Frostbitten
TW: False imprisonment, forced proximity , kidnapping.
THEO
Another day, another stranded car. For some reason, people always drive up the mountains when the weather turns vicious and it’s impossible to outrun the blizzard. Regardless of how good they think their vehicles are, nature always wins.
I tighten the hood around my face and keep walking, holding the flashlight a little higher as I approach the car and flash it inside. “God damn it,” I whisper, then let out a heavy, tired breath. “You’re lucky I found you,” I say as I pull the driver’s door open.
I don’t believe in luck anymore—out here, only the ones I choose to save survive to see the next sunrise.
Without wasting more time, I lean into the car, unbuckle the seat belt and pull her out. She’s barely conscious when I throw her over my shoulder, so I don’t bother with the small talk and start walking away from her car.
By the time I reach my cabin, she’s completely out cold, hanging over my shoulder like dead weight.
Grunting, I kick the door open and slam it shut once I step inside. First things first, I slip off my boots and leave them near the entrance, then step into the small living room and lay her on the couch.
Carefully, I slip off her coat and toss it on the floor. “Silly little girl,” I grumble and quickly check her body for frostbite, letting out a breath of relief when I find nothing.
Then, I adjust the pillows under her head before pulling the blanket up to her chin. For a moment, I just stand there, watching her, then reprimand myself for acting like a creep and instead, crouch by the old wood stove to toss in a few more logs.
I need the cabin to warm up just as much as I need something to do with my hands. To distract myself from the woman sleeping on my couch, I start stacking the wood closer to the stove and hang her coat to dry, checking the pockets for anything of use.
There’s a workplace ID and a phone in her pocket. Marin Vale, photojournalist—interesting... I pocket her ID and take about five seconds to consider what could be done with the phone, then slip into the small bathroom, open the window and throw the phone out.
After I’m done, I walk back to the living area and stare at the fire for what feels like hours, then glance over my shoulder and curse under my breath.
“God damn it, you hairy little traitor, get your ass off our guest!” I hiss and straighten up, turning around to glare at the furball who decided Marin’s body is the perfect sleeping bag.
I step closer to the couch and glare at the orange cat, who blinks up at me like the lazy bastard he is. Pointing my finger at the door that leads to the small bedroom, I hiss again, “that’s the bedroom, you stupid fuck. There’s a bed for your fluffy ass, you know the couch is off limits!”
I stand there, still holding my finger pointed at the bedroom door and the cat... fuck, he’s refusing to move. “Lord Ruffles Stinkelton the Third, get your ass off that woman right this moment!” I try again, keeping my voice as low as possible so as not to wake her, and finally, the damn cat moves.
He jumps off her, gives me the nastiest stink eye and slowly retreats into the bedroom. Just to be sure the cat won’t cause more trouble, I follow him and close the bedroom door the moment the orange bastard gets comfortable in his small bed.
Then, I return to the living room and sit by the fire again. No matter how hard I try, my eyes keep drifting back to her. Marin looks completely relaxed and the longer I watch her, the more I notice about her.
She’s very beautiful in her simplicity. There are no traces of makeup or artificial hair colors, her clothes are simple but warm, yet nearly not warm enough for the weather up in the mountains, so I assume this is the first time she’s stepped foot in this area.
Her nose is small and straight, but somehow, it suits her—her lips are full, a shape I’d be tempted to kiss and never have enough of, if I had the right to kiss her whenever I please.
Her hair looks soft to the touch and the skin on my palms tingles with the need to run my hands through it, just to check if I’m right.
“God damn it, Theo,” I mutter to myself, eyes still glued on her. “Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean you must act like a caveman and attempt to claim what was never meant to be yours. But it’s been so long... So long since the last time you took someone and kept them...”
While I hear those words, my heart does this weird thump and all of my senses refuse to comply with the words I speak to hold myself back from doing something I might regret later on.
Thankfully, or maybe not, she stirs and blinks her eyes open. I forget how to breathe, I’ve never seen eyes so blue and bright ever before.
I give her a moment to wake up before she looks around and her eyes settle on me. “Easy,” I mutter, trying to sound reassuring but probably failing, so I add, “you crashed your car, I found you.”
“Where...?” Marin rasps so I quickly cut her off and stand to get her a glass of water.
“You’re in my cabin in the middle of nowhere,” I explain as I bring the water to her and help her take a sip. “The storm hasn’t stopped, the roads are buried,” I intend to sound calm, but my words come out flat and too factual.
She instantly tries to sit up, but I place my hand on her chest and push her back against the pillows, “no, not yet, you’ve been out for a while, wake up first, then you can try to move.”
Those blue eyes look up at me as I hesitantly pull back my hand, wanting nothing more than to spill out what I’ve already planned while she slept. But, alas, I can’t bring myself to tell her she’s not leaving the cabin ever again just yet. I mean, I could, but where’s the fun of it?
For now, I like her as she is—confused and unassuming, looking at me like I’m her salvation, not her downfall.
“Thank you,” Marin breathes out the words and smiles at me. “I didn’t think anyone lived out here.”
“Not many, just me,” I correct her just as the wind picks up and rattles the front door, making her flinch.
Should I tell her she looks beautiful when she sleeps, but she’s the prettiest when she’s afraid?
Probably not, so I stick to playing the good samaritan for now.
“You should rest some more. Just relax, and in the meantime, I’ll make you some food to take your mind off the weather outside. ”
She nods and looks at the door, muttering, “is there a phone? I should let someone know—”
I cut her off before she allows herself to believe she has the choice to leave.
“Lines are down.” The words come out rougher than intended, but at least I deliver the point.
And besides, I’m not lying—the lines are always down during a blizzard, it takes days for the maintenance guys to get here to fix them.
She turns her head and her gaze focuses on me just as I place the cast iron pan on the stove. “The storm is really coming down, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I answer and crack an egg onto the pan. “No one is getting through until it stops.”
She stays silent for a moment, while my hand reaches out to grab another pan, and I freeze. My eyes focus on my hand and I frown like my own actions betrayed me, then quickly hide my reaction.
I have to remind myself that one pan is enough, this time there’s only one guest in my cabin, but the habit is hard to kill.
“Smells good,” Marin suddenly mutters, the softness of her voice sends pleasant shivers down my spine.
I look at her over my shoulder and flash her a quick smile. It’s far too soon to hit her with the news nobody probably wants to receive on a random day while stuck in a cabin with a stranger.
It seems that unlike me, Marin isn’t a fan of silence—she breaks it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “Do you live here alone?”
“Yeah,” I grumble as I flip the egg on the pan and my eyes dart to the bedroom door. I have a strong urge to prove something to her, so I decide to add the existence of my cat to the mix. “It’s just me and Lord Stinkelton.”
Marin makes a sound that’s a weird mix of choking on air and laughing, then echoes, “Lord Stinkelton?”
“My cat,” I answer, my voice taking an oddly defensive tone.
“Well,” she mutters and tries to pretend she’s not holding back laughter. “That must be... quiet.”
I don’t comment, just flip the egg and add a slice of bacon to the pan. I can feel her eyes follow my every move as I grab a plate, toss on bread and slide the food onto it. I fetch a fork just in case, then carry it over to her.
“I can sit up,” she says, already trying to, but I stop her.
Instead of letting her feel any sense of independence, I sit on the coffee table next to the couch, invading her personal space on purpose.
Then, I feed her small bites of the food I prepared.
I like this—taking care of someone before I ruin their psyche and body, it’s like a foreplay of sorts, almost like easing into the inevitable she has no idea is to come.
“The wind is so loud,” she says between the bites. “I keep thinking it’s going to push the door in.”
“It won’t,” I chuckle and shake my head. I installed that door myself, keeping in mind certain activities I enjoy at times, so if there’s one thing in this cabin I trust fully, it’s the door. No one’s getting out unless I decide so.
Marin glances at me, accepts another bite of food and hums as she chews slowly. Once she swallows, her eyes meet mine and she whispers, “you must get lonely up here.”
“Not anymore,” I say before I can stop the words and instantly curse under my breath. It’s a slip-up I can’t afford.
Thankfully, Marin only tilts her head and watches me. She’s confused, probably wondering if she heard what she heard, or maybe she simply files my words away to process later on.
“Do you have a radio?” She suddenly asks, looking around the cabin. “A snowmobile, perhaps? You know, something, literally anything in case…”
“I got what I need,” I interject before she can finish the thought.