Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
ARIELLE
Davin holds me on the bed, refusing to let me look at the blood trail through the small cabin. The metallic scent still clings to the air, thin but unmistakable.
He rocks me gently, whispering words of comfort. Somehow, oddly, I’ve never felt safer or more insistent on never letting this mountain man go.
Outside, the storm seems to blow itself out, giving way to soft falling flakes. They cover the ground, almost washing away the death, the scarlet stain of danger.
In the distance, heavy engines growl, drawing closer. Doors slam, metallic and hollow. Then, precise footfalls. I look up, watching trained Rangers sweep the premises, lasers sweeping through the swirling snow.
“Friendly forces,” Davin says, pushing the hair off my face, leaning in for a steadying kiss.
I look up and gasp. Wolfe fills the doorway like a force of nature. Clean cut, narrow eyes, a square-cut jawline, dressed in paramilitary camo. His gaze homes in on Davin and me, his brows furrowing, jaw tensing. Next, he sweeps the cabin, taking it all in.
Davin holds me close, doesn’t even try to hide what’s between us. He meant it when he said what happened last night was real, permanent. Warmth shuttles through me as I pull strength from him.
“Two tangoes down outside?”
“Yeah,” Davin answers. “Sol Rojo. Skull-sun throat tattoos. One self-terminated.”
“Fuck,” Wolfe mutters. “Haven’t seen their ink in months. Not since the takedown with Holden.”
“Out for vengeance. Nothing to lose,” Davin answers.
“Cartel cleanup’s already en route.” He steps inside, puts a gloved hand on my shoulder. “Ari, how are you holding up?”
I sniffle. “Fine.”
“Ari?” Davin asks, forehead knitting. “Is that what everyone else calls you?”
I giggle. “Some people. I like ‘Princess’ better.”
Wolfe frowns, shaking his head. “Got a lot to explain to McGregor.”
Davin nods. “Yep.”
A second man pushes inside. Big and intimidating, another professional wrestler-looking guy like Wolfe. But his face is new to me. “Ari, this is West, the team’s new medic. Figured he should have a look at you two.”
“I’m fine,” Davin says, arms tightening around me. “But Princess here could use it.” The words come out possessive, like he’s still reeling from the whole nickname thing.
West steps forward, grumbling, “You gonna let her out of your arms, Davin? Or am I examining you both?”
“Dunno yet.” He squeezes me tighter, and Wolfe groans.
My face goes molten. Men, honestly.
“Just the headache I need,” the big Ranger murmurs, excusing himself back outside. Then, he pops his head back in, locking eyes on my mountain man. “Grimshaw, need to debrief with you.”
Davin slides me out of his lap, face reluctant as he heads for the door.
“This wasn’t random,” Wolfe says.
“No, they guessed our route,” he answers.
“Meaning someone high up in Sol Rojo used Ranger logic to track you,” Wolfe finishes.
Their voices fade out as West examines me.
The moment I get a clean bill of health from the hulking man, I head for the cabin door, catching a murmur from Wolfe.
“We’ll notify Rough & Ready Country Command.
This isn’t over. Sol Rojo doesn’t swallow a failure like this quietly.
“RRC Comm will want a full debrief.” Then, his eyes flicker to me.
“Don’t worry, Ari. They’ll never get close again. ”
Davin crosses his arms, face storming as he nods emphatically.
“You couldn’t have a better man protecting you,” he says. “Now, let’s just hope your cousin doesn’t lose it … too much.”
I giggle, though my stomach twists. “Well, you know Mateo…”
“Thank God, he doesn’t drink anymore,” Wolfe adds, removing his Stetson and running a hand over his buzzcut head.
I shudder at the thought of my redheaded cousin with this news and a bottle of Don Julio. “Fortunately, Callie’s tamed him,” I say, more hopeful than convinced.
“We’ll see,” Wolfe says, eyeing Davin skeptically. “Want a ride back to your cabin?”
Davin glances at me, torn between pride and practicality. “For me, no. But this beauty could use something more comfortable than hanging onto the back of a snowmobile.”
Davin and I sit together in front of a roaring fire at his cabin.
I’m wearing an oversized red-and-green Christmas sweater that says “Ho-ho-holy Hotness” and black leggings with a pair of fluffy emerald socks.
Every time Davin’s hand dips too low on my shoulder, it rings one of the tiny bells attached to my sweater, and I giggle.
“I know. I know. Another angel just got his wings,” he grumbles, leaning forward for another swig of hot chocolate.
It’s a Wonderful Life just ended, my begrudging holiday movie-watching accomplice still trying to process everything.
“Is it always going to be this much sunshine and cheer with you, Princess?”
“Wait till I start baking.”
He pulls me closer, his big hand tightening at my waist. “Baking, I can get behind.”
The way he says baking makes my stomach flip, like he means something dirtier.
He adds, “But if you think you’re ever going—”
A distant engine stops him mid-thought. We exchange apprehensive glances.
“You ready for this?” he asks as a door slams and boots clomp up the porch.
“Grimshaw!” a deep voice howls.
My heart jumps in my chest, echoed by the nervous dance Gus does at the yelling. I pull him into my lap, rising.
The door isn’t even fully open before a fist flies through it. Mateo pushes through, no coat, hair a mess, wedding ring glinting despite having just clocked my mountain man in the jaw. He looks wild—part avenging angel, part frantic big brother.
Davin takes it with a dark growl, gripping his jaw. “Easy, McGregor. She’s okay.”
Mateo’s whole body shakes, eyes surveying me wildly. He’s so angry or terrified—I can’t tell which—that he looks sick. I run into his arms, sobbing and clutching him tightly.
He snarls at Davin, and Davin eyes me, like he’s trying to wrap his head around everything.
“Fuck, Arielle… I tried to get here… I couldn’t get a flight into Sacramento for the life of me. Had to jump the rental counter…. Baby girl, I thought—”
He pulls back, cups my face, checking every inch like I’m breakable. He’s rambling in Spanish now, and I’m answering. The whole time Davin just stares, clutching his jaw.
Finally, I say in English, “I’m okay. Davin kept me safe.”
Mateo’s eyes glint with rage. He turns slowly. Not yelling. Not posturing. Just lethal silence.
“You had one job,” he says, with the kind of voice control that sends a shiver down my spine.
“And I did it,” Davin answers, steady.
The air crackles between them like a storm about to break.
“You also … took liberties.”
“I took responsibility.”
Tension sizzles. I raise a hand, clutching my cousin’s upper arm.
“Mateo,” I plead.
He doesn’t listen, stepping forward again. Davin is a rock wall, unmoving, face unreadable.
I push between them. “Mateo, stop. Davin saved my life. Twice. Maybe more. And I … I love him. Don’t make this ugly.”
Davin exhales sharply, eyes glistening. “And I love you, Princess.”
“Well, isn’t this just great!” Mateo rages, eyeing Davin fiercely. His face softens when it turns to mine. “Prima, he’s too old for you.”
“He’s what I want,” I say more firmly.
My words wallop him. So much that he steps back, shifting his weight and eyeing us both critically. His hands ball at his sides.
“Please,” I repeat. “Davin’s a good man. The best.”
He studies us both, face ambivalent. “But are you sure?” he asks in Spanish.
“Yes, mi primo. More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”
His fists relax, and he shoves a hand forward toward Davin. “Fine. Then, you’re family now. God help us all.”
Davin grips his hand, shaking hard. “Won’t let anything hurt her, McGregor, though this is the first and last time I’ll let you punch me without a fight.” He says it calm and easy, like he’s talking about the weather.
“Understood,” Mateo says.
Davin adds, “Wolfe and the crew’s got the cartel threat under control. Might as well get back to your honeymoon with Callie.”
“I plan on it,” he says, eyes scraping the ground. “I’m moving next door to keep an eye on this circus.”
“You’re still on your honeymoon, primo. Callie deserves this, too,” I remind.
“Fuck the honeymoon,” Mateo mutters. “You almost died.”
“But I didn’t,” I say with a forced laugh. “Davin wouldn’t let me.”
His face is stony, ambivalent.
“Don’t worry. In a week, you can get back to being a pain in my ass,” Davin grumbles.
I nudge the big mountain man, smiling up at him. “Good, I like it when you call him on his machismo bullshit.”
“You two,” Mateo says, shaking his head. “I mean, how? You couldn’t be more opposite. I was more worried about you killing each other.”
“Thought about it … at first,” Davin says, straight-faced. “But I liked the alternative more.” He winks at me, wraps a protective arm around me.
“And Gus, too?” Mateo says, motioning toward the pug. “But you hate dogs, Grimshaw.”
“Still do. But that thing’s just a big, adorable rat.”
Mateo’s muttering under his breath in Spanish as he disappears back outside.
Davin wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me close for another kiss. Finally, finally, the fear drains out of my body, replaced with warmth, hunger, and something deeper.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, how about we work on what makes you scream.”
“Naughty boy!” I gasp.
“You don’t know the half of it.” He jumps to his feet, throws me over his shoulder and starts for the hall.
“You’re a caveman,” I gasp, giggling.
“Told you so,” he murmurs, smacking my ass. “Now let me prove it.”
“Mmm … can’t think of anything I want more this Christmas.” My voice sounds dark, sultry.
“Got plans for that, too.”
Davin tosses me onto the bed with a wicked, hungry grin.
SCRRRRT … THUMP!
Gus barrels across the room, launches from Davin’s wooden trunk like a squat little missile, and lands on the mattress between us, legs splayed, eyes blazing with righteous fury.
He lets out a war cry of a bark—more mrrrgh-hrrrf! than intimidating. But the message is clear.
Davin freezes. Stares. “Princess, your guard pug is cockblocking me.”
Gus snarls, then plants one tiny paw on Davin’s thigh like back away, heathen.
“He’s protecting me,” I say, covering my mouth to hide the giggles bubbling up.
“He’s interfering,” Davin corrects, deadpan.
Gus huffs loudly, turns in a circle, and collapses onto his back between us like Pet me first, bitch.
Davin drags a hand down his face.
“This is my life now, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” I giggle, pulling him down for a kiss. “You, me, and the gremlin.”