31. Leo
Leo
Istomp my feet on the welcome mat, trying to dislodge the worst of the snow before I track it inside.
The wind is a living thing, a wild animal howling around the eaves of the café, and for a second, I just stand there, leaning against the door, letting the sheer force of it wash over me.
It's a raw, untamed power, the kind of thing that reminds you you're small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
When I finally push inside, the warmth hits me like a physical blow.
And then I see her. She's sitting up on the mattress we dragged down last night, a little nest of blankets and pillows right by the hearth.
The fire has died down to a bed of glowing embers, but it still throws a decent amount of heat, painting her face in soft, flickering light.
Her hair is a spectacular mess, a chestnut, tangled halo around her head, and she's blinking at me like a little owl just woken from a dream.
A smile tugs at my lips, completely involuntary. She's so freaking adorable.
"Morning," I say, softly so I don't startle her.
"Good morning." She sounds so sleepy.
I move quietly to the small kitchen area, the floorboards groaning under my feet. I fill two mugs with cocoa powder, the rich, chocolatey scent filling the small space, an aroma that feels like home. I add hot water from the kettle on the wood stove, the steam curling up in the dim light.
I walk back to her, sinking onto the rug beside her mattress. "How are you feeling?" I ask, handing her the drink.
"Great," she says, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug. She takes a small sip, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Thanks."
The fire crackles. It's a strange kind of peace, this quiet moment in the middle of a raging blizzard.
"Where are the others?" she asks, her gaze drifting toward the empty sleeping bags where Gray and Daniel were last night.
"Some guy named Callahan came by a little while ago," I tell her. "He was looking for Daniel's parents. Apparently, a couple got caught out in the storm last night, just a few miles out of town. They wanted to see if they could help with a search party."
Her brow furrows, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. "Dark brown hair? A little intense? Looks like he wrestles bears for fun?"
I nod.
"That's Wyatt Callahan. He's head of the local search and rescue. Good guy to have in a crisis. Is there any news?"
"They're going to be fine," I assure her quickly. "Gray went with them. When they find the couple, I'm sure his medical background will be a huge help."
She nods. "And Daniel?"
"Daniel walked over to his parents' house to check on it," I say. "The blizzard was worse than anyone expected last night. He wanted to make sure there was no damage, that the pipes hadn't burst or anything. He's a worrier."
She lets out a soft breath, a mix of relief and something else I can't quite decipher. "What about you? What have you been doing?"
"Me?" I grin. "I made cocoa and toast. And I've been helping Mrs. Lacey feed the guests who are brave enough to come downstairs. Keeping morale high with carbs and chocolate."
She looks at me, her expression serious. "You should have woken me up. I could have helped."
"Hey," I say, my voice softening. I reach out and gently cup her cheek, her skin soft and warm under my callused hand. "I handled it. Besides, Daniel was helping out too. We had it covered. You needed to rest."
Her eyes search mine for a moment, and then she gives a small, reluctant nod. "Okay."
I lean in and press a soft, tender kiss to her forehead. It's an impulse, a need to comfort her, to connect with her. Her skin smells like sleep and honeysuckle and something uniquely her.
"I'm just going to drop off this last tray of food to the lodge," I tell her, pulling back. "I'll be right back."
I grab the tray and head back out into the cold, balancing it carefully in my hands.
The wind immediately grabs me, trying to push me back, but I plant my feet and push forward.
The lodge is only a five-minute walk, but it feels like a mile in this weather.
When I get there, Mrs. Lacey is in the lobby, directing a few guests toward the dining room.
"Leo, thank goodness," she says, her shoulders slumping in relief when she sees me. "I was just about to come looking for you."
"Just bringing the last of the breakfast," I say, handing her the tray. "Everyone holding up okay?"
"They're fine," she says, though her voice is tight with stress.
"It's just… the phones are still out. And I was trying to call the emergency management office in Glenwood Springs.
To let them know we're at full capacity, that we've taken in stranded travelers from the highway.
If anyone else is out there, they need to know we don't have any room. But I can't get through."
I don't even have to think about it. "I can drive," I say. "It'll be slow going in this, but I can make it down and back before dark."
Her eyes widen with gratitude. "Leo, would you? That would be a tremendous help. I don't want to send anyone else out in this."
"Consider it done." I wink. "Just keep the cocoa hot for me."
I head back to the café, the wind at my back this time, pushing me along. When I open the door, I'm not surprised to find Mara still sitting by the fire, sipping on her cocoa. She looks up, a question in her eyes.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Everything's fine," I say, shrugging off my wet coat. "Just a minor communication crisis."
I tell her about Mrs. Lacey's issue with the phones, about my offer to drive to Glenwood Springs. I'm expecting her to just nod, to accept it as another one of the many things happening today.
Instead, she puts her mug down and stands up, a determined look on her face. "I want to go with you."
I blink. "What? Mara, no. The roads will be bad. It's not a sightseeing trip."
"I know," she says, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "But I don't want to sit around here, Leo. I feel useless. I need to do something. Anything."
Her chin is lifted, her shoulders are back, and there's a fire in her eyes that has nothing to do with the one crackling in the hearth. This is the Mara I kissed, the strong, independent woman who's not afraid to fight for what she wants.
I let out a long, slow breath. I can't say no to her. Not when she looks at me like that. I smile. "Okay. But you're dressing warmly. I'm not kidding. Layers. Hat. Gloves. The works."
A brilliant smile lights up her face, so bright and beautiful it makes my chest ache. "Deal," she says. "I'll go get ready."
I watch her go, a feeling of profound rightness settling over me.
I get why Daniel and Gray couldn't control themselves around her. Who could? She's fucking perfection, and every instinct in my body screams to protect her, to cherish her, to never let her go.
I head out to the parking lot, the wind a physical presence against my back.
The rented SUV is buried under a fresh layer of snow, a white lump that looks more like a snowdrift than a vehicle.
I brush it off, my hands going numb, and yank open the driver's side door.
The engine turns over with a sluggish groan, a sound like a dying giant, then sputters and dies.
"Come on, you beautiful bastard," I mutter, patting the dashboard. "Don't do this to me now."
I try again, giving it a little gas. This time, it catches, the engine rumbling to life with a reluctant cough. I let it run for a minute, warming up, before heading back inside.
Mara is waiting by the door, bundled in winter wear. She's got on her boots, a thick wool hat pulled down over her ears, and is zipping up a puffy coat. She looks like a cute, angry marshmallow, and I have to fight the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless.
"Ready?" I ask.
She nods, her expression determined.
We get in the car, and I blast the heat, fiddling with the radio until I find a classic rock station playing some old, familiar tune.
The drive is slow, a tense crawl through a world that has been completely erased by snow.
Outside the windshield is a white-out, a swirling vortex of snow that erases the road, the trees, the sky.
It's like driving through the heart of a cloud.
I notice her knuckles are white where she grips the seatbelt, her body rigid with tension. "You okay?" I ask.
She takes a shaky breath. "I didn't think it had snowed so much."
"Hey," I say gently. I reach over and place my hand over hers, her fingers cold under mine. "We're okay. I'm a good driver. I grew up in this shit."
Her eyes are fixed on the road, but she doesn't pull her hand away. "My parents died in a car accident," she says, the words so quiet I almost miss them. "Icy roads like these. A driver who was going too fast."
My heart stops. Every protective instinct I have goes into overdrive. I pull the car over to the side of the road, the tires crunching to a halt in the deep snow. I turn off the radio, the sudden silence deafening.
"Baby, look at me," I say, my voice thick with an emotion I can't name.
She turns to me, her eyes wide and dark with old pain.
"I will turn this car around right now," I tell her, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
"I will drop you off at the café, and I will do this on my own. I won't put you through that."
She shakes her head, a frantic, desperate motion. "No," she says, her voice stronger now. "No, I'm okay. I'm much better knowing you're safe. I'm better knowing I'm with you."
"Fuck," I breathe, the word a raw, ragged sound. When she says things like that, it makes me want to do crazy things. It makes me want to pull her into my lap and never let her go. It makes me want to kiss her until she forgets all about the pain, all about the snow, all about the past.
So I do.
I lean across the console, my hand cupping the back of her neck, and I kiss her. It's slow, and deep, and full of all the things I can't say out loud. It's a promise. A reassurance. When I pull back, her eyes are glazed over with a mix of desire and relief.
"I need to tell you something. Um… something happened yesterday with Gray and Daniel."
I cup her cheek and brush my thumb over her bottom lip. She's so fucking hot. "They told me."
"They did?" She can't hide the surprise in her tone.
I nod. "Late last night. They wanted us to be on the same page. I won't lie—part of me wishes it had been me. But it was my pack, and that makes it okay."
"Are you mad?" she asks, a small, uncertain whisper. "About it?"
I shake my head, a small smile touching my lips. "Never. I may be a Beta, Mara, but I understand your needs. I know what you needed and I get how they helped."
She seems to accept that, a small, shy smile gracing her lips. She reaches over and changes the radio station, finding a soft, indie rock song that feels more fitting for the mood. We start driving again, the tension in the car replaced by a new, more intimate kind of quiet.
The drive to Glenwood Springs takes twice as long as it should. The snow is relentless, but the road is mostly passable, thanks to a determined convoy of snowplows. When we finally arrive, the town is a picture of small-town resilience.
The emergency management office is a small, brick building buzzing with activity.
A harried-looking man with a map of the county spread out on his desk listens patiently as we explain the situation.
He thanks us profusely, jotting down notes, promising to add the lodge's status to the next emergency broadcast.
The ten-minute meeting stretches into thirty, filled with details about road closures, emergency shelters, and the status of the stranded couple.
Mara stands quietly beside me. When we finally finish with the meeting, she shrugs off her coat.
I frown. "What are you doing?"
"It's not so bad out here," she says. "It's a lot warmer than Sweet Creek."
As we're about to get in the car, she pats her pockets. "Oh, no. I think I left my gloves in the office."
"When did you even take them off?" I didn't notice that.
"Oh, when he was talking about the road closures. I'm pretty sure they're still on my chair. Let me just grab them."
"Don't worry," I say. "I'll get them. You stay here where it's warm."
I jog back to the office, the cold air a welcome shock. I find them draped over a chair. As I'm leaving, the man from the office stops me.
"Hey, son," he says, holding out two Styrofoam cups. "Got some fresh hot cocoa on. For the road. Appreciate you coming all this way."
I take the cups, the warmth seeping into my frozen fingers. People are so damn hospitable around these parts. I'm really starting to think about moving here.
I head back to the car, an apology on my lips for taking so long, but when I open the door, the words die in my throat. She's slumped against the passenger side window, her head resting on the cool glass.
"Mara?" I say, my voice tight with panic. I set the cocoa in the cup holders and climb into the driver's seat. "Baby, are you okay?"
Her eyes flutter open, and they're glassy, unfocused. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead. "Heat," she croaks, her voice a ragged, broken sound. "I think… I think it's pre-heat."
"Fuck," I say, the word a punch to the gut.
This is bad. This is really, really bad. I slam the car door shut, my hands shaking as I grip the steering wheel.
We need to get back. Now.