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27

JENSEN

I wake slowly, disoriented for a moment before memories solidify—the storm, the desperate cold, Aubrey’s soft, naked body pressed against mine in the sleeping bag. We’d shed our clothes, skin to skin for survival, which then turned into an overdue and much-needed roll in the hay. One I think both of us needed more than anything, just to feel alive.

But then exhaustion hit after.

I’d fallen asleep on watch.

The realization brings a surge of panic. I lift my head carefully, scanning the cabin without disturbing Aubrey, who’s still nestled against my chest, her breathing deep and even. Eli remains on the cot, his condition seemingly unchanged, face flushed with fever but his chest rising and falling steadily under the blanket. The door remains bolted, windows secured. No sign of intrusion, no evidence the hungry ones took advantage of my weakness, and no hint that Eli might be turning into one of them himself.

Relief washes through me, followed immediately by self-recrimination. I know better than to let down my guard in these mountains, especially with the monsters circling. If they had broken in while I slept…well, I suppose Aubrey’s pussy was worth it.

Aubrey stirs against me and lets out a sweet, breathy sigh, her warmth a stark contrast to the cabin’s chill. Despite everything, there’s a rightness to her presence that I can’t deny. The simple human comfort of skin against skin, of not facing the darkness alone. I don’t give a fuck if she’s a federal agent ready to turn me in, I needed this like I need oxygen.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep. Her eyes remain closed, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

“I fell asleep on watch,” I admit, the words heavy with self-blame. “I shouldn’t have.”

She opens her eyes then, shining in the dim light. “We both needed it,” she says simply. “The sleep, I mean. And we’re still here. Still alive.”

Her pragmatism catches me off guard, as it often does. No accusations, no panic, just an acceptance of what is and a focus on moving forward. It’s a quality I’ve come to admire, despite the complicated emotions that never seem to dissipate.

“How’s Eli?” she asks.

I glance at him again. “Seems to be sleeping. Doesn’t look any different.”

Not yet, anyway.

“Then we were right to take him,” she says. “Hank tore into him with his hands, not his teeth.”

She sounds so certain, but none of us actually saw what Hank did. Still, it gives me hope that if Eli survived the night, maybe he’s in the clear.

If we get out of here.

“How’s your temperature?” I ask, changing the subject. “Still feeling hypothermic?”

She shifts slightly within the confines of the sleeping bag, her body sliding against mine in ways that would be distracting under any other circumstances. Hell, who am I kidding? It’s distracting now, even with everything else at stake. I can feel my cock hardening and I know she can too.

“Much better,” she says as she shifts slightly against me, sending a wave of rough heat down my spine. “The sleeping bag trick worked.”

“Basic survival,” I say with a shrug, lowering my mouth to her neck. “Body heat is the most efficient way to fight hypothermia in the field.”

“It’s also efficient at leading to sex.”

I can’t help but laugh against her skin as I lay a kiss there. “Yes, well that too.”

I pull back and she kisses me, silencing any further response, her lips soft and insistent. We have no business doing this—again—with Eli’s life and everything else hanging in the balance. But I find myself kissing her back anyway, drawn to her warmth like a moth to flame.

Her hand moves down between our bodies, sliding against my stomach and lower still, heat trailing in its wake. I bite back a groan when she wraps her fingers around my cock. She squeezes gently before parting her thighs slightly, guiding me into her, slow enough to drive me crazy. Her eyes are locked on mine, unguarded in a way that makes my chest ache more than I care to admit.

We stay like that for a long moment, barely moving, just soaking in each other’s heat and breath and pulse. Warm. She’s so fucking wet and warm. I could stay like this forever.

Then a soft sound escapes her lips as we start moving together in the smallest of motions—hardly more than tiny shifts of our hips—but somehow it’s even more intense than the rushed desperation of last night.

I lower my mouth to her neck again, drinking in the faint salt of sweat on her skin and the sharp intake of breath against my ear. Every movement is quiet and careful but strung tight with need—a taut wire that’s ready to snap at any second.

“Jensen,” she whispers again, my name breaking on another breathy sigh as she pulls herself closer around me.

I lose track of time for a while after that. Everything narrows down to the heat of our bodies pressed together, the slow rhythm building between us until it starts unraveling into something sharper and less controlled.

She comes first, clenching around me with a muffled moan that she hides against my shoulder. The feeling and sound of it undo me completely—my own release crashing over me like an avalanche, leaving me shaking and empty and fucking alive.

We’re both breathless when it’s over, tangled around each other in the sleeping bag. When I finally catch my breath enough to speak, I feel absurdly grateful for the warmth of her and the relative safety of the cabin. For a moment I can almost pretend I’m back at the ranch with her nestled in my room. Fuck, if only I knew the life I could have been living. Now that I’ve tasted it, so simple, so sweet, I think I’d do anything to have it.

“Is that something you learned from your father?” she asks, her voice gentle. “The hyperthermia thing. You know, all these survival skills?”

The question catches me off guard. We’ve never really talked about my father—I’ve mentioned his death, but not what came before. Not what he taught me, or what I lost when he died.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment, my voice rougher than I intended. “Ran in the family, you know? He taught me everything about these mountains. How to read them, how to survive them. He loved it up here, spent every moment he could away from the ranch, exploring.”

“You must miss him,” she says quietly.

The simple acknowledgment unlocks something in my chest, a pressure that’s been building for years. “Every day,” I admit. “He wasn’t perfect—had a temper, could be hard on me when I messed up. But he was a good man, you know? Taught me what that meant. How to live with integrity, even when it’s difficult. Even when he was forced to make choices he didn’t want to.”

“It must have been hard to have someone like Marcus take such control,” she says.

I tense slightly, instinctively defensive at the mention of Marcus’s operation. Then I force myself to relax. There’s no point in pretenses now, not after everything we’ve been through. Not when we don’t know the horrors that lie ahead for us.

“It was,” I say. “For him and for me. He always told me a man’s word was his bond, that honor mattered more than anything. When he died, the ranch was already in trouble. Debts piling up, the property remortgaged. We’d owned that ranch for generations, but I had no idea he’d taken out credit against the house in order to pay Marcus back. I was just a kid, really. Eighteen and suddenly responsible for everything—the ranch, my mother. And Marcus offered a way out, even though I knew he was the reason my dad was under such duress to begin with. So I took it.”

“And now you’re trapped,” she says, understanding in her voice.

“My own damn fault,” I say, staring at the ceiling. “I knew what I was getting into, even if I told myself otherwise. Kept thinking it was temporary, just until I got the ranch back on solid ground. That I could do a better job than my father did, that I was bold enough to handle Marcus in ways he couldn’t. Then I told myself I would do it just until my mother’s medical bills were paid. Then just until…well, there was always a reason to keep going. To keep compromising.”

“You were trying to save your home. Your family. Your legacy.”

“At what cost, though?” I ask, meeting her eyes again. “I became the kind of man my father would be ashamed of. The kind who looks the other way, who makes excuses, who values survival over integrity.”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying my face with those perceptive eyes. “Is that why you push people away? Why you live so isolated up here? At first I thought maybe the people in town were protective over you, but now I see that maybe it’s because they don’t know who you really are.”

The insight is uncomfortably accurate. “Easier that way,” I admit. “Hard to let people close when you’re ashamed of who you’ve become. And I didn’t want to drag anyone else into Marcus’s world. It’s safer to keep to myself.” I pause. “Don’t tell me you’re a psychologist as well.”

“I’m no psychologist,” she says. “In the bureau I’m part of the Violent Crime Unit. Missing Persons. We have psychologists working along with us, and you learn to pick up on things, when it comes to the criminals, when it comes to the victims.”

“And, so you’ve been examining me.”

“Can’t help it,” she says, reaching out and brushing her fingers over my forehead. “But even before all this ,” she says, gesturing vaguely to encompass our current situation, “you seemed…lonely. Like you were holding yourself apart from everything.”

I consider denying it, but what’s the point? “When my father died, it broke something in me,” I say quietly. “The ranch, Marcus, my mother’s condition—they’re all reasons, but they’re also excuses. Truth is, I was afraid to care too much about anyone again. Afraid to lose them like I lost him.”

The confession hangs in the air between us, more intimate somehow than our physical nakedness. I’ve never said these things aloud before, never acknowledged the fear that’s driven so many of my choices.

“When this is over,” I continue, surprised by my own words, “if we make it out…I want to be different. Better. Be the man my father raised me to be, not the one I’ve let myself become. Cut ties with Marcus, run the ranch clean even if it means losing it. Find a way to take care of my mother that doesn’t cost my soul.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” she says softly, gravity in her voice that tells me she’s not just agreeing with me, but that she believes in me. Believes I can do it.

“What about you?” I ask. “When this is over, you go back to the FBI? Back to chasing criminals? Criminals like me?”

She sighs, her breath warm against my chest. “I don’t know. Before all this, I was on a path. Had my whole career mapped out, knew exactly where I was going. Now…” She trails off, her eyes distant. “Now I’m not sure of anything, except that I need to find out what happened to Lainey. Need to have that closure, no matter how much it hurts me, no matter how much it might kill me.”

“And after?” I press, not sure why her answer matters so much to me.

“After,” she repeats, as if the concept is foreign. “I haven’t let myself think about after. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’ve been stuck in the moment Lainey disappeared, unable to move forward. Hell, I might have been stuck since my mother died. I heard once that whenever you experienced your most traumatic event, that’s the age you are forever. Obviously that’s bullshit, but I think there’s a line of truth to it. I think maybe we get hung up at a certain spot in our lives, never able to move past it unless we face it head on.”

The understanding passes between us, unspoken but clear. We’re both trapped by our pasts, both struggling to find a way forward. Both might die on this mountain before we get the chance to try.

“We should check on Eli,” she says after a moment, breaking the spell of intimacy that had wrapped around us. “And figure out our next move.”

She’s right, of course. However tempting it might be to remain in this bubble of warmth and unexpected connection, the world outside the sleeping bag hasn’t changed. The feral people are still out there. Eli is still injured. We’re still in grave danger with no real way out.

Untangling ourselves from the sleeping bag proves an awkward dance of limbs and averted eyes, the vulnerability of our earlier conversation making the physical exposure somehow more significant. We dress quickly in the cabin’s chill, our clothes stiff from where they’ve dried out overnight by the hearth.

I check on Eli while Aubrey rebuilds the fire. His condition remains precarious—fever still high, the wound on his shoulder an angry red around the edges, though the black discoloration hasn’t spread further. The tears themselves are ragged so it’s hard to know if it really was done by Hank’s claw-like fingernails or his teeth sharp teeth. Either way, Eli’s breathing is shallow but regular. He’s hanging on, for now.

With the immediate necessity of tending to Eli addressed, I move to the window, scraping away a patch of frost to peer outside. The storm has passed, leaving behind a world transformed by white, sparkling snow under a blue sky.

“Storm’s passed,” I report, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement, any watching eyes. “Snow’s deep, though. Four feet at least in the drifts.”

“That’s going to make travel difficult,” Aubrey says, feeding the last of our firewood into the rejuvenated flames. “Especially without the horses.”

The reminder of our lost mounts sends a pang through my chest. I hope Jeopardy made it to safety, to open ground where he could outrun any pursuit. He’s a smart horse, knows these mountains almost as well as I do. If any horse could make it back to the ranch, it’s him.

“We need more wood,” I say, eyeing the dwindling supply. “Fire won’t last much longer on what we have.”

I survey the cabin’s sparse furnishings—a rickety table, three chairs, a few shelves bolted to the walls, perhaps a bed in the loft. All potential fuel, if it comes to that. And it will, if we stay another night.

“How’s our food situation?” Aubrey asks, already digging through our packs.

“Not great,” I admit. “Some jerky, a few energy bars, a bag of trail mix. Maybe enough for a day, two max.”

She nods, cataloging our meager supplies with the same methodical efficiency she’s shown throughout this ordeal. “And our options? What do we do?”

I consider the question carefully, weighing the dangers against our dwindling resources. “We have three choices, as I see it. We can stay here, hope the hungry ones have lost interest…”

“Or maybe someone comes looking for us.”

I give her a sharp look. “You said the FBI didn’t know where you were.”

“They don’t. But you had to have told someone we were here.”

I shake my head, wishing I had at least told Margaret, wishing I had stopped by to see my mother before we left, like she asked me to. “Didn’t tell a soul. You understand now why. Anyway, no one is coming to save us. We can try to make it to Sugar Bowl, which is the nearest outpost, though that’s a hard trek in this snow without horses. Or…”

“Or we can go where they were herding us,” she finishes for me. “To the caves.”

“That’s suicide,” I say flatly. “Those caves are their territory.”

“Yes. Maybe. But it’s also where Lainey disappeared,” she points out. “Where we might find answers about what happened to her. About what’s happening to Eli. About all of it.”

The caves might hold answers, but they also hold death. I know she thinks she’ll find Lainey there, or answers to what happened to her, but I know she’s not going to like what she finds, and I know neither of us will be walking away.

“We need to think about this carefully,” I say, moving to break apart one of the chairs for firewood. The aged wood splits easily under my boot, providing enough fuel to keep the fire going a few more hours. “What about our weapons? How’s your ammunition?”

“Four rounds,” she says. “Only have the one mag.”

I get up and go over to Eli, searching his pants. No gun. Probably lost it in the snow.

“He’s got nothing. I have maybe three in my rifle. We have the axe, a hunting knife, the hammer…”

We fall silent, the crackling fire and Eli’s labored breathing the only sounds in the small cabin. Outside, the world is quiet, the storm’s passing leaving behind an unnatural stillness that’s almost more unsettling than the howling wind had been.

“We should eat,” Aubrey says finally. “Keep our strength up while we figure out what to do.”

We share a meager breakfast of jerky and trail mix, rationing carefully to ensure Eli will have something when—if—he wakes. The food is barely enough to take the edge off my hunger, but it’s something. A reminder that we’re still alive, still fighting.

As we eat, I catch Aubrey watching me with an unreadable expression. “What?” I ask, self-conscious under her scrutiny.

“Just thinking about what you said earlier,” she replies. “About wanting to be a better man when this is over.”

I feel heat rise to my face, embarrassed by my earlier vulnerability. “ If we get out of this alive,” I remind her. “That’s a damn big if.”

“We will,” she says with surprising conviction. “We’ve made it this far.”

Just then there’s a knocking at the door.

Both of us stiffen, eyes wide with shock as I carefully get to my feet, staring at the door.

Neither of us make a sound.

The knock comes again. It’s faint, four raps.

I can see Aubrey shaking her head out of my peripheral. I grab my axe and head toward it.

“Don’t!” she hisses.

I raise my hand to tell her to be quiet. I’m not about to open the door, she don’t need to worry about that.

I slowly walk across the room, wincing as the floorboards groan, until I’m at the window. The curtain doesn’t cover the whole pane, so I carefully peer outside, expecting to see Hank or Cole or someone on the other side of the door.

But I see no one.

I crane my neck to get a better look and then I see the culprit.

It’s a…child.

It’s hard to tell from this angle, but they have to be about eight years old or something, dark hair, shivering under a black coat. The kid raises his hand and knocks again.

I immediately pull back and look over at Aubrey.

“It’s a child,” I whisper to her. “It’s just a kid.”

“No,” she says, shaking her adamantly. “No, it’s a trick.”

“It isn’t. I can see it’s just a kid. There’s no one else out there.”

“Let me inside, please. It’s so cold,” a young boy’s voice says from the other side of the door, “and I can’t find my parents.”

I move for the door handle but Aubrey is at me, grabbing my arm.

“Don’t!” she whispers harshly.

“It’s a child,” I whisper back. “It’s talking. It’s not one of them.”

“Yeah, and Hank and Red were talking too right before shit went down.”

“So then if shit goes down, it goes down. He’s just a kid. We can handle him no matter what happens, but I can’t in good faith keep this door closed to a kid who’ll die out there if we don’t let him in.”

“You’re not being rational!” Aubrey says, brandishing her gun. “You think a child out here, here , is rational right now?”

“We’re not the only ones in these mountains,” I counter. “People go skiing, snowshoeing, snowmobiling all the time. This kid was probably separated. Besides, if he was a hungry one he could get in through other ways.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Please!” the child yells. “I can hear you’re in there. Won’t you please let me in? I can’t feel my feet.”

I grunt, shrugging Aubrey off, hand on the lock. “I’m letting him in.”

She points her gun at my head. “No, you’re not.”

I slowly turn my head to stare at her, incredulous. “You’re seriously holding a gun to my head?”

“I’m serious about you not opening that fucking door,” she growls, her defiant yet panicked gaze locking with mine.

I’m taking my chances.

I unlock the door.