Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Nora
The power goes out hard enough to wake me.
Wind rattles the windows violently.
Snow hammers the roof.
And somewhere outside, something moves.
I sit up too fast, disoriented, the blankets tangling around my legs while darkness swallows the room whole. For one sharp second I have no idea where I am, and then the smell of pine and woodsmoke hits me.
Rhett’s cabin.
The storm.
The mountain.
Another sound crunches outside.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Circling.
Every muscle in my body locks.
I hold my breath automatically, listening harder as the sound drifts past the side of the cabin again, boots grinding through fresh snow.
Not an animal.
Too heavy.
Too measured.
Fear crawls cold and fast down my spine.
Then I hear something else.
Metal sliding against metal.
I turn sharply toward the bedroom doorway just as a beam of moonlight flashes briefly across Rhett’s silhouette moving through the darkness.
He’s already awake.
I can barely make him out, but I hear the quiet click of a rifle loading somewhere near the hall.
The sound terrifies me more than the footsteps do.
Because it means he thinks this is real too.
“Rhett?” My voice comes out thinner than I want it to.
Immediately, he’s there.
The bedroom doorway fills with him, broad shoulders blocking out the pale blue storm light coming through the hall windows. His rifle rests loosely in one hand, his expression unreadable and focused in a way that makes my stomach tighten harder.
“Stay in bed,” he says quietly.
Another crunch outside.
Closer this time.
My pulse spikes. “Someone’s out there.”
“Yeah.”
The calmness in his voice should make me feel better.
Instead, it makes everything feel terrifyingly serious.
Rhett moves toward the window slowly, careful and controlled, pushing the curtain aside just enough to look out without exposing himself.
I watch his entire body sharpen.
Not panic.
Readiness.
“What do you see?” I whisper.
“Nothing yet.”
Yet.
God.
A branch snaps outside.
This time directly beside the cabin.
I flinch hard enough that the mattress shifts beneath me.
Rhett’s gaze cuts toward me instantly. “Hey.”
The single word lands low and steady.
Grounding.
But my composure is cracking fast now, fear pushing through every wall I’ve spent years building around myself.
“This isn’t happening,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “This cannot actually be happening.”
Another slow pass outside the cabin.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Like whoever it is wants us to hear him.
Rhett moves away from the window and crouches beside the bed, the rifle still balanced easily in his hand. “Look at me.”
I try.
I really try.
But my breathing’s already turning uneven, panic pressing hard against my ribs as every worst-case scenario crashes through my head at once.
“Nora.”
His hand closes around my wrist firmly.
Warm.
Solid.
“Look at me.”
I finally do.
His eyes lock onto mine instantly, steady and sharp and completely controlled.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Not right.”
I hate that he’s correct.
Outside, footsteps drag through the snow again.
Closer.
My fingers tighten around the blanket automatically. “What if he gets inside?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
The certainty in his voice cuts straight through the panic spiraling inside me.
Not because I fully believe him.
Because he believes himself.
Completely.
“How?” I ask quietly.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Because he’d have to get through me first.”
The words hit with enough force to steal my breath for a second.
God.
The storm outside intensifies, wind slamming hard against the cabin walls while shadows move across the windows from the trees swaying outside.
Or maybe not just the trees.
I can’t tell anymore.
Rhett stands slowly and walks toward the fireplace, setting the rifle within reach before crouching to stir the dying embers back to life. Orange light flickers across the room gradually, throwing sharp shadows over the rough planes of his face.
“You should’ve stayed in Seattle,” he mutters.
I blink. “What?”
His gaze lifts briefly to mine. “Safer there.”
Something about that irritates me enough to cut through the fear.
“You say that like I intentionally signed up for a stalker.”
“You signed up to chase dangerous people.”
“That’s my job.”
“And now somebody’s chasing you back.”
I glare at him from the bed. “You’re being really comforting right now.”
“You want comfort or honesty?”
“Maybe both?”
His mouth twitches slightly before he stands again.
The movement draws my attention immediately because Rhett Maddox is unfairly attractive in low firelight. Barefoot. Henley stretched tight across his chest. Scarred hands gripping a rifle like it belongs there.
Dangerous mountain man starter pack.
Which would probably be less distracting if somebody wasn’t potentially stalking us outside.
“You’re staring again,” he says.
I fold my arms. “You’re impossible.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“Because I’m actively trying not to.”
A quiet laugh rumbles out of him, low and rough enough to send heat straight through my stomach despite everything happening around us.
The man should not sound like that while armed.
Another crunch outside wipes the thought away instantly.
This time I visibly tense.
Rhett notices immediately.
He notices everything.
Without a word, he walks back toward the bed.
Toward me.
“You scared?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
The lie leaves my mouth automatically.
His brow lifts slightly.
I exhale sharply. “Fine. Yes. Obviously yes.”
“Good.”
I blink at him. “Good?”
“Means you’re paying attention.”
“You are the least reassuring person I’ve ever met.”
“Still here though.”
I hate how much that answer affects me now.
Because he’s right.
I am still here.
Despite the storm.
Despite the fear.
Despite the fact that every instinct I’ve ever had says run before you get attached to something you can lose.
Rhett studies me for another long second before speaking again.
“Move over.”
My pulse stumbles. “What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“Nora.”
I look down.
My hands are trembling against the blankets.
Damn it.
Heat creeps up my neck immediately, embarrassment mixing unpleasantly with fear.
Rhett sets the rifle against the nightstand within arm’s reach before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight instantly.
Everything about him feels heavy.
Solid.
Safe.
Which is honestly becoming a problem.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says quietly.
Something inside my chest tightens painfully at that.
Because I’ve spent years pretending.
Pretending threats don’t bother me.
Pretending harassment rolls off my back.
Pretending I’m tougher than fear because people respect competence more than vulnerability.
But tonight?
Tonight I’m exhausted.
Another sound scrapes outside the cabin.
This time I flinch toward him instead of away.
The realization hits both of us instantly.
Rhett goes very still.
So do I.
My face burns.
“I didn’t mean to—”
His hand closes around mine before I can finish.
Firm.
Warm.
Steady.
“It’s okay.”
The simplicity of it almost undoes me.
“You’re not supposed to be this calm,” I whisper.
“I’m not calm.”
I glance up sharply. “You seem calm.”
“That’s different.”
His thumb brushes once across my knuckles absentmindedly, and the tiny gesture sends warmth all the way up my arm.
Outside, footsteps move through the snow again.
But farther away this time.
Circling wider.
Watching.
“You think he’s trying to scare me,” I say quietly.
“He is.”
“It’s working.”
Rhett’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
I study him carefully in the firelight. “You’re angry.”
“Very.”
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Somehow that makes it more terrifying.
“You really would’ve broken that guy’s wrist earlier today,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
God.
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
His gaze slides to mine slowly. “Should it?”
Probably.
Definitely.
Instead, heat blooms low in my stomach because apparently my survival instincts are broken.
“You know what your problem is?” I ask softly.
“What?”
“You say insane things like they’re completely normal.”
“They are normal.”
“To mountain men raised by wolves maybe.”
That finally gets a real smile out of him.
Small.
Crooked.
Dangerously attractive.
“You calling me feral?”
“I’m calling you one flannel shirt away from living entirely off deer meat and intimidation.”
“I already do that.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
The sound surprises both of us.
Rhett’s expression shifts instantly at hearing it, something warmer moving beneath all that control.
“There it is again,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“That sound.”
The way he says it makes my stomach tighten harder than fear ever could.
Outside, the storm keeps raging, but somehow the cabin feels smaller now.
Closer.
Safer.
Rhett leans back against the headboard eventually, one arm resting loosely beside me while the rifle stays within easy reach on the nightstand.
“You should try to sleep,” he says.
I stare at him like he’s insane. “While someone’s outside?”
“I’m awake.”
The answer comes so simply.
So certainly.
Like that settles everything.
And the worst part?
It kind of does.
I hesitate for another second before finally shifting closer beneath the blankets. Slowly. Carefully.
Rhett’s body goes still again as I settle against his side, my head resting cautiously against his chest.
I fully expect him to tense.
Instead, his arm comes around me automatically.
Protective.
Possessive.
Instinctive.
The steady weight of it loosens something deep inside me I didn’t realize I was holding together so tightly.
“There you go,” he murmurs quietly.
His heartbeat stays slow and even beneath my cheek.
Outside, footsteps circle the cabin one last time before fading deeper into the storm.
But inside?
Inside I’m wrapped around a dangerous man with scars on his hands and violence in his bones, and somehow this is the safest I’ve felt in weeks.
Maybe ever.
My eyes drift shut slowly despite myself.
“You staying awake all night?” I murmur sleepily.
“Yeah.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Probably.”
I smile faintly against his chest.
Then his hand slides slowly through my hair once, careful and steady, and something inside me finally gives in.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Trust.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.