant plan to retrieve the Amplifier from a frozen cell, moving our asses into Kanata C—which is basically a showroom for snow—and now this, you and I could become rather successful spokespeople for hypothermia.”
Caden didn’t answer. He only stared at me for half a heartbeat, then closed the distance between us in three long strides.
He grabbed my soaked clothes and hung them over the dead fireplace, where ashes from another life still clung to the stone.
“We can’t light a fire unless we want that drone to find us again,” I muttered, rubbing my arms, though the goosebumps prickling along my skin had nothing to do with the chill anymore, and everything to do with the nearness of the most dangerous man I’d ever met.
He turned back to me, eyes blazing with the fire we didn’t dare strike.
“Then we’ll need body heat to warm up,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged over silk. “The floor’s frozen. We’ll use the packs as insulation, press in tight—chest to chest, skin to skin.”
His gaze dropped briefly—scorching over my bare stomach, then back up to my eyes.
“It’s either that, or death. Your call.”
I blinked up at him, as I tried to ignore the unwelcome rush of warmth which had nothing to do with survival.
“Easy, Casanova.” I stepped back and reached for my waterproof backpack, then tossed it open with shaky fingers. “I’d rather start with my emergency kit and not, you know, your ridiculous abs.”
He exhaled through his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and woman under his breath.
I ignored him and dug deeper, finally pulling out a thermos wrapped in plastic.
Caden’s eyes tracked it for a second. “Please tell me that’s Scotch.”
I grinned, peeling the plastic away. “It’s a self-heating thermos. Apparently, when one suffers from hypothermia, warm fluids help counteract the effects. Considering our track record, I thought it rather necessary to bring.”
He blinked once. Twice. Then stared at me, deadpan. “Hot water? You brought along hot water?”
I unscrewed the lid, a faint hiss of steam curling up between us. “Civilized people call it tea,” I confirmed, as a smile tugged at my mouth. “With rum.”
For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, reluctant amusement breaking through the exhaustion.
I poured a bit into the cap and held it out, but he shook his head, jaw still tight.
“You first, Thompson.”
I snorted, too cold to summon a proper glare. “And people say chivalry is dead.”
Lifting the cup, I took a bold sip and instantly regretted it.
The hot liquid scorched my throat, the rum hitting harder than expected. I choked, coughing half of it back up, my face flaring hot.
Caden was on me in an instant, one hand holding me upright, the other catching the cup before it spilled.
“Easy,” he murmured, sounding dangerously caring. “Let your system adjust to the heat.”
His palm stayed at my back, bare skin to bare skin, hot and grounding. I could feel the rough calluses of his fingers against my spine.
Water still clung to him in thin trails, running down the lines of his chest.
I tried to breathe. Tried not to notice how gorgeous he was, how close he was, how every breath I took pulled in the scent of smoke and blackcurrant and him.
The cup shook in my hands.
He noticed. His thumb brushed the edge of the mug, steadying it, steadying me. “Slowly,” he said again, quieter this time.
The room tilted, part exhaustion, part the way he said it. Like he was the heat I needed to adjust to.
My skin ached for the space his hand hadn’t yet covered.
When I finally lifted my gaze, his eyes were already on me. On my lips.
Then lower.
A beat passed.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t slide his hand lower.
Didn’t drag me in.
But fuck, I wanted him to.
Instead, I took another sip of the tea, trying to ignore the thrum between my legs, the way my nipples tightened beneath the thin lace of my bra with nothing but cold air and his presence to blame.
Then I poured a second cup, carefully, and held it out to him.
“Your turn,” I spouted a lot shakier than I should’ve been.
His fingers brushed mine as he took it. Too much, not enough.
While he drank, I dug through my backpack until my I found the familiar shape of our ticket out of there: the cellphone I’d wrapped in plastic.
When I powered it up, Caden froze mid-sip, eyes widening slightly.
I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my mouth. “How’s that paper map of yours, by the way? You know, the one that doesn’t glitch?”
Caden squinted at me over the rim of the cup, silent but impressed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I chuckled as the screen flickered to life.
“You think that drone’s still scouring the grounds?”
I nodded without looking up. “Pretty sure it is. Probably sweeping every quadrant of this forest as we speak. We need to heat up our clothes somehow without it tracking us and get the fuck out of here.”
The signal bars blinked weakly to life, and I didn’t waste a second to dial the number I’d saved.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Where are ye?” Sean’s voice cracked through the line, tight with worry.
The sound of it made something twist painfully in my chest.
“We barely made the crossing,” I answered with as much neutrality as I could muster.
“Caden blew up a US Coast Guard patrol boat in a moment of pure controlled brilliance. The Canadians opened fire after they saw the blast, because who can blame them. We lost Johnson and Campbell, then had to abandon ship, literally, and swam to shore. We are now hiding in some sort of middle-aged boathouse near the river.” I paused to take a quick breath.
“We’re fine, but we need help. There’s a drone tailing us.
And by tailing, I mean trying to kill us. ”
“Sean,” Caden cut in. “Shoot that drone out of the air. I don’t care how you do it, manipulate a human satellite if you have to. Just bring that godsdamn thing down.”
“We’re not going to war with the US over a drone.” Rachel’s voice sounded almost annoyed at our suggestion.
“They fucking shot at us,” Caden snapped. “Go to war over that.”
“Why would the US want you dead?” Rachel countered, her tone cool but threaded with disbelief. “All they have is an arrest warrant for Emma, not a kill order.”
Her words hung there, brittle in the silence that followed.
“Rachel.” Caden’s countenance hardened, every syllable clipped. “There’s a military drone following us and blowing everything we touch into fucking pieces. I don’t care what piece of paper they’re waving around, it’s pretty damn clear the US is aiming to kill us.”
Before Rachel could bite back, I jumped in. “What if it’s not the US?”
“What do you mean?” Sean asked.
I looked up at Caden. “The US military crossed into Canada, moved toward the Metasphere, and tried to arrest me. If they wanted me dead, why take the risk and send soldiers in with rifles? Why not just use drones from the start?”
Caden shrugged, water still dripping from his hair. “Hell if I know.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head, frustration bleeding into the words. “Say it is the US military. Say they’ve got a kill order with my name on it. You’re telling me they’d send one drone? Why not twenty? Why not make sure the job’s done?”
Caden went still, something hard flickering in his expression. “Makes sense,” he muttered, “but if it’s not them…then who?”
I cleared my throat. “There are others who might want me dead.”
Rachel’s voice came again, quieter now but edged with realization. “You’re thinking of the first warrant.”
“The what?” Sean asked.
Caden’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face.
“Rachel and I found out the presidential warrant was signed after my parents’ deaths,” I said, the words heavy in my mouth. “After I killed those humans on US soil. Which means there were two warrants. The first one branded me a terrorist…”
“And gave the kill order for your parents,” Rachel finished softly.
“Exactly.” I swallowed hard, the motion painful.
“Maybe that same first warrant had a kill order for me too, not just my parents. The longer I think about this, the more it fits. The US bubbled in the whole country and cut off all magic, including mine. So why the hell would they brand me a terrorist for using translation I couldn’t even access? It doesn’t make sense.”
Caden nodded slowly, the muscles in his jaw ticking as understanding began to take shape. “Which means someone else started this. Someone powerful enough to make it look official.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t the US,” Sean countered. “Didn’t ye tell me it was human military that showed up at their door?”
I nodded. “Yeah. But that doesn’t prove anything. They could’ve been mercenaries dressed as military.”
“So let me get this straight.” Sean’s tone had shifted slightly.
“Someone we don’t know brands ye a terrorist, sends ten people—mercenaries, maybe—to yer parents’ house.
They kill yer parents. Ye kill them before they kill ye.
And only then does the President get involved because someone with magic killed ten humans on his soil. ”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“The President issues a warrant for your arrest,” Sean went on, “and when ye flee the country, he sends the military into Canada to come after ye.”
“Yes,” I repeated, my response flat, and hollow.
“But since then,” Sean continued, “Caden’s blown up a US Coast Guard patrol boat, and we’ve killed more than a few humans in order to protect you. That’s enough for any President to order retribution.”
I lifted my head, meeting Caden’s eyes before turning back to the phone. “So he sends one drone?” The disbelief cracked through my words. “Just one? To do what, scare us?”
Sean hesitated. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Yeah…” he said finally, slower this time. “Does seem unlikely.”
A low exhale hissed through the line. “Which means this drone probably isn’t US military.”
“Exactly.” I glanced at Caden, the air between us charged with the same grim realization. “It’s not the people luring me to New York either, since they’re practically paving the road for that crossing. The only ones left are the ones who wanted me from the start.”
“Whoever those might be,” Caden finished.
We locked eyes, one long, silent exchange that said more than either of us could voice.
“Let me verify our theory,” Rachel said, her tone brisk but tight. “If we’re right… If it’s true, there’s an illegal drone firing at Canadians from US territory. Pretty sure the Americans won’t be happy to hear that. We’ll call you back.”
“Okay,” I whispered, still staring at Caden.
When the line went dead, the quiet came rushing back in, with his gaze still fixed on me.
The chill crawled back into my skin, so I cleared my throat and broke eye contact first. “Gonna, uh…see if there’s a blanket or something nearby.”
Caden gave a single, wordless nod, but his stare followed me all the same.