Chapter 3 #2
Arielle has been hit with compliments before—hell, she probably collects them like ornaments—but not like this. Not from me. Not this quiet, honest kind.
She doesn’t know what to do with it. Neither do I.
Screech! The kettle screams from the kitchen.
She clears her throat. “Thank you. For … all of that.”
My fingers flex on her shoulder before I force myself to release her. Immediately, the cold rushes back in.
I dart to my feet, head to the kitchen, and turn off the gas. I return with two steaming mugs and set them on the coffee table.
I have to get out of here. Get away from this curvy little troublemaker and the things she makes me feel. I wheel back around.
“But where are you going?” she stammers.
“I need to check the perimeter again.”
She grabs my sleeve.
That one small touch stops me dead.
“You don’t have to do all this for me, Davin.”
My chest tightens.
She has no idea.
“I do,” I say quietly. “It’s how I keep people alive.”
Something flickers in her expression … fear, followed by understanding, sad and soft and too close to the bone.
She lets go of my sleeve, but not my attention.
Not even close.
I sweep the windows, doors, shadows.
Everything’s holding … for now.
When I return to the living room, she’s in my kitchen.
Rummaging. Poking around. Making offended little noises.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
She holds up a jar of instant coffee like it’s nuclear waste.
“Your shelves are a cry for help. This is culinary depression. This is … this is a sin.”
“It’s food.”
“It’s a hate crime, Davin.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Sit down. I’ll make something.”
“Nope.”
She’s already pulling a pan from the cabinet.
Wrong pan. Wrong cabinet.
She’s chaos in slow motion.
And I hate—hate—how much warmth she brings into this cold cabin just by existing.
Gus trots behind her, tail wagging, clutching my sock in his mouth.
My fists clench. “Drop the sock.”
Gus growls like a dog three times his size.
Arielle gasps. “You gave him a sock?”
“I did not give him a sock.”
“Well, he has a sock! And he’s proud of it!” she says, scooping him up like a baby.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is hell.”
She smiles, really smiles, and it hits me harder than any firefight I’ve ever been in.
“Admit it,” she says softly. “You like having us here.”
“No,” I shoot back instantly.
But the lie hangs there, too warm, too close, pulsing like the storm outside.
And I know she heard the truth anyway.
Arielle hums more damn Christmas music under her breath as she pulls ingredients from the pantry, wearing my flannel like she owns it. Gus snorts and pants in her arms, eyeing me suspiciously.
For a split second, I let myself feel something like peace.
Crunch.
My head snaps up.
Crunch. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Not snow sliding off the roof. Not ice fracturing.
Footsteps.
Outside.
On my damn porch.
I kill the light with one swipe of my hand. The cabin plunges into darkness.
Arielle gasps softly. “Davin?”
I’m already moving.
Crossing the room in three strides, I reach her side and pull her back—too roughly, too instinctively—against my chest.
“Don’t talk,” I breathe against her ear. “And keep the dog quiet.”
My hand clamps around her waist, steadying her as her breath hitches.
She freezes, warm and pliant against me. One hand goes to Gus’s mouth, holding his muzzle. He breathes heavy but doesn’t make a peep.
I tilt my head, listening.
The storm howls, but beneath it … creak… creak…
Someone testing weight on my porch boards.
Just a hair heavier than the wind. Just enough to raise every hackle I have left.
I draw the gun from the holster at my back, thumb brushing the safety. Keep my body between hers and the windows.
Arielle’s fingers curl into the back of my shirt. She’s shaking again, but differently this time.
Not fear exactly.
Adrenaline.
Trust.
I don’t deserve the feeling that shoots through me because of it, but I take it anyway.
A shadow passes the window, just a blur in the blowing snow, but wrong.
Too tall.
Too still.
I lower my mouth beside her ear.
“Down,” I murmur.
She sinks with me behind the counter as I crouch, gun raised, eyes on the only angle they could approach from. Gus struggles in her arms, body tense, but she manages to keep the pooch silent.
Outside, the footsteps stop. Silence stretches.
Electric.
Cold.
Agonizing.
Then, a distant engine rumbles. Low. Leaving. Or circling.
I don’t relax.
Not for a second.
Arielle grips my arm now, nails biting through my shirt. “Are they—?”
“I don’t know.” My voice is gravel. “But they found this mountain once. They can find it again.”
A shudder runs through her. I feel it all the way down.
I pull her back to her feet.
The storm presses against the cabin walls, wind knifing down the chimney. But inside, the danger feels hotter, closer, tighter.
Arielle looks up at me, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with fear and something else.
Something I shouldn’t name. Something I want anyway.
“Davin,” she whispers, “what if—”
“I won’t let anyone touch you.”
The words fire out of me before I can stop them.
I step closer, crowding her gently back against the counter.
“Ever.”
Her lips part, soft, trembling.
“Why?” she breathes.
The truth hits me so hard I almost choke on it.
Because you’re in my flannel. Because you cried on me. Because you’re brave and too damn soft for this world, and I’m already losing the battle to keep you at arm’s length.
But I can’t say any of that.
So, I say the only thing I can. “Because you’re mine to protect.”
Her breath stutters.
Outside, the storm howls.
Inside, something hotter cracks open between us.
And for the first time all day, the danger isn’t the only thing I’m afraid of.